#like i don't even dislike her and i think there's a way to use her where she's an asset to this division but good god

[seitmai]

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

Uff 😬

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

Damn

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

To know that you don't know a lot and will never know more is rough...

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

Sometimes being honest to oneself is not easy

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Hey, nobody slander thin crust there are far worse kind of pizza ☝🏻

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken. “…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown. “I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

God they are lowkey awkward together and neither of them just knows what to do with themselves 🥴

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

I feel like this maybe hurts Bradley more than her..

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

👀

Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese.

I mean it could be worse lol🤷🏻‍♀️

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

At that I would have laughed too 🤭

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That's really shitty, especially knowing Mav's reputation 🥴

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

At that they really share a bit of similar fate

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him. Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

Good thinking Bradley, nothing worse than an unwanted hug by a stranger 🫣

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

I'm sure he does 🤭

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.” Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

It seems his feeling run deep 😬

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?” Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that. “The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

This is rough... I get her questioning the process, it's not something that someone is usually confronted with..

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

🥺🥺🥺

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“ “Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.” You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is.

She has every right to be angry, upset and sad even if he really just ries to be nice, this is just not a good situation anyway and with the news of the investigation it just got SO MUCH worse🥴

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him. “You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

I like that he is thinking practical!

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse. He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. “You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

Just a night or two, sure 😏🤭

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: mitchell!reader, no physical descriptors other than the implication that Bradley is taller, no use of YN, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of you. This place is something that you had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not your home and it has never been, until now. Now, you’re stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, you had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of your bags in one hand behind you today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind you, reminding you that you’re standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

You shrug your duffel bag closer to your body and turn left. Bradley huffs under the weight of your luggage from behind you, watching you walk your cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of your single duffel bag, you turn slowly to face him and frown slightly. “My room.” 

You don’t remember Bradley. Not in your own memories, anyway. You know he was around, you’ve seen him in pictures but the image in your head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” You hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was yours. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was yours. It’s not like you kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that you would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between you. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on your face is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. You’re pretty sure that you’ve never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that you stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on your face, he hadn’t even considered leaving you here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for your sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” You agree, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like yours. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. You call Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of your bags and nodding for you to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as you walk silently across it, neither one of you would know that. Neither one of you was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind you, following you up. You stop at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind you.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around you with your bags in his hands and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at you. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, your shoes along the tan oak floors. Your fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding you of why exactly it is that you’re here.

Fire burns behind your eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets your bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling your eyes out, and you refuse to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again. That thick feeling sits in your throat like a stack of weights as you sit down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking your weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to you and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing you onto your feet again. 

Mobile once more, you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, you were prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing you want is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” You nod, setting into motion to help take the sheets off. You watch him instead of what you’re doing. 

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, you’ve not seen how he has been for the past few days. “I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to you with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of you until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

There’s a moment of total stillness between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of you. Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of you.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

You watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. You wonder if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. You stand there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew your dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking your brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, you can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside your shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, your experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to you as any of the other guys in the stories you grew up hearing about. Your very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at you.

He can’t hide from you forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of you. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. You’re barely unpacked. You set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever your space to claim.

You chew absentmindedly at the bite you had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above your heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why you aren’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for you. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here you are, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you. Your hair is up now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs. You’re wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes you got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think you look that much like your old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when you offer him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

You stop chewing. That last bite sits in your mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. You stare across at him, awkwardly making yourself swallow down the last of your bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at your mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” You pick up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell you not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches you, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.” You explain with a shrug.

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For you, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into yours under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” You hum, pushing back in your chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that you wake up. He hears you coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s yours, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making you uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as you stroll into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at your eyes.

You’re wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt you had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if you’re wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making you lift your gaze from busily tapping at your phone. Your gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, you find his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. You lock your gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” You head right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when you grab the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. You set the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching your face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” You skim your fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much you know about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for you to get yourself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” You ask, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make your coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. You swing it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if you’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across your mind — what’ll happen to this place when you leave it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into your tone as you curl your fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on your face, stuck between whether you’re sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for you without thought. His palm claps against your shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on your shoulder, your eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what you’re searching for, or whether you find it. His fingers squeeze softly against your skin before the touch is gone all together.

You drink your coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in your silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — you don’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces you not to wear the more formal dress you had thought you’d have to wear. You slip into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes your dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, you watch him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; you silently appreciate that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when you cut sleep from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep you up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with your car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles you from your daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” You’re stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before you’re taking your next breath, leaving him to catch up to you. 

His long strides have him at your side before long, reaching ahead of you to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at your side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops you from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against yours.

He catches your forearm as you try to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on your forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of your wrist as he nods his head towards you.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way you’ve stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards you, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who you must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from your forearm and his palm falls flat between your shoulder blades, giving you a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid her hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while you continue down the hall.

Bradley catches up to you as you rap your knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against your thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind you. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into yours and shakes your hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting your hand go, he then reaches to your right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps your back as he leans into the handshake.

You step away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?” You answer.

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to you than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

You sit in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

You blink at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Your brows knit together.

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

You shoot him a look. When it’s clear that you aren’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects 

are delivered to you.”

You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of your head.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns you. He’d heard that you had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead you about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for you. 

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing you across the parking lot, listening to you try to control your breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching you cautiously as you crowd yourself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

You sniff, turning your gaze towards the ground. The lump in your throat burns and bobs as you try to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[bonefall]

How do you feel about the Everluxes?

Well, I'm actually someone who generally dislikes Ancients. I usually find that they're kind of a "waste" of an otherwise interesting breed concept, and the fact they can't wear apparel means I find them difficult to work with even when the colors are all aligned. They're usually just "discount moderns," to me.

So Everluxes are everything I want, actually!

They're something that could never exist as a modern breed because they break the 4-legs 2-wings mold, they're SUPER unique in terms of their grublike proportions and big chunky upper legs, and they released with a ton of amazing line-breaking genes that are fun to play with. This is exactly what I feel like Ancients have been missing since their release!

I actually strongly disagree that these guys are "unfitting" in the Light Flight-- I think everyone who's saying that just doesn't like that Light has a fat dragon. I'm losing patience with the way they'll say, "It's not because they're fat, it's because they're inelegant, ungraceful, gross, tubular, long, round, etc" and just expect people to not realize those are being used as alternate words for "fat." The only person they're fooling is themselves.

They have a lot in common with the other breeds, actually. The wings resemble the Imperial's. The rhino-like horn reminds me of the pearlcatchers. They have the same prehensile "feeler" whiskers. Even the way that they're really long makes me think of a sort of "beta" imperial.

I have a headcanon that the Lightweaver made Everluxes and was suuuuper proud of them, her little "bookwyrms..." and then her bully of a sister, Shadowbinder, got REALLY mean about them. Took jabs at every chance, and ultimately made Veilspuns as "LOOK, IT'S YOURS BUT BETTER LOL. MAYBE YOU COULD LEARN SOMETHING. YOU LOVE DOING THAT, DON'T YOU?"

Long hair, sleek features, strong and tricky... Lightweaver loved her design, but when she looked at what her sister could do, she felt ashamed. She'd just wanted people to help her archive and preserve knowledge, but now that she was being pressured to compare her creations to someone else's, suddenly the joy was gone.

And, of course, FlightRising lore enjoyers know what comes next.

Spurred on by that fierce feeling of inadequacy, her next set of creations would be larger, more beautiful, more powerful than anything that had ever come before. She forced every tear, every sob, every moment of anguish she'd ever felt into her next creation. No dragon that walked the soil of Sornieth would be able to hold a candle to the light of the masterpiece within her claws.

Imperials came after the Everlux-- and Emperors in their wake. The Lightweaver swore to never create a breed out of anguish ever again.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I know that some people in the Wings of Fire fandom complain about how Tui based the IceWings on tiger moms (a stereotype commonly applied to East Asian mothers) and I know that that and the model minority stereotype for Asian-Americans that is common in American media is terribly containing and reduces an entire community to this monolith of mean parents and unhappy, but high-performing children, but I personally like how IceWings are based on my group, even as much as the stereotypes hurt me. You may write this off as dumb, but it's possible to feel proud of something similar to your culture being depicted while disliking how your culture is seen in the media.

When I read about the IceWing experience in canon and fanon, I feel seen. It's probably due to the fact that I've only found one or two books starring East Asian protagonists that I personally feel show the experience I've grown up in and am used to, and even overall AAPI month tends to get overlooked on the social media I use (tumblr). Now I'm just wofbrained enough to project on fictional dragons because they've been based on a stereotype that gets applied to my community. You'd think that I need to touch grass and search for more books, but I'm happy that IceWings and I have something in common.

Nowhere else do you see the portrayal of feeling both locked and contained in the identity that everyone else has imposed upon you, and so has your community, and so has your parents, and so have you imposed on yourself, but also proud of it when the concrete results come in, all the As, all the comments that you're high-performing. There's the portrayal of feeling that some aspects of that identity are something to be proud of, but there are also the darker parts that you know are bad: the bigotry (where parents say the racist things out loud, straight to your face), the constant competition, the empty feeling from complying with your parents wishes and the fact that you've been doing it for so long that you don't even know your own. There's the feeling of always being inadequate in comparison to your peers. There's the feeling of occasionally wondering what it would be like to not be part of your group, and just be happy with Bs and be able to have a social life and actually hang out with friends outside of school.

While people say that Tui made the IceWings stereotypical as hell, I like what she did with her IceWing protagonists and other characters. We see Winter, who lost his family, but can do what he wants as a scavenger researcher, which is something that feels like a realistic possibility in my community- pursuing your dreams, but losing familial support. But, he can follow his dreams. We see Crystal, who ran away to be with Gharial, a MudWing, and it's reminds me of how falling in love with someone that you community says you shouldn't have but being happy with them is possible. There's Lynx, who reminds me of the classmates that I should have competed against, but became friends with instead. There are all the Caribous, who show the more fun parts of IceWing culture outside the palace, where IceWing dragonets sing and read and listen to stories and eat together, which shows that the IceWings aren't a monolith. There's Glacier, who genuinely loved her daughters, even though she was likely distant from them as a queen, which shows how beneath the strictness, the love is there, even if it's not apparent at first. There's Snowfall, who's from the younger generation and wants to change things for the IceWings. While Tui initially wrote the IceWings based on stereotypes associated with East Asian-Americans, her IceWing characters show how they're much more than that. To me, that reminds me in a way that we student, second-gen children of East Asian immigrants are more vibrant and faceted than how media paints us (emotionless, uncreative, studious, deferent to authority, etc etc).

Now, I'm going to say that not everything that IceWings do is what Asian-Americans do. I haven't heard of anyone making their son kill the other one to regain their status. Given how people like to reblog these confessions and openly address the anons with their disagreements and this ask will probably get a bunch of accusations directed at it that weren't part of my original intention, I would like to reiterate that this ask is my personal opinion as one Asian-American out of the 19.9 million+ of them here. If you personally disagree, please direct me to all the way better forms of representation that I know are out there but can't find so I can stop projecting on fictional dragons. Someone wrote on tumblr how what's empowering to one person comes off as demeaning to the next when it comes to representation. Thank you for receiving my confession that wouldn't do well at all off anon. That is why this blog is here.

.

[sorcave]

Hating Calypso does not mean you don't understand morally grey characters and defending her does not mean you understand them.

I've seen many takes from those defending Calypso in one way or another dismissing those who hate her as "not understanding morally gray characters" which is simply isn't true. Defending her as a poor victim who didn't know any better does not mean you understand the concept of morally gray characters either.

The main divide is whether intent, her actions, or both matters in defining her morality and by how much. Either side of that spectrum is missing the nuance of the situation- she's not a supervillain intent on making Odysseus' life horrible nor is she an innocent, naive girl who shouldn't be held accountable for her actions. To me, while I don't think she is evil, she is at the darker end of the "morally gray" spectrum as her actions are so egregious that her intent nearly doesn't matter.

Most defenders use the story that Calypso tells in "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You" as their evidence. She didn't INTEND to hurt Odysseus- she hasn't known anyone before so she didn't know! She was just lonely! She just loved him! If you were stuck on an island all alone for 100 years and finally someone came, wouldn't YOU want to make sure they didn't leave? Besides, she apologizes for her actions!

This is a trap that the song actively brings listeners into. It is meant (or at least easily interpreted as) as a plea for sympathy, to make the audience feel empathy for poor Calypso. It is not a simple explanation for her actions and it is definitely not an apology for them. The reason it feels like a "Youtuber Apology" is that they share many similar characteristics. She is intentionally vague about what she is apologizing about, to the point they are nearly irrelevant. "Coming on too strong" wasn't the issue- it was "Coming on too strong" AFTER Odysseus told her no ( "From here you're mine, all mine"/ "Hell No") was. It doesn't address her main crime, specifically keeping a man AGAINST HIS WILL for seven YEARS, even AFTER he became so desperate to leave that he was moments from committing suicide. Lastly, she doesn't take accountability but (intentionally or not) blames Odysseus . "I'm sorry if my love was too much for you" is a VERY common phrased used by abusers to shift the blame from themselves onto their victims.

The crux of the issue for me is while her rough experience up until she met Odysseus may explain her actions, too many people seem to use it to EXCUSE her actions (including, seemingly, the narrative itself). Why this rubs so many the wrong is because of how many real life victims have been told they have to "forgive" their abusers because their life was hard or "they didn't know better." Many who were bullied as a kid had at least one guidance counselor say they needed to "forgive/even befriend x because they are struggling/ \[Insert Bad Thing Here} happened to them." Many others see Calypso using the same tactics their own abusers used to hurt them, and justifiably hate her for it.

I am not saying someone is wrong or stupid for having a more forgiving perspective on Calypso. If you are one to put more weight into intent than actions, I could see why Calypso could be a much lighter gray ( I am not seeing many defenders saying she is an entirely innocent, "morally good" character"). It can be argued that her actions were not of an intentional abuser but of a goddess who haven't had much experience with relationships before, especially with mortals. If her idea of romance came from whatever the Ancient Greek version of romance novels were, it makes sense that her idea of romance may not be the healthiest. Heck, even reading the myths would explain or even excuse why she didn't see "She's my wife" as a sign to back off- for probably at least 90 percent of Greek Heroes, that would not matter.

In summary, Calypso is a morally gray character- but that doesn't mean there aren't valid reason to dislike or even hate her. Seeing her as dark gray bordering on black doesn't mean you don't see the nuance- many who are against her understand her intent may not have been evil- but that her actions make her intent almost irrelevant. So please stop dismissing those who dislike/hate her as simply misunderstanding/being naive with morally gray characters. Many are not (especially since the entire show is full of them) and simply put weight in her actions more than her intent.

[thewistlingbadger]

I just want to add a few notes to this

I am not anti meljay or anti mel. Mel is such a fantastic badass and I heavily dislike how overlooked she is by the fandom. MelJay are a very cute ship and I want to see them develop.

If it were up to me, mel, jayce, and Viktor would ALL be together. I ship MelJay AND I ship JayVik.

There is no one way to ship a ship. It's fiction; you get to interpret things the way you want to based on how you feel. One ship might be OTP for you, or it could just be a fun dynamic you want to see more of, etc. You can interpret things based of the evidence provided

We cannot ignore the foundation of Jayce and Mel's relationship and we cannot ignore a part of Mel's character. In season one, Mel IS very manipulative. She is plotting from the moment we see her, and that's one of the reasons I like her. She's sneaky! She's got all of piltover wrapped around her finger and she did so with ease! Jayce was one of those people she had wrapped around her finger. She played into his ego and self doubt to boost him up, and this is what the show shows us on the surface. She pushed him into the role of councilor, a role he didn't want, for her own selfish reasons. Although Mel isn't a saint (no one is in the show) we also see she's not evil. Most of what she does is just to boost herself up in society. We see her character start to change the more time she spends with Jayce. His company is making her a better person. That's what the show shows us. The show also shows us that Mel's company is also having positive effects for Jayce. He feels less alone and overall the both of them comfort each other and that's a really powerful thing to have in your life- a person that makes you feel safe and calmer.

Personally? I think Mel can do much better than Jayce and maybe she'll always be content with him and maybe she won't. What does it matter? It doesn't. It doesn't matter whether or not they get married and ride off into the sunset or whether they end up breaking up on good terms. It doesn't matter, at least not to me.

At the end of the day, this post was entirely my opinion. And I said so several times within the post. As an Internet user, we should all know by now that if we see something we don't like we either scroll away, block a user or block tags. I've had several people insult me and make baseless claims about the content of my character just because of what I wrote. Had they just had the jayvik tag, they wouldn't have even seen this post!

In conclusion: no I'm not anti mel. No I'm not anti black. No I'm not anti meljay. No I don't care whether meljay OR jayvik becomes endgame. I don't WANT either of them to be endgame, but ultimately if meljay becomes endgame I won't care I'll go about my life happy that the ship got more content. No I didn't make this post to get a rise out of people. I literally started shipping meljay and jayvik only a few days ago. I had no IDEA this would be the reception my post would get. No I'm not bad at tagging this post WAS about meljay AND jayvik. No I'm not getting rid of this post. Anyone else that wants to reblog and make a villain out of me is just getting instantly blocked and that's that.

I really like Mel and Jayce's relationship because I think they're a great source of comfort for each other, but they're not endgame for me. They can't be due to the foundation of the relationship. I don't think Mel Merdarda loves Jayce Talis fully and unconditionally and that's completely acceptable. She doesn't have to. Jayce Talis is not there to be her husband. He's there to be her pawn. It just so happens that he was a pawn that she got too close to emotionally, a pawn she just so happened to have some level of care for. So yes, I like them, they're cute, but they're not everything. JayVik is everything. JayVik is coming home to your bed after a long trip that was pleasant but filled with hotel mattresses. JayVik is realizing that you had what you wanted the entire time. JayVik is being too late to save the day but still charging in like a hero.

[slitheringghost]

Hermione As Teacher And Connections To Lily

An interesting narrative thread is how often Hermione's magic and teaching influences other characters' and how often it goes unrecognized, and particularly how it parallels a lot of Lily's own magic saving Harry from Voldemort. (Read on Ao3)

1. Triwizard Tournament

Summoning Charm

he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick’s class that he was given extra homework — the only person to get any, apart from Neville. “It’s really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him [...] — she had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, as though she were some sort of weird magnet [...] “You just weren’t concentrating properly —” (Ch 18, GoF)

Harry still hadn’t mastered Summoning Charms, he seemed to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. They consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during their lunchtimes (Ch 19, GoF)

“Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon.” And so they practiced. They didn’t have lunch, but headed for a free classroom [...] At two o’clock in the morning, Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects [...] Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm. “That’s better, Harry, that’s loads better,” Hermione said, looking exhausted but very pleased. (Ch 20, GoF)

Flitwick then spends most of a lesson "talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm Harry had used during the First Task".

1.2 Shield Charm

(Full analysis of the Shield Charm and how it's textually linked to Lily is in my meta When Lily Cast Her Life As A Shield)

He was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses [...] “You’re still doing really well, though,” Hermione said encouragingly, looking down her list and crossing off those spells they had already learned. “Some of these are bound to come in handy.” [...] Come on, Harry,” she added briskly [...] “let’s try that Shield Charm again.” (Ch 31, GoF)

Which Harry then teaches the DA:

He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them the Shield Charm, [...] only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville. (Ch 25, OoTP)

Then, what Fred and George say makes the real money in the joke shop:

“We’ve just developed this more serious line,” said Fred. “Funny how it happened...” “You wouldn’t believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can’t do a decent Shield Charm,” said George. “’Course, they didn’t have you teaching them, Harry.” “That’s right... Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we’re still getting massive orders!” “So we’ve expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves...” “...I mean, they wouldn’t help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes...” (Ch 6, HBP) Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued [...] Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word (Ch 9, HBP)

I love that Harry is then the one to teach Hermione the Patronus Charm - which Remus tells Harry is "a kind of anti-dementor - a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor".

1.3 Four-Point Spell

and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione’s that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. (Ch 31, GoF)

“Point Me,” he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm. The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. (Ch 31, GoF)

It's reasonable to extrapolate that the spell is Hermione's invention, given that it's the only spell with an English incantation, and inventions are referred to as "discoveries" several times - Remus wrt the Wolfsbane Potion in PoA, Dumbledore's work ("the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood", "does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore’s many magical discoveries?"), Harry has to "memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions" and mentions books titled "Important Modern Magical Discoveries and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry", Fred says they "spent six months developing" the Ton-Tongue Toffees, etc.

Hermione inventing this is particularly compelling given that it's similar to what Harry's wand does in DH (related to Lily's spellwork deflecting the Killing Curse), and Harry's conflict with her after she breaks his wand.

[...] his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. (Ch 4, DH) He knew exactly what Hermione would say if he expressed any of this: The wand is only as good as the wizard. But she was wrong, his case was different. She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at his enemy. (Ch 18, DH)

Also notable is Hermione solving Snape's Potions riddle, and Harry echoing this with solving the Sphinx riddle during the Third Task (Harry thinking “it was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him” and then “amazed at his own brilliance” when he solves it).

2. Other examples

2.1 Impervius Charm

“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses. At that very moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming. “I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!” He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, “Impervius!” “There!” she said [...] “They’ll repel water!” Wood looked as though he could have kissed her. “Brilliant!” he called hoarsely after her [...] Hermione’s spell had done the trick. (Ch 9, PoA) "Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!” “I think we all ought to try that,” said Angelina. “[...] all together, come on — Impervius!" (Ch 18, OoTP)

Additionally, when Padfoot comes to watch during that PoA match and dementors swarm the field, making Harry hear Lily's murder for the first time, Harry falls from his broom, his Nimbus crashes into the Whomping Willow, others say they thought he was dead and "Lucky the ground was so soft" - of course, it wasn't luck, it was Dumbledore; Hermione then repeats these actions in DH - during the waterfall in the Thief's Downfall (evokes the drowning feeling from dementors; and Hermione additionally uses the Shield Charm there) and immediately after they escape LV in Godric’s Hollow and Harry finally gets the full memory of Lily's death (Hermione’s eyes being emphasized):

“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away [...]" “Then he magicked you onto a stretcher,” said Ron. “And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were...” (Ch 9, PoA) “Yes,” said Hermione. “I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk, I couldn't lift you [...]" There were purple shadows under her brown eyes and he noticed a small sponge in her hand: She had been wiping his face. (Ch 17, DH) Water filled Harry’s eyes and mouth: He could not see or breathe: [...] Harry heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something, and felt himself glide back toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor. “C-Cushioning Charm,” Hermione spluttered (Ch 26, DH)

2.2 Murtlap Essence

During that PoA practice, Fred and George were debating using Fever Fudge to get out of flying:

“— but you get these massive pus-filled boils too,” said George, “and we haven’t worked out how to get rid of them yet.” “I can’t see any boils,” said Ron, staring at the twins. “No, well, you wouldn’t,” said Fred darkly, “they’re not in a place we generally display to the public —” “— but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the —” (Ch 18, OoTP)

The knowledge Hermione uses to heal the I must not tell lies scar on Harry's hand helps the twins finish the Snackboxes:

“Here,” she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, “soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help.” Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. (Ch 15, OoTP) When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of murtlap. (Ch 25, OoTP) Hermione cast him a stern look. “You’ve got exams coming!” “Told you already, we’re not fussed about N.E.W.T.s,” said Fred. “The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it...” (Ch 26, OoTP)

2.3 Magical Eavesdropping Methods

Harry frankly marveled at the fact that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else they had to do. (Ch 28, GoF)

People have theorized that Hermione’s research while she was taking revenge against Rita Skeeter may have aided Fred and George develop the Extendable Ears, esp. since she was staying at 12GP that summer.

2.4 DA Galleons

Hermione's inspired by Voldemort's magic to invent the DA's communication method; Draco then gets the idea from that to carry out his Death Eater mission, enchanting his own coins to secretly communicate with Rosmerta, and also gets the idea to poison the mead from Hermione, having "heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing potions".

“You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well... yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea... but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin...” “Yeah... I prefer your way,” said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. (Ch 19, OoTP)

Notably, Lily's blood magic - unlike Hermione's and very like Voldemort's - does burn Voldemort's skin.

Similarly significant is Hermione's invention of the SNEAK curse - where the DA members all sign the binding contract in the Hog's Head, the same establishment where Trelawney gave the prophecy, and the binding contract incorporated in Lily's magic. Hermione enchants ~28 coins for the whole DA and creates the curse within the span of ~a month.

2.5 O.W.L. exam

Three rows to his right and four seats ahead, Hermione was already scribbling… He lowered his eyes to the first question: a) Give the incantation, and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly... Harry had a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing loudly on the thick skull of a troll... Smiling slightly, he bent over the paper and began to write

On the whole Harry thought it went rather well; his Levitation Charm was certainly much better than Malfoy’s had been, though he wished he had not mixed up the incantations for Color-Change and Growth Charms (Ch 31, OoTP) the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. (Ch 31, OoTP)

Hermione is linked to Harry's Charms and Potions exams, the subjects most directly tied to Lily. Important to note that Professor Marchbanks praises Dumbledore for having “done things with a wand I’d never seen before” during his Charms and Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s - which Hermione didn't get to take 'cause of the war; and Harry and Neville are acknowledged as doing better in Potions without Snape's presence - clearly true of Hermione's potential too as her best accomplishment was brewing a N.E.W.T. level potion second year, outside Snape's supervision (which took a month, and then she spent 2 months in the hospital due to petrification/Polyjuice turning her into a cat).

2.6 Body Bind Curse

Harry turned to Hermione. “Do something,” he said desperately. [...] “Neville,” she said, “I’m really, really sorry about this.” “Petrificus Totalus!” she cried [...] Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. [...] “What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispered. “It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. (PS)

Interestingly, Harry instinctively copies what he saw of Sirius in SWM during the DoM sequence, using the full Body Bind for the first time (at least, that we see on screen). Hermione compliments Harry on it, calling back to her being the first one to show him first year - and her being cursed right after echoes the description of Sirius falling through the veil: "the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest", his eyes widening in shock and the "look of mingled fear and surprise".

Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily. (Ch 28, OoTP) “Petrificus Totalus!” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand [...] “Well done, Ha —” But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like purple flame. It passed right across Hermione’s chest; she gave a tiny “oh!” as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor (Ch 35, OoTP) Harry seized his chance: “PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” The spell hit Dolohov before he could block it, and he toppled forward across his comrade, both of them rigid as boards and unable to move an inch. (Ch 35, OoTP) Springing up, Harry yelled, “Petrificus Totalus!” Once again, Dolohov’s arms and legs snapped together and he keeled over backward, landing with a crash on his back. “Nice one!” shouted Sirius, forcing Harry’s head down [...] (Ch 35, OoTP)

2.7 Unbreakable Charm

Not something Hermione specifically taught, but also interesting is Hermione mirroring Barty Crouch Jr. during his Unforgivables lesson (and saying Harry gave her the idea when he mentioned "bugging").

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. (Ch 14, GoF)

“Oh not electronic bugs [...] Rita Skeeter [...] is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —” Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. “— into a beetle.” [...] Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle [...] Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass. [...] “I’ve put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can’t transform. And I’ve told her she’s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can’t break the habit of writing horrible lies about people.” (Ch 37, GoF)

Hermione imprisoning Rita Skeeter in a jar vaguely references Lily and Harry's actions in 1981 leading to an "imprisoned" LV in Albania; this also happens a few chapters after Priori Incantatem, and Harry and LV under the web of light evokes insects trapped underneath glass:

The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now... “Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light [...] and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you!” (Ch 34, GoF)

Then the phoenix song comes from "every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort", and a voice saying Don't break the connection (elaborated here).

3.0 Blasting Curse

All this comes full circle in the Godric's Hollow graveyard in DH (a deeper analysis also for another post), where Hermione mirrors what Harry did because of Lily as a baby (and also Harry's actions at the start of DH while flying during the Battle of the Seven Potters): blows up the house (“Confringo") and enrages Voldemort as she and Harry fly out the window - fly from death - together.

[fragmentedblade]

Boothill's presentation being entirely on the twitter post makes me think he will be irrelevant in the story in the long(ish) run, and that the game itself won't dwell on him almost at all

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Just remembered I have a psychiatrist appointment so early tomorrow. And I obviously dyed my hair so recently because there's green staining on my face. I don't think it's going to look great for the bipolar diagnosis, to disclose that I was feeling impulsive and wanted to get control over something, so I dyed my hair at midnight.

[universalzones]

"Really? And here I thought they came all this for a fucking tea party with scones. Obviously I know GUN isn't here to just fucking talk, and I'm sure they have their own plans to be a pain in the ass. Though in case you forgot YOU'RE the hero, even to their bitch ass's. How do you think they'll react if you go off the fucking rails. At least if I do it then it'd be way easier for The Restoration to cut me off real quick." It was a blunt and harsh truth, though being such a loose cannon came in handy in a situation like this.

"What do you take me for, a fucking idiot? I'm well aware that I'll have to convince Kit NOT to fight GUN and let them arrest me, and doing that will be like pulling fucking teeth. That doesn't change the fact I trust only you to get him home and to keep your mouth shut just where it is. I'm not telling saying you can't be angry, though take it from me, you don't want it controlling you." Until today most of Surge's choices were driven by her anger.

"Look, I know you ain't happy about my choice, though believe it or not it's for me too. I got shit I need to pay for, and not everything is as easy as changing and running around helping people. Sometimes jail time is need, though I'm sure we both know some crazy threat will come up to force GUNs hand to let me loose to help which could help me get out faster." Surge main reason for doing this was clearly for Kit, though another reason was doing it for herself.

"So if you're done arguing with me then lets get to this fucking checkpoint and make sure GUN knows trying anything stupid will piss both of us off." Surge was ready to start telling GUN to pack it up and go the fuck home, if only for the fact it would get Drippy home faster. "Besides, in case you forgot we got giant Momma Wisp up there." The tenrec doubts GUN wants to fuck with a Wisp that side.

===========================================================

"Belle Bot wasn't designed programming of hacking, and it was something we put on the back burner as it was made mainly for defense purpose's. Simply put, it can't do something on this scale, though I suppose it'll work for at least jamming their communication and airships if need be. Belle Bot, run program delta nine B on all GUN communication devices and airship within range."

Belle Bot's eyes would glow green for a moment. "Executing command and calculating time until completion. Calculation complete. Command will be fully done in six minutes. Recommending to avoid conflict until process is complete." The bot would then put it's focus on completing the command.

"Why? It's not like you did this to me, and honestly I couldn't care less about your existence by this point. At this point my dislike for you is only because of how continue to let Sonic act so foolish and not convince him to end Eggman. Heroism is fine, though there's a clear line between heroism and stupidity. You and I both know if Sonic really wanted to he could end Eggman at anytime. I'm sure even you can, though you don't." For the most part Kitsunami had gotten past Starline's programming expect for a voice every now and then.

"So there's nothing to talk about as I just don't like you, though I can also admit I don't trust you either. Mainly because our points of view are so far apart and so different. If it helps I can say it's no longer personal as I apply this logic to Sonic and plenty of your friends." Kitsunami could now say he was mostly thinking for himself, even if most of his motivation was to help Surge.

All Sonic could see in that moment was red, and that anger was bubbling up like geyser ready to blow. He didn't have much in this world that he cared for, and he knew Amy was a tough girl. But seeing her like that just flipped a switch for him. Maybe it was that curse that linked him to her, or maybe was just his own protective nature as a guardian of his world. He didn't know but he'd never felt such a desire to put someone in the ground. Even despite the fact that he was hyper aware Surge was trying to prevent him from making a huge mistake. It didn't really register completely.

He grit his teeth and leaned in close to Surge and was seconds from speaking, telling her where she could shove her worries. If she knew Abe like he did, if she had any idea of all the awful things he was party to. She'd have wanted to put him in the ground to. GUN drove Gerald mad, tossed shadow in a damn stasis pod, killed maria in cold blood and so much more! there was alot they would never atone for in Sonic's eyes---all of this was just another drop in the bucket.

" Talkin' ain't ever gonna be GUN's language! I am so sick of tryin' to talk with those people! they only language they get is force, so i'm just gonna speak there language!?! "

He had no qualms busting Surge's face wide open to get to them either! Luckily Tails voice was perhaps the one he needed to hear most, mostly because of how close they were. But despite that it didn't make him less angry, it just made him bury it again and hide away like he always did. When he thought about it, he was kind of a coward wasnt he? always hiding, always tucking his tail and running from all that pent up aggression.

Surge could see his hostility ebb away, it was likely the first time she'd seen him so worked up. Yes he did care for Amy, like he cared for Tails, and anyone who threatened them was on his shit list!

" ... Mark my words, they ain't here to talk Surge... those bastards are a bunch of child killin' life ruinin' sacks of absolute shit. I'll play nice... but the moment i find out Abe was behind Amy's attack... the gloves are off... i ain't puttin' that to the side. You'd do the same if it was Kit... "

He looked away from her to the airship that was just within sight of them now.

" They ain't here to help... you an i both know it... this is gonna be us vs them... i'll wait... and i keep my promises. So you can relax... "

He was still very obviously pissed off, and only holding back for the time being. One wrong move by GUN was likely to set his ass off. But he knew if GUN had his way they'd lock them both up for sure. His eyes went to Surge though and narrowed as he realized something important and, as he needed some way to direct his anger he snapped at her instead.

" and YOU need to tell him the damn truth! because i sure as fuck ain't gonna explain it to him. Do you think for a moment he'd listen to me or tails anyway? You need to tell him, and soon..."

===============================================

Tails wasn't sure if it was Belle in control or an auto pilot in truth it was hard to tell. But he was pretty impressed by the over all craftsmanship of the bot. It was impressive and showed how far she'd come! He was always impressed by her work, and it was proof in his mind that Eggman's bots could do good given the right program and incentive.

" And who do you think designed the artificial Chaos? Doctor Gerald Robotnik... Eggman's grandfather. Lots of Eggman's technology was inspired by Gerald, even if Gerald's intentions were pure... alot of his tech was turned into weapons for GUN or worse... locked up for being to dangerous. But i guess you know more about it then i do... just hard not to see the similarities "

Tails had been working the entire time he was talking. He connected the satellite to the Belle Bot which gave her access to the eye in the sky. This also allowed her to interface with the restoration com network fully, and reconnect the broken bits from the EMP with the satellites network.

" I got it, i do hope Belle doesn't mind me using the belle Bot as a relay... but, that should reconnect Restoration communications. Also you should be able to use the belle bot's signal to connect to the satellite using it as a proxy. That should limit any risk to your own equipment... "

Not that there was any risk to begin with, but he hoped it quelled Kit's paranoia.

" I... know i probably shouldn't even say anything. But... I'm Sorry you know, for everything that's happened... Deep down i guess i just want to find some middle ground for you and I... I just want us to be able to talk ... work this all out somehow. "

He sighed and gave Kit a side glance with one of his ears falling over

" When this is over... do you think... we can talk? Not asking for anything else... just a chance for us to talk, "

[dutybcrne]

Thinkings thinkings of Fatui!Kaeya have been reawakened in reviewing Arle's teasers/animations

[brittlebutch]

the thing about Aelwyn that I think about a lot is that there's a lot to the notion that she, to a certain extent, was so abrasive with Adaine because of how obstinate Adaine is with their parents. If you have based a chunk of your personality on the precept of "The only way to protect myself is to meet my parents' expectations and obey them at all costs", then every time Adaine pushes back against them, there is almost unquestionably a fear-response -- even if you aren't the one who set your parent off, their stress/frustration can fill a room to the point of becoming smothering anyway. And if you don't feel safe getting mad at your parents for being a source of stress/fear in your life, then invariably the only thing you can do is begin to resent the third-party who you perceive as setting them off for no reason instead of playing it safe, like you do.

[biancabelairs]

i am once again asking if aew is aware that saraya is not a babyface lmao

[piano-sideblog]

also I find it really funny how in like all of SDC fanart Anne is almost always not there. So irrelevant people forget her LOL

[grandwretch]

if winds of winter comes out and Sansa and Jon's friendship was a TV show hallucination idk what I'll do. set myself on fire? drown in a lake?

[celibibratty]

i thought reddit were more down to earth, no!, this is not being down to earth, they are just rude...just rude!/jerks!, it-was-only-supposed-to-be a text saying that the pak mei form should have on Nintendo switch.........i have a fucking fuss/fighting magnet for some fuckin reason on this shit💢🔥 anything I say on this shit site appears a bunch of motherfuckers to disagree or complain about something, trying to be the known at alls, don't mess with me, that i don't mess with you, if you gonna bite/come to me with bad heart shitty comments, i will bite you too(and i will bite HARD), don't try me, i not in my best state of spirit🔥💢, you so coward and dumbass that you need a bunch dumbass homies like you to defend your shitty behaviour/comments so you feel right/in power, whata hell, i just do/write things on my own little way if don't like/don't have patient to read it, FUCK YOU!, so you not the person to read this, it makes me feel sad how such a cool game like sifu attract such motherfuckers(come on ana i already know/notice that since the moment that the game released (february 2022), don't get so surprised, gamers/fight game community is shitty), stop, stop, stop with this, i used to thought the same thing with lis2 on 2020/weird diazcest and extremist anti phase, i shouldn't take this things from heart, shitty people will always exist on things that you like(it's not the things fault, don't blame them, Ana)

[klara-rosa]

🤡