#like yeah same anon

[fluffypotatey]

I still can't believe the ALMOST handhold at the end of the world it's real like...dude you two said that you hate and want eachother dead like,2 seasons ago.... AT LIKE IT?? they make me sick

I didn't think the monkeys would make it this far,maybe there is hope in this world for doom fucked up gay people.....maybe (I'm in constant fear that something is going to happen to tear them apart, someone send help)

all this build up only for them to be ripped away again????? 👀

no….lmk, a show that loves to play with our heartstrings like they’re puppeteering, wouldn’t dare do something like that

..………UNLESS—

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[benevolenterrancy]

hi!! I think your art is *so cool* o(≧∇≦o)

do you think you could draw more moshang? either post canon or that au you did last time?? (baby mobei has my heart and all I own)

(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) oh! how about return to childhood—moshang flavor?

don't question this king, shang qinghua, he knows what he's about

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[arolegos]

im way too scared to say this on main but icl i love lloyrumi n' i love ur lloyrumi art ... can u draw them more for me ... maybe dr harumi meeting sora and jordana like 'damn lloyd they js like us fr fr ???'

i love when the relationship dynamic is "kiss marry kill? all of the above"

[statementlou]

Tbh i am not surprised that a person who openly talked about having drinking problems since 1d days, because of how crazy 1d worked has been agressive. What surprises me is people being surprised (they never seriously saw drunk person?). But i am also confused about this whole book. Apparently Maya said that that book is not fully bout Liam but compilation about her exes and some of the worst parts are not about him. But recently she said that the book is “ofc about him” so what is true then? Or did she meant it that ofc some parts are about him or that whole book is about him?

Sorry, just confused

I also am not surprised- we've learned so much more about the real stories of things and about the guys' actual lives over the last years, and the story that has unfolded around Liam has been totally consistent throughout if you've been following it, and so the information Maya is telling us is shocking and upsetting but not difficult to believe. I got an anon yesterday saying they were worried about getting similar revelations about the other boys, like "if Liam could be doing this we just don't know, any of them could", and while in a way that's always true I guess, anyone could be doing anything in private like... that doesn't really concern me. Because none of these Liam revelations are coming out of nowhere, there have been many MANY steps along the way leading us here if you've been watching, and he has talked openly about both his mental health struggles and his addiction issues. So to answer that anon... to find out something similar about Louis would in contrast contradict everything we know about him and no I'm not worried about it. Is he probably very irritating, absolutely, but an abuser or a loose cannon, well that news would shock me. But anyway as for the book I don't find it strange that she was nervous when it came out and treading lightly and later decided, fuck it. In the absolutely on point tiktok she dropped today (YES👏GIRL👏FUCKING TELL THEM👏) she even mentions attempts to keep her from publishing the book, presumably by Liam's team, that I am riveted by and cannot WAIT to hear more details about actually- like I said I don't find it at all strange that she was nervous and downplayed it a bit then. But if she says now that it's just about Liam, well, I would say it's been clear from the beginning that the book is their story. Maya herself brought up the parallel of songs being written about stuff and I think it's the same thing; it's true (she was in an abusive relationship that involved certain kinds of events) but maybe not 100% literal (I'm sure details were changed to make the story work, it's not like a word for word timeline of their interactions or whatever).

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[mxtxfanatic]

Hi! If you don't mind me asking:

What does mxtx says about jc's character? Like some jc stans claim that she has said he has a knife tounge and tofu heart, (I don't believe it still) is it true? I don't know where to find her interviews, so I asked you instead:)

Thank you 💕

MXTX speaks on Jiang Cheng’s character in two places that I know: the old version of the postscript of the novel (absent from the official 7seas release) and an interview from before she left socials.

In the postscript, she only has this to say about Jiang Cheng:

Everyone should know what Jiang Cheng’s keyword is without me saying it. In the beginning, I thought with with XY’s [Xue Yang] existence, Jiang Cheng’s negative energy would definitely seem skimpy. Who knew he became the ultimate superstar of the comment section? Compared to him, XY was almost a poor, has-been idol. Only now and then would someone decide to drag him out again. Of course, in the end, under the combined PDA attacks of WWX and LWJ, the past and present superstars were obliterated.

And in this interview, she goes more in-depth. Sidenote: while I appreciate the interview for what it, I do not appreciate the ways in which they insert their own opinions about how they think MXTX should feel about Jiang Cheng into the actual interview commentary, and it shows how much of a bias even the interviewer had towards his character to have asked so many leading questions in an attempt to get a positive response out of her about him.

Anyways, here's some expansion by @jiangwanyinscatmom on the nuance of what mxtx meant by “not heinous/evil” that was lost in translation here and some more re-translation (still of the same interview as above):

墨香铜臭：本性不是特别坏，但是有人要讨厌他的话，那也没办法。因为你讨不讨厌一个人，也是……也是自己的问题。

He is not a 坏 (basically spoiled broken, corrupt) person by nature, but if someone wants to dislike him, there is nothing I can do about it. Because whether you dislike someone or not is also... your own choice.

MXTX's answer about why Jiang Cheng never could marry and how she sees him as a character (parenthesis section for jiangwanyinscatmom's own translation notes):

墨香铜臭：就性格比较差劲吧，谈了几个，吹了。 (He just has an 差劲 (average/lame/disappointing, let down) temperament, he dated several times but they were all failures) 墨香铜臭：我眼中的江澄……我眼中的江澄，就……其实没怎么样，我写文还是比较客观的。我看他……我看他就、就像是在看一个作品。 女主持：如果让大大本人来介绍江澄这个人的话，你会怎么介绍他？ 墨香铜臭：我觉得他是一个负能量比较……重……的人。 女主持：这么简单吗？ 墨香铜臭：对，负能量比较重，但是也不是个、也不是个十恶不赦的人吧。对。 MXTX: In my eyes, Jiang Cheng... In my eyes, Jiang Cheng is... Actually, it's nothing special. I am relatively objective when writing. When I look at him... When I look at him, it's like looking at a work of art. Female host: If you were to introduce Jiang Cheng, how would you introduce him? MXTX: I think he is a person with a lot of negative energy... Female host: Is it that simple? MXTX: Yes, he has a lot of negative energy, but he is not a heinous person. Yes.

In short: MXTX describes Jiang Cheng as a character that is filled with negativity and unable to date, but he is not inherently evil nor to the point of being irredeemable. He is a product of the story and fulfills the role he was created to fulfill in the plot. He's not a good person, not overtly and not secretly. That's it.

[ask2ps]

england seems like he is constantly .2 seconds from having some kind of episode ! go (former) king go !!!

ENGLAND: What are you talking about? I don't have "episodes." I'm collected! And rational. And, and, and... ENGLAND: (Having run out of words to describe his "unfaltering temperament", he is beginning to falter.)

[blackbatcass]

helloo :D

So, I keep seeing people saying that Jason is Bruce’s favorite child, and the only one that was actually like a son to Bruce. (aside from Damian) Also that just because Dick and Bruce were partners/brothers too, it means that Dick isn’t really like Bruce’s son. How Jason and Bruce are each other’s favorite and Dick wishes he could be Bruce’s son (basically it just gets worse and worse jekskenjske)

AND I DON’T REALLY GET THIS AT ALL.. I COMPLETELY DISAGREED

But then I saw SO MANY posts about this (just getting harsher and harsher LMAO) and I thought I’d ask someone who knew more. So, yeah, here I am!

Thanks for answering if you do, and have a wonderful day!

anon do you want me dead. is that what's happening here

JK JK my first fanon jason ask... what a historic day! basically you're completely right. I don't know where this frankly insane take comes from but whenever me, my mutuals, and pretty much anyone in this corner of the dc fandom sees a post like it we roll our eyes to the heavens. to put it simply the idea that jason is bruce's favorite and the only one he actually loved like a son is a complete fucking lie lol.

first of all to claim that bruce didn't love dick like a son is......I mean. let's just say people saying that have probably never read a comic with bruce and dick before. literally the number one thing to know about these characters is that the love bruce and dick have for each other can be seen from outer space. they have never been normal about each other. bruce raised dick since he was eight. they are thee og codependent father-son partners 'we saved each other we are pack bonded for life if anything happened to him i'd kill everyone in this room and then myself' duo. I mean... there is nuance to be had where they had a very complicated tangled up hard-to-label relationship that had elements of being father & son, elements of being brothers, and ofc partners as batman and robin but that is a function of their relationship being TOO crazy and close not the other way around lol. it is patently true that bruce and dick know each other better than anyone else in the world. it is pretty much true that if you're going to play the favorites game, it's hard to deny that dick is bruce's favorite. that's his eldest his most trusted his saving grace his person who understands him better than anyone. I could pull like an endless amount of panels as evidence that dick was bruce's favorite. there are so many 'dick is the only thing i did right' 'i only feel pride when i look at nightwing' etc etc. dick is his child in every way that matters basically

which is not to say that jason isn't bruce's son! he definitely is! bruce does love jason, but jason was his second kid lol. and it's...i mean jason was robin for a very short time in the grand scheme of things. you can blow through his robin run super fast because it's just not very long. the idea that bruce loved jason more or there's more of a father-son bond to be found in the few issues they were together for as opposed to the 10 years dick was robin is actually insane. bruce literally admitted that the reason he let jason be robin was because he missed dick. lol. lmao even.

basically yeah claiming that jason is bruce's favorite and dick was never treated as bruce's son is just a lie. it's not true. it's like that 'jason is tim's favorite robin' nonsense that was going around a few months ago; it completely ignores canon and essential character elements in jason's favor. I don't know why some jason fans are so obsessed with putting him up on a pedestal by bashing other characters on his behalf. and like...it is possible to have two sons? and love them both? lmfao? and that's not even getting into like tim and cass (also bruce's adopted children). I don't know why people just decided this was a thing but it is false<3

[oifaaa]

If Tim was 13 when he became Robin and Jason was 15 when he died and spent 6 months dead then there’s maybe just over a year between them. And then two years comatose then Tim drake is actually older than Jason was mentally despite Jason being legally and physically older which means Tim drake got beat up by two of his younger brothers which is really lame of him. Can’t believe he’s been beaten up by his younger brothers twice and he still acts like he’s the baby victim.

I like your thought process here your math is a bit off but let's ignore that in favour of how funny it is for Tim to be beaten up by 2 younger siblings

[dykedvonte]

I find the line "I have to believe our worst moments don't make us monsters." Fascinating because it comes from Anya, and I feel she really proves it the best.

For obvious reasons most people are in the "Anya did nothing wrong" camp and for good reason but there is a single action that I don't think she did well and it was her suicide. Specifically her method.

Realizing that Anya took Curly's painkillers was horrifying to me. As a Nurse I have no doubt that she'd know how terrible dying from overdose is. She had access to a gun which is well known for having a far more instant and far less painful death. And despite everything falling apart around her, knowing how bad Jimmy was, she still left Curly alive.

I don't think I thought about it much like that at first but the longer this game has sat with me the more horrified I am by the action. Curly is man who has been horribly disabled and is completely unable to help himself and he is very much a human being who does not deserve to be anywhere close to that amount of pain. Those painkillers were one that the few things that could give him any amount of relief and Anya took them.

She could have shot herself and left the painkillers for whoever was left to help Curly. She could've shot Curly and then taken the painkillers. She could've shot them both and quickly put an end to their misery, yet she didn't. Anya had a great amount of her agency stripped away from her, to the point that she didn't deem life to be worth it anymore and ended it, right next to a man who couldn't make that choice for himself even if he wanted to.

It is easily her most horrific choice and yet, she's still an angel.

(Please don't take this as Anya slander, I genuinely love her so much. I just find this to be an incredibly interesting thing)

I do subscribe to the idea that Anya realized that Jimmy was hitting Curly when giving him his medicine but didn’t intervene. I also don’t think her taking the pills from Curly as monstrous mainly because (while she knew he suffered worse with out them) she likely also knew they were basically bandaids on a bullet wound.

I have this sort of belief that that statement can only really apply to Jimmy in the inverse. Like some statements in the games aren’t meant to apply to all characters and not in every context of every action they do. It’s the idea that no one should be responsible for Jimmy’s actions but himself but they are forced to by him or the environment. Everyone is experiencing their worst moments but no one is a monster outside of Jimmy due to his inability to take responsibility and how he escalates the severity of the situation through his bad choices. Even then it’s not one moment that makes Jimmy a monster it’s the culmination of every moment that prove his inability to be anything but in this scenario.

With Anya you must remember she did have the code to the gun. Yeah, she could’ve broken it open but who’s to say how easy or how long it would’ve taken. Not to mention, there’s this misconception that she wanted the gun to kill Jimmy which isn’t true. She wanted the gun to defend herself in the case he got aggressive which is an important note of Anya being the only proactive person on the ship vs reactive. Locking the door, knowing there was no way in was likely a duel mercy for them both. A person in his state would die relatively soon without constant care and she has ample time to pass. It’s a hard decision to make for herself and someone else but it was the easiest even if it caused more damage than it was ever meant to cause.

It’s a sort of parallel to how Curly made choices he thought would help Anya and everyone but ultimately doomed them all further. Jimmy got what he wanted in both scenarios of crashing the ship and wanting Anya gone. What happened on the Tulpar will go down as a tragedy if they are ever found, a mystery if not but certainly not in a way that Jimmy wanted. Anya and the pregnancy are effectively gone but he’s still facing the repercussions for it.

There’s this idea that it’s controversial to say that Anya was anything but perfect and while I don’t think she did anything wrong, she certainly didn’t make the best choice in telling Jimmy but that again was because of the situation and environment she was in. We don’t know why she didn’t wait on Curly after their conversation in the cockpit, we know that was the plan and we know Jimmy finding out through her alone was the catalyst to the crash within like the next hour, yet you can’t really blame her. We don’t know why Jimmy came to medical nor what anyone else was doing. It can be considered her one mistake but then again we can’t blame a reasonable action on someone’s unreasonable response.

I think that’s a big aspect a lot of people look over in the characters actions. Most of them are normal, reasonable, human. But the systematic responses to them and Jimmy’s are unreasonably harsh and punishing.

This has gone off in a tangent from what you originally posed but I genuinely think of what might do happened if that confrontation happened with Curly there and away from the cock pit. I assume it’d happen in medical or even utility, hell, an area away from anything sensitive but what if? If the ability to do something awful wasn’t at Jimmy’s finger tips, if there was more than one voice in Curly’s head during that moment, what would’ve changed?

When I look at Anya I see her as having the best responses to anything happening during the events of the game but the environment, systems against her and even the other crew mates to an extent made it so it would inevitably backfire on them and mostly her hard.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Assistant Noah AU, since Noah isn't a contestant, Ezekiel takes Noah's place as a member of Team Chris...

Ezekiel doesn't lose the stick, so there's no eliminations in the Egyptian Episode...

Ezekiel had become Lindsay's and Beth's platonic BFF, and now has a new better respect for women...

Ezekiel is also a bit smarter, and somehow sees through Alejandro's tricks...

How would Alejandro honestly feel about Ezekiel? 😉

I'll take any oppertunity to "save" Ezekiel from his canon treatment, and having him substitute onto Team Chris in Noah's place is a great idea.

But I don't think Alejandro would like him at all.

You've got to understand; Ezekiel is the equivalent of a very misguided, very lost puppy. He's not exactly sure what's going on at the best of times, and after Island his response to the culture shock between his homelife and his life on reality TV is to adopt a fake "cool" personality from whatever pop culture he's managed to consume... which only serves to make him more insufferable to the people around him than his clueless farmboy demeanour ever did.

Had he retained his pre-Total Drama personality and naivety, then Alejandro would tolerate him, if only as an exploitable pawn (much like Tyler). But it's repeatedly shown in canon that Ezekiel is unpleasent to be around by design. He's talkative and outspoken at the worst times, oftentimes with opinions that aren't exactly palatable, he doesn't understand the concept of personal space and acceptable social behaviour, he smells bad, ect ect. Pair this with him mimicking the stereotypical "rapper" demeanour, and you have the perfect foil for Alejandro's nice guy act.

Because Alejandro is very many things, but patient isn't one of them. At least, not in the context of being around people who annoy him. Just look at his canon relationship with Owen; if he couldn't stand to be around Owen of all people, then he'd really hate Ezekiel.

That's not to say that I think Ezekiel is a hateable character. Quite the opposite, really. He's so interesting to think about from a writer's standpoint, since he has a surprising amount of characterisation for a character who spends the majority of his screentime feral and non-verbal. Just enough to base characterisation on, and just little enough to expand upon in whatever way you'd like and not have it feel out of character.

In the given scenario, I'd have him form a friendship with Owen and and Izzy (by this point in the series he's been educated on how his father's mindset is very outdated and toxic, so he's more than happy to befriend a girl). The two of them aren't concerned with things like "coolness" and social acceptability, which would be a huge part of Zeke's character arc in this season - learning how to accept himself for himself, instead of trying to conform to his skewered perspective of what the media deems "hip".

Pairing this with the somewhat limited but amicable relationship he shares with Lindsay on Team Victory, and the intangiable but nonetheless just as impactful influence of Beth who's stuck on the Aftermath, and suddenly Ezekiel has a whole support system of genuinely kind people who can and will help him learn the ropes of modern society. (Give Ezekiel Friends 2k24‼️)

A direct contrast to Alejandro, who's whole deal is presenting himself as a perfect, infalliable person who doesn't really form any friendships. (Unless you count Heather and maybe Courtney?)

See here's where the two of them play the role of "contrasting narritive foil" for each other. Alejandro and Ezekiel are both fueled by their need to prove themselves by winning, but their methodology is entirely different; Alejandro's game plan is to be as fake and perfect as possible whilst sabotaging the competition and inadvertantly isolating himself, and Ezekiel is just doing his best to play fair whilst learning how to be the most authentic version of himself in the proccess with the help of his friends. (Something something the power of friendship...)

Something to note here: Both of them are trying to prove themselves to their families. Alejandro's trying to prove he can be more than second place (to José, or just in general), and Ezekiel is trying to prove that he can withstand the challenges of the world outside of his family's farm (which he never got the chance to, given he was the first boot of the previous two seasons).

As for Ezekiel being "smarter" and seeing through Alejandro's tricks; I'd like to veto that idea and offer you this instead.

Ezekiel has gullibility and naivety practically woven into the threads of his character, so of course he'd be in the same boat as Owen and Tyler. That is to say, he'd initially be one of Alejandro's most staunch defenders, since he doesn't have the intelligence or the instincts to see past his fake exterior, as Ezekiel isn't worldly enough to know how to spot a fake.

And that's exactly what causes Alejandro's downfall.

As stated before, Ezekiel is annoying by design. Pair his enthusiasm with an idolisation towards Alejandro (for being an objectively strong competitor, or whatever reason you want) and you've got the perfect recipe for Alejandro to blow up at Ezekiel once his already negligable patience snaps. Probably in a scene similar to the confrontation he has with Owen in the Amazon.

All of a sudden, Ezekiel has seen Alejandro's true colours and the rose-tinted glasses he's been blinded by come shattering to the ground - and the knowledge that's been painstakingly imparted onto him by Lindsay and Beth comes into play. Alejandro is a bad guy, just like Zeke's dad.

From then on, Ezekiel is hesitant around Alejandro. Quiet, uncharacteristically so. The sight of unapologetically loud and obtuse Ezekiel being subdued (scared?) of Alejandro has the other contestants beginning to question his performative geniality. If Zeke of all people doesn't trust him, it must be a bad sign.

[compacflt]

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father. 

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life. 

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots. 

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.” 

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.” 

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation. 

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.” 

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.” 

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is. 

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie. 

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm. 

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well. 

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady. 

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.” 

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.” 

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider. 

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens. 

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

[moongothic]

This is gonna turn into some Crocodad Propaganda eventually but putting the man aside for a little bit

Let's be real for a moment. Regardless of who Luffy's other biological parent is, regardless of if they're relevant to the story or not, no matter what has become of that person, if they're dead or somewhere out there alive, etc-- I believe Oda "knows the truth".

Although it took One Piece until post-Enies Lobby to reveal some of Luffy's blood relatives to us, Oda had technically introduced both Garp and Dragon to us all the way back in the East Blue saga. And Ace was introduced not too long after in the Baroque Works saga, along with his tattoo which held that secret tribute to Sabo all along. (Also he was introduced as "Portgaz D. Ace" meaning Oda must've intended to make the two non-blood brothers from the get-go.) All this means that Luffy's family, both adopted and blood relatives, have been in Oda's mind from the very begining of the story. And so if Oda had figured out Luffy's grandfather, father and at least one brother (if not both) from the begining, then why would he not have decided what became of the person who gave birth to the idiot as well? Like considdering how detail-oriented and meticulous Oda can be, would it not be unusual for him to essentially forget about a character that important (in the sense that Luffy literally would not exist without them) and just handwave them away without much thought? Would that not be out of character for Oda? As such, I don't think it is not unreasonable for us to believe that Oda would know what happened to Luffy's other bio-parent. Mind you, it really could be just something like "Luffy's mother died of The Disease when Luffy was a baby", or "the mom fell down the stairs" or "was eaten by a bear in the woods" or something, anything, whatever. Even if it truly does not matter to the story one bit, I'm sure Oda knows the truth of what happened and why that character wasn't a part of Luffy's life.

But at the same time, if the identity and the fate of Luffy's birthing parent truly did not matter to the story at all, then why wouldn't Oda just tell us who that was and what happened to them? In an SBS or an interview? It's not like people haven't been asking about it, because fans and staff alike have been asking about it for years. If the information really would not change anything, be it the direction the story will take or how we view the characters, if it really is just worthless trivia, then why keep it away from us?

Now of course, I'm sure you'd want to point out that one time Oda told Mayumi Tanaka that "A young boy's adventure begins after he leaves his mother's arms. I want to tell this young boy's adventure story, so his mom is not part of it." And Oda isn't known for lying, we do kind of want to take what he told Mayumi Tanaka at face value. At the same time though. If Luffy's other parent did become a plot relevant character in like the final 200 chapters of the story, after a 1100 chapters, they and their potential connection to Luffy would not have mattered to the story for 90% of its run. For an overwhealming majority of Luffy's adventure, that person would not have been a part of it. So if that character did become relevant, and Oda was lying, then it'd be a white lie at worst. But also, if Oda did intend to reveal that other parent eventually, when the time was right, then surely he wouldn't want to get people hyped up about it way ahead of time. If it did turn out to be a big plot twist or an otherwise important plot point, Oda would want to keep it under the wraps and a secret until the right time, you don't want to spoil something like that. Not to mention it could end up working like a distraction and make people not focus on the more important things happening in the story currently. So really, I think we'd all forgive him for a white lie there. Not to mention, technically speaking, if Luffy doesn't even have a mom but two dads, then Oda wouldn't really be lying either.

But that does bring up an important thing to considder.

If Crocodile does turn out to be Luffy's other dad, when did Oda get that idea, and when would he have committed to it?

Because, keep in mind, One Piece began back in 1997. Twenty seven whole years ago. Which means there's two things to considder; the evolution of queer rights over the past near three decades, as well as the fact that One Piece has more than surpassed Oda's original plans for the series. We must not forget how for a manga to remain serialized in Weekly Shounen JUMP, you need to perform well in the popularity polls consistently; if your manga starts dropping in popularity, JUMP can cancel it and force you end it prematurely. Of course, Oda arguably does not have to worry about those polls anymore after all these decades, there's no way in hell JUMP would ever cancel fucking One Piece in this day and age. But that might not have been the case 15 years ago, that was not the case 20 years ago, and that was absolutely not the fucking case 25 years ago. Like we all famously know that Oda originally planned One Piece to maybe run for like a year, then five years, then ten etc etc. That really is because at the begining of his career he had no quarantee he'd be able to tell the full story he was slow cooking at the back of his mind. Back in the early days, One Piece could've been canceled and ended prematurely, so Oda smartly chose to write it focusing very specifically on what mattered to the story at that moment, in the short term. Yes, he did start laying out the groundwork for things to come, but he did it so subtly that had OP been forced to end early, the series wouldn't have been left with too many massive, gaping plotholes or unresolved sidestories. Another thing to keep in mind is how comic artists for JUMP do have editors etc who can have a say in what goes into the manga (famously, Sasuke only existed because Matashi Kishimoto's editor suggested it). So again, while Oda might be able to do whatever the hell he pleases in One Piece at this point, that wouldn't have been the case 20+ years ago. He would have been more or less at the whims of his editors back in the day.

So would Oda have thought about giving Luffy, the main character of the series, a transgender father back in the year 2000? Could that really have been the secret plan from the start? And would Oda's editor(s) at JUMP have allowed that? Or, did Oda maybe come up with the idea later?

Now just so we're clear, I am NOT suggesting Crocodad was Oda's original intent and that his editors didn't let him do it or anything like that, my tinfoil hat isn't on that fucking tight. What I do want to suggest, is that it is plausible Crocodile being Luffy's other dad was an idea Oda was playing around with at the back of his mind from the begining, but wasn't sure he'd ever get to, mainly due to the uncertainty of series' future and partially because he could've been unsure if his editors would even allow him to write that story. And IF this was the case, Oda may not have even started committing to to the idea until around the CP9 saga. Or, it's possible Oda only got the idea sometime after the completion of the Alabasta arc/during Skypiea saga, and started laying down the groundwork for during Summit War so that, if he ever got around to it, he'd be able to commit and tell that story.

Regardless, let's be real.

It is interesting and kind of suspicious how Crocodile does just happen to be introduced around the same time the rest of Luffy's family was first shown to us, even if we didn't know Garp and Dragon were Luffy's family yet (this was also the same time the first canon queer character was introduced; Oda was playing around with queer characters during Crocodile's introduction, possibly testing the waters to see what he could get away with?) During the CP9 Saga we got the Miss Goldenweek cover story, where we see what's become of Crocodile after the fall of Baroque Works. This is of course adding to the world building of the CP9 Saga (where we're told the criminals who go through Enies Lobby are either sent to Impel Down or to Marineford; so us finding out Crocodile's gone to ID is playing off of what we knew would become of Robin and Franky and the Strawhats not come to rescue them. AND it's foreshadowing for the Summit War Saga), but also, soon after we were reminded of Crocodile and told where he's been sent off to, we were finally formally introduced to Garp and Dragon (Garp having already been mentioned by Aokiji at the begining of the Saga). And we close off the Saga watching Ace and Blackbeard have their fateful match. So again, Crocodile was on Oda's mind around the same time the rest of Luffy's family was. And indeed, after Thriller Bark we then move onto Summit War proper, where Oda does all The Things we would considder The Groundwork for Crocodad, most important being the introduction of Ivankov and their Devil Fruit. But again, just like before, Crocodile just happens to be there at the same time as this saga, which really heavily focuses on Luffy's family, plays out. While we learn about Dragon's secretive nature and connection to Iva-chan, Garp's feelings for the boys, Ace's struggle with his heritage and Luffy's love for him, Sabo and Garp... Yeah, Crocodile's just... Also there.

Whenever Oda starts dwelling into Luffy's family, Crocodile is always there. It's a bizarre coincidence if nothing else.

(And oh won't you look at that, Crocodile has once again become a plot relevant character, just in time for The Final Saga where Dragon has also started becoming actually plot relevant as well)

All of this to say, again.

The fact that Oda has refused to tell us anything about Luffy's other parent is sus, and to me indicates that either although unusual for him Oda genuinely just doesn't give a damn about Luffy's other parent, or he's been trying to play it safe for years so that if he ever got the opportunity, he could give Luffy two dads. (Or maybe there's some other twist that has nothing to do with Crocodile, that is possible too, I just feel like if that was the case then why hide it for 27 years?)

Whatever the case, I'm sure Oda knows the truth.

And I'm sure we will find out the truth eventually, be it on the pages of the comic or in the SBS.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

hey guys! just dropped him to say that charles xavier is a screamer in bed wait what who said that omg!!!

obligatory mention of charles xavier's soundproofed walls is Obligatory