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laracrofted · 1 year

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baby, i'm high octane (i)

synopsis: nora rogers has made a name for herself in the documentary world, but lately, she's been running on empty. and then, with impeccable timing, her aunt charlie calls about an eight-week project in san diego: a feature on naval aviation's newest and most elite squadron. she accepts.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc), minor bradley bradshaw x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, existential dread, alcohol consumption, slutty (affectionate) rooster, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers!

note: i have been working on this for many, many months, and every time i went back to edit it, it gained another 500 words, so i need to put it out in the world for my own sake. hope you enjoy!

read on AO3 | series post | next chapter

tagging: @theharddeck as usual, some mutuals (@anniesocsandgeneralstore @roleycoleyland), plus some folks who were nice about the halloween fic (@peakyrogers @t-nd-rfoot @double-j) let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

[ OPENING CRAWL ]

On March 3, 1969, the UNITED STATES NAVY established an elite school for the top one percent of its pilots. Its purpose was to teach the LOST ART OF AERIAL COMBAT and to ensure that the handful of men (and now women) who graduated were the BEST FIGHTER PILOTS IN THE WORLD. They succeeded.

The Navy calls it Fighter Weapons School. You might know it better as TOP GUN.

The DAGGER SQUADRON is Naval Aviation’s newest and most elite squadron, exclusively made up of patch wearers. Here are their stories…

[ CUE MUSIC AND FADE TO BLACK ]

Back in California for less than 24 hours, and Nora already longs for the cobblestone streets and late night espressos and dear god, the accents of the past six months.

She is used to being on the move. Living out of an expertly packed suitcase, down to a science now. Never quite settling down.

Any documentary filmmaker worth their salt learns early to stay light on their feet, ready at a moment’s notice to get the call that takes them halfway around the globe and brings them the quote, unquote next great story.

This…was a different sort of call.

“You want me to go to San Diego? Why?”

It was well past midnight in France, which made it more or less dinner time on the other side of the Atlantic. For Charlie Blackwood, a perfectly acceptable time to ring her favorite niece, but Nora had to take the call out on the small balcony that was attached to her hotel room.

Documentaries weren’t the same as Hollywood films with their wider box office appeal and George Clooney-type stars. Funding was measly in comparison, so Nora bunked with one of the producers for the Paris leg. She and Jenna had worked together before a couple years back, and while Nora knew her to be sugar sweet from dawn to dusk, the 30-year-old woman did not fuck around with her skincare routine and her eight hours.

At this time of night on a non-weekend, Paris didn’t have much street noise, but Nora was still certain Charlie’s connection must’ve cut out somewhere in the middle of her sentence. Or maybe Nora had heard her wrong.

International calls could be so fickle sometimes. Right?

“Let me get this straight. You’re asking if I want to leave Paris to go to San Diego…” Nora repeated slowly, leaving ample breathing room between each word, plenty of time for Charlie to cut in and correct her, “and meet with your ex-boyfriend about some Naval feature? We don’t even like him.”

“You can call him Maverick,” Charlie replied evenly, “Everybody else does.”

Nora pulled a face. “I’ll call him Pete. How’s that?”

“He’ll definitely ask you to call him Maverick.”

“And I’ll still call him Pete.”

Charlie’s answering sigh was loud in her ear, even through the static, and Nora smiled down at her shoes. She took a careful step around the bite-sized table, stacked precariously full with her laptop, camera, and notepad, and planted her elbows on the railing. Metal creaked gently under her weight.

“Pete… will be fine,” Charlie relented, “and really, Pete is fine in my book. We’re just… two old acquaintances who wanted different things and were never going to work out in the long term. Besides, from what I hear, Penny Benjamin is his new sweetheart now. Well, new old sweetheart.”

She didn’t know who Penny Benjamin was. Must be a real saint to put up with him.

“Good. He won’t be knocking on your door the next time the Navy sends him to Washington to accept some medal then, right?”

Nora was seventeen the last time Pete Mitchell came knocking on Charlie Blackwood’s door; around eighteen months after Nora’s mom died, making Charlie her legal guardian. He happened to be in town for some medal or some ceremony or some medal at some ceremony.

He left in the dead of night, out the window, and Charlie spent the next two weeks muttering curses about hotshot pilots and their charismatic bullshit.

“That was almost twelve years ago, Nora,” Charlie chided, much less fun Aunt Charlie and much more diplomatic Charlotte Blackwood, employed by the Pentagon in that moment. Nora rolled her eyes.

“And anyway,” Charlie continued, not letting her get another word in, “Maverick isn’t the main contact. You’d only meet with him because All Hands…” A Naval magazine, print and digital, funding the project, as Charlie had explained in her initial one long sentence explanation before Nora had been distracted by the who and the where. “…wants to focus on his team. Everything is already approved. All you, my love, would need to do is get the golden seal from Cyclone to head it up. He’s the Air Boss over there.”

“Now Cyclone is a name that I don’t know,” Nora said, then swiped out of the call to look up the definition of Air Boss. “Doesn’t sound like a name made up by a 13-year-old boy who plays too much Call of Duty. He a Captain too?”

“Vice Admiral. You can meet him on your first day,” and Nora’s lips parted in protest, to say that was a little presumptuous, given she hadn’t agreed to anything and was still half a world away working on something else. Charlie cut her off, right at the knees: “Don’t start with me. Your Paris job wraps in what… four, five days?

Three, but Nora didn’t correct her.

“Normally, by now, I would be getting half a dozen calls every week from you, gushing about what you’ve got going on next; whatever place you’ll be jetting off to this time. This is the first time I’ve talked to you in at least two weeks,” Guilt pinged at her chest, along with a large helping of existential dread. “Have you even signed on to anything new?”

No. And Nora was doing jack shit to change that.

Her producer was already signed on for a film that would start pre-production ten weeks from now. It was a big one, lots of people to bring on board, and Jenna – literal angel in human form Jenna offered to pass Nora’s name along for consideration.

Nora still hadn’t given an answer.

She worried the edge of her lip but said nothing, and Charlie must’ve taken that as encouragement enough to continue on. “It’ll be a short project. Gives you enough time to find something new that excites you. Just… go to North Island and talk to Cyclone. You need a break.”

Late May breezed across her cheeks, smelling of the sweet pink and white cherry blossoms in bloom at a nearby park. She’d passed it nearly every day, afraid that the end of May would come and Nora wouldn’t ever see them in full bloom before having to leave. They bloomed two weeks ago, almost overnight, and Nora knew that June loomed and with it, the end of another project.

All that remained was uncertainty.

She did need a break, though Nora wasn’t sure that anyone other than her aunt and herself would consider working on another documentary to be a break. She couldn’t remember the last time Charlie had even taken a sick day. They were born and bred workaholics the both of them, and usually, Nora thrived on that.

But lately, Nora was so tired.

Another project could be good for me, Nora thought. Fewer eyes and expectations, without the pressure of acclaim and awards and future grants and questions of what are you doing next tightening like a noose around her neck. It’d be a one and done. She could do that.

“Alright,” Nora said, feeling a little lighter from letting the words loose. That was reassuring, at least. “Start from the beginning. How’d you find out about it? Who are the subjects? What’s the goal?”

Smile audible in her voice, Charlie started again, “Here is what I know…”

They wrapped mid-week with the usual fanfare, and the next day, Nora was packed and on a plane back home to Southern California.

Nora could already tell the Vice Admiral was ready to have the screening process over and done with. He barely asked her any questions before shaking her hand and foisting her onto Admiral Bates who ran her through the rules and regulations for getting onto the base and her accommodations.

Since Nora was freelancing for a Naval magazine, the United States government would be putting her up for the duration of the project. God bless America. She did not want to find a last minute hotel room in San Diego in June.

After obtaining a temporary ID card and a neat stack of manilla folders, probably filled with generously redacted background and service records, Nora is promptly deposited in the beachside parking lot of a steel-blue apartment building, faded from sun and brine, with a whole night ahead.

Showering off the plane eats up a few minutes, as does replying to the check-in email that the magazine contact sent over this afternoon. They would talk more over the weekend and into next week. It was difficult to connect with the time difference, so Charlie had guided the initial communication.

Calling Charlie drains another half hour, while Nora hums in all the right places and fights to keep her eyes open, chiming in with the occasional observation about North Island and tidbit about the conversation with Cyclone and Warlock.

“What’d you think of Cyclone?”

She stares at the blank wall across from the bed – all that wide open space and not an art print in sight – and thinks back.

Cyclone leveled an impassive stare at her over the folder that held her portfolio – apparently faxed over by Charlie before Nora had even agreed to come – and said, “This is an unusual circumstance. Most of the nepotism hires that come across my desk are aiming higher than an eight week contractor.”

She’d bitten her cheek to hold back a laugh, and Admiral Bates let out a suspiciously timed cough, hiding his mouth behind a balled fist.

“He was kind of hot,” Nora admits, then has to hold the phone away from her ear to not be deafened by Charlie’s laughter. “What? Just because I lack a father figure, I’m not allowed to appreciate an older man every now and then?”

“Sure, but I think I’ll draw the line at Maverick.”

Nora does her best projectile vomit noise, and Charlie laughs so hard that Mr. Charlotte Blackwood – as Nora affectionately likes to call Charlie’s husband John, who always accepted it with a congenial smile that only made her like him more – shouts from another room, wanting to know what exactly is so hilarious.

She won’t see Pete Mitchell until Monday, and after promising to tell him that Charlie says hello and sends her best to him and this Penny Benjamin woman, Nora hangs up the phone.

It’s barely 8 PM, and Nora wants nothing more than to crawl under the covers and leech the travel from her bones, but the San Diego sun is stubborn and high on the horizon. She knows her own body well enough to know that an 8 PM bedtime makes for a 3 AM bout of insomnia.

Boredom finds Nora perched on a cushioned barstool, a fresh t-shirt on her torso and a new coat of red lipstick on her lips, in the crowded Hard Deck bar. Sipping on an Old Fashioned, chatting with none other than Penny Benjamin.

“Charlie Blackwood,” Penny Benjamin repeats, a surprised but amiable smile on her face. A brown leather jacket sits over her slender shoulders, the same warm shade as her hair, and Nora spots a United States Navy patch on the sleeve. “God, I haven’t seen Charlie in… 30 years now. She may have told you, but I met her once or twice at Top Gun, back before my old man, the great Admiral Benjamin, retired. How’s she doing?”

“She’s good,” Nora offers, adding as an afterthought, just in case Penny Benjamin was the jealous type. “Married now.”

Penny sends her a sidelong look, narrow-eyed, that must make the fresh-faced Top Gun hopefuls cower in their regulation boots. Behind the glass, Nora’s lips curve into an amused smirk.

Things must be going well. Good for them.

Nora swirls the amber liquid, fishing out an extra cherry from the bottom and popping it into her mouth. “She sends her well wishes. She’d probably want me to give you a hug or something, but I think I’d fall on my ass trying to lean over the counter. Consider yourself lucky.”

“You can give my hug to Pete, but only if I’m there to witness.”

“Distinguished Captain Mitchell isn’t much of a hugger? I’m shocked.”

“Are you kidding?” Penny fills another pint glass for a patron a few barstools down, sliding it down the counter and looking back at Nora with an amused twinkle. “He’ll turn into a robot. He won’t know how to react. Make sure to ask one of the boys to record it for you so I can blackmail him with it forever.”

Imagining it, Nora is still smiling when Penny’s name calls her to the other side of the counter. Leaving her alone to people-watch and observe the establishment with a filmmaker’s eye.

Miniature planes hang from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze that cuts in with the opening and closing of the door. A wood island separates one side of the bar from the other, stacked high with an assortment of colorful glass bottles that gleam in the fading sunlight.

A golden wash spills through the back windows, and the Hard Deck is filling up fast with civilians, veterans, and servicemen alike. They’re the easiest to spot, wearing their service khakis and all.

Music swells through the bar, and Nora spies a jukebox in the corner, drawing a line five deep, all waiting for their turn to select the next 1980s classic. She recognizes the current song from her white dad music playlist.

‘Take It Easy’ by Eagles. Track four, baby.

Over her shoulder, a tight-knit crowd surrounds the pool table. They throw jeers and jokes at each other with familiarity, and Nora watches them for a moment too long, dragging her tired eyes away when one of them starts to turn in her direction.

She checks her phone, under the bar, not on top, of course, unless Nora wants to buy the whole room a round. A little after 8:30 now. She just needs a kill another hour or so, and then, that’ll feel like an acceptable time to crawl into bed and sleep for the next ten hours.

Fingers dancing through her tote, Nora fishes out her favorite journal, setting it down flat on the least sticky surface she can find. Leather-bound, stuffed to the brim with colorful sticky notes and touch-creased photographs. Further searches reveal that Nora left her pens back at the apartment, somewhere in one of those suitcases that had gotten packed and unpacked in an attempt to burn time.

“Do you have a spare pen?”

A blue pen rolls over to her waiting hands as Penny passes with a wink and dashes down the counter to fill a round of drinks. She has that endless energy that Nora needs a few coffees to achieve.

Thinking it makes Nora’s lids feel even heavier.

Tracks switch again on the jukebox, and Nora hums along to the new song, another winning installment on her white dad music playlist. Has the United States Navy hacked her Spotify account or something? She cuts through the pages like a surfboard through an ocean wave to find a fresh page, and Nora spins the pen between manicured fingers, mouthing the lyrics to ‘Dancing in the Dark’ under her breath.

Her brain is a firework show, thoughts shooting off high and fast, bursting into a million different directions. Loud and colorful. She can be like this on her best day, but a severe lack of sleep – or in this case, horrible jet lag – makes it a million times worse.

A long blank stare at the page later, Nora manages to piece a few words together into what might resemble a coherent thought, with emphasis on the word might here.

And right as Nora clicks the pen and presses it down on the page, denting the lined paper beneath the blue ink, an empty pint glass is set down on the counter, a few inches from her left hand. A whiff of cologne fills her nostrils, a little overbearing but still pleasant.

Fingers drum against the wood, in time with the music, and determined, despite the distraction, to pin down the semi-coherent thoughts that are now fleeing like scattered mice, Nora reaches for her drink and finds it empty save for half-melted ice and an orange rind.

“Buy you another one, sweetheart?”

She looks up, in spite of herself, and damn.

He is handsome as hell, heart-aching levels of handsome, a little like looking into the sun. Like a goddamn movie star, all broad shoulders and perfect, slicked back blonde hair, and easy confidence that fits him like a well-worn shirt.

He plucks the rocks glass easily from her stunned grip, holding it between two fingers, a loose, almost careless hold, and damn her to hell, Nora swallows against her suddenly dry mouth.

She really needs to go to bed. Among other things.

Green eyes study the contents of the glass, then flick back over to her, and Nora is hit with the full force of a mega-watt smile.

Dimples out. Ready to film a tooth-whitener commercial.

“Bourbon girl? I’m impressed.”

“Why?” Nora drawls, and hell, the word comes out of her mouth a little rough. Get it together. Put away the bedroom voice. She clears the cobwebs from her throat. “Because I look like I’d order a cosmopolitan in a dive bar and act surprised when I’m given a vodka cran?”

He seems to take look as an invitation, dragging his eyes over the soft t-shirt, a little damp over the shoulders from her shower, and the faded blue jeans that hang loosely from her legs, an old pair with a rip in the knee big enough that Nora might soon need to give them a second life as shorts.

His appraisal stalls out on her blood-red lips, tracing the shape of them, getting the lay of the land. And then, slowly rises back to meet her gaze. All the while, smiling like a pageant contestant.

“Name’s Hangman.”

Record scratch. He’s a pilot.

Goddamn pilots.

“That doesn’t sound like a name,” Nora drawls back, matching his conceited-ass smile with her freshly chilled ice-cold bitch smirk. “And I can buy my own drinks.”

Rudeness isn’t her drug of choice, but Nora clocks him as a tough one. A swift one-two ego punch should do the trick, rejecting his advance and mocking his precious call sign in one fell swoop. Aviators toss those around more than their actual names.

He’ll leave now.

She stares him down, and Mr. Pilot stares right back, eyes amused and sparkling in the twinkling lights dancing right above the bar, tucked between the steins.

Any minute now.

He doesn’t move an inch, and if possible, the Barbie and Ken smile grows even wider on his perfect face. He’s so hot, Nora kinda wants to break his nose just to make something on his face crooked.

“It’s my call sign.”

She is so tired. It trips off her tongue, almost out of habit: “Well, I’m not calling you Hangman. What’s your actual name?”

Why…. Why would those words come out of her mouth, instead of the ‘Get lost, Malibu Barbie’ that was locked and loaded in the back of her mind? Damn damn damn.

She doesn’t fool around with pilots, not after Charlie’s history with Pete Mitchell and her own Air Force sperm donor who couldn’t be bothered to call more than once a year. And especially not, when Nora will be working on the base for the next two months. What if Nora ran into him?

The edge of Hangman’s mouth twitches into a slow, dangerous smile, and Nora catches a flash of his canines, ultra-white like the rest of his teeth.

She fiddles with the pen cap, rolling and bending it between her pointer finger and thumb. Waits impatiently for him to give her an answer that gives her the opening needed to send him packing, back to the pool table to make better use of his bulging arm muscles over there.

Some co-ed girls push behind him, stumbling and giggling to each other, and in stepping out of their way, Hangman inches forward into her space. Breath warm at her nape, stirring the pale strands loose at her cheekbones, too short to remain tucked behind her ears without a fight.

Clever fingers capture one and brush it back into place, softly brushing against the side of her neck. His words are a low, hot rumble against the shell of her ear: “It’s Jake. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”

Oh, Nora thinks, warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with the sticky heat of the night. Oh shit.

She has the borrowed pen in a chokehold, gripping it hard enough to redden her fingertips, and Hangman – now Jake notices. His grin widens, and Nora forces herself to loosen the hold, to let the blood flow back into her hands, to regain some of her composure.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Not a question this time, so Nora doesn’t need to give him a yes or no.

He’s offered a loophole, one around her own better judgment, without even realizing it. She can just drop her shoulders with casual indifference, as if to say if you insist, and turn back to her journal. Pretend not to feel his intent, most definitely intrigued gaze on the side of her face.

It’s a free drink, and Nora’s hardly encouraging him. What is the harm, really?

A smug smile crosses his face when Penny comes over, an unreadable expression on her face, and Nora doesn’t stop him from ordering another Old Fashioned. He’s close enough now to feel the evening heat radiating from his tan skin, exposed where the sleeves of his t-shirt cut across his biceps.

Nora is not enabling anything. Not at all.

Rooster is on the last swallow of his beer when Phoenix looks over his shoulder and groans, a dramatic and drawn-out sound that would’ve made her an excellent soap opera star in a different life. He barely has time to snort before Bob appears at her side, a look of sudden concern on his clean-shaven face.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re never getting our next round.” Phoenix rigidly jerks her head in the direction that Hangman disappeared a few minutes ago. Too long ago, now that Rooster thinks about it. “Bagman got distracted.”

This is enough to bring the rest of the Daggers to attention. They round the pool table one by one, incited by the suggestion that Hangman might get out of buying them drinks.

“Distracted,” Payback lets out a sardonic snort. He leans on the pool cue like a walking stick, towering over the rest of them with Rooster seated. “He probably forgot to order the round. Idiot.”

“I don’t blame him,” Fanboy drawls, looking to the center of the room, waggling his brows. “I think I’d let her distract me anytime, anywhere. Is that not the hottest woman you’ve ever seen step foot in this bar?” His eyes go wide, almost panicked, darting to the only woman in their ranks. “No offense, Phoenix.”

Phoenix shows no sign of hearing him, and Rooster and Payback share a disbelieving look over the WSO’s head, snickering underneath their amazing mustaches. Lucky son of a bitch.

“Poor girl,” Phoenix muses with a slow shake of her head, sending her loose curls cascading over her shoulders. “Someone needs to launch a rescue mission. He’s practically drooling into her glass. And…” Something changes in her expression. “Did I hit my head in the cockpit this afternoon and not remember it? Does that girl look familiar to anyone else?”

“Never seen her before in my life,” Payback says, slapping his WSO on the shoulder, which seems to give Fanboy the confidence to add in, “I’d love to get further acquainted though. Think I can swoop in and steal her from Hangman?”

Phoenix has already pulled out her phone, paying no attention to the round of low chuckles and smirks that are shared between the men. Her fingers skate across the screen, faster than an F-18 on descent, and Rooster looks over his shoulder to get in on the joke.

It takes him all of two seconds to find them, mostly because Hangman has just flashed that thousand-watt smile that could probably blind an enemy dogfighter.

He leans against the counter, the cocky bastard, with a pint glass in his hand – one that should be in all of their hands right now. Not an empty glass filled with an inch of foam. Looking down at the barstool next to him, or more specifically, at the woman perched there.

Slender, blonde, dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, and most definitely a civilian. He can’t accurately weigh in on Fanboy’s assessment, at least until Rooster can catch a glimpse of her face.

“I knew it!”

All of them startle when Phoenix makes the announcement and looks up from her phone with the victorious expression of someone who’d just shot down Maverick in a dogfight. She waves her phone in front of their faces, too fast for him to make out more than a blur of words and pictures.

“I fucking knew it. I follow her on Instagram.” And the wide smile on Phoenix’s face be described as nothing short of gleeful gloating. She cackles to herself, leaning over to show the screen to Bob again. “And you little shits made fun of me for loving documentaries so much. Who’s laughing now?”

Documentaries….

Recognition tugs at the edge of his drunken memory.

“Her name is – ”

She turns, and Rooster sees her face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rooster calls out, and Phoenix and Bob startle at the sudden change in volume, brown and blue eyes shooting up from the phone like Rooster blared an airhorn between their heads. He ignores them. “Am I seeing things, or Nora fucking Rogers, is that you?”

Everyone in a 10-foot radius looks at him, exchanging looks and eye rolls, dismissing him as belligerent but harmless, but Rooster ignores them, keeping his eyes locked on one woman.

Cornflower blue eyes survey the crowded room, sifting through the noise to place the voice, and finally, land on him. Surprise softens her features. And as the jukebox switches tracks, another crooning 1980s love song pouring through the speakers, Nora Rogers smiles at him for the first time in half a decade.

“Bradley Bradshaw, from beyond the grave.”

It really is him. This… six-foot-something hallucination with tree-trunk arms and a ridiculous porn star mustache and a familiar gleam in his eyes that spelled trouble. Did Charlie know Bradley would be here? She might’ve mentioned that. Nora looks up at him… and up again, because goddamn, were all Naval aviators so fucking tall?

An awkward beat passes where Bradley and Nora seem to grapple for the right greeting for a person you hadn’t seen in years and hadn’t seen all that often in the first place and mutually, come up empty-handed.

They’d met all of four or five times over the years, courtesy of the long-distance friendship that blossomed between Aunt Charlie and his mother Carole after Pete had left his Top Gun instructor post and shipped out again. She could use the extra friend without her husband, Charlie had said.

And then, Nora got older and became Charlie’s backup plus one to some Naval Aviation functions, usually thrown by Top Gun graduates who passed through when Charlie was a civilian instructor. She’d see him there every once in a while, all grown up and pursuing his dreams of becoming a pilot.

And then, Nora thinks absently, there was that one time…

She should’ve remembered that Bradley Bradshaw is a hugger.

Making up his mind for them both, Bradley reaches out and tugs her against his chest. And for one moment, Nora can feel the muscled strength of his arms banded around her torso, the firmness of his chest underneath the open Hawaiian shirt and incredibly thin white tank; can practically make out the ridges of his abs through the fabric.

It is barely longer than a brief squeeze, but as Nora pulls back, an unnatural but not entirely unexpected lightness buzzes in her chest. She is quick to blame it on the lack of sleep and dark liquor coursing through her veins.

She is feeling all kinds of strange tonight.

Like earlier, when Jake Seresin handed over the Old Fashioned, an unshakable curl to his lips, and as Nora took a delicate sip, watched the movement with half-lidded eyes; the muscles that worked in her throat. Like Jake wanted nothing more than to follow the path with his mouth, and Nora could picture him sprawled across her bed, clear as a snapshot: chests heaving, sweat dripping, tongue dragging across her pulse point, his large hand a collar around her throat.

Right then. Silly little thoughts like that.

Nora clears her throat, tugging at the neckline of her tee, and almost unbidden, like a magnetic pull, her gaze wanders back to him, standing in nearly the exact same spot at the bar, collecting a round of drinks. He apparently owed the group for the last pool game or something.

She can’t help but notice a new tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. She can tell, having been slightly too preoccupied with the strong line of his shoulders over at the bar for her own liking. He’d seemed so casual at the bar, so relaxed.

Is Jake mad? At Bradley, for interrupting them? At Nora, for coming over here?

These seem to be his friends. He was playing pool with them after all, up until Jake approached her at the bar. And Nora was hardly even talking to him at the bar, scribbling in her notebook and entertaining the occasional question as Jake seemed content to stand at her shoulder and watch.

“What’s your name?”

“What’re you doing in Fightertown?”

“What do you do for work?”

“A filmmaker? Like Quentin Tarantino?”

And Nora had been incised enough to set her pen down and stare him down. “I make documentaries, and if I did make movies, I’d at least like to be compared to someone decent. Not some piece-of-shit asshole director.”

His brows rose, but Jake looked unperturbed. “Like who?”

“Like… I don’t know, Nora Ephron or Greta Gerwig. You probably don’t even know who Nora Ephron is, do you? Do you also think Fight Club is a love letter to toxic masculinity?”

He exhaled a laugh, brows still halfway to his hairline, and opened his mouth to reply when Bradley called her name, and Nora was gone before Jake could get another word in.

Still. Seeing him look so… Tense? Dejected? Annoyed?

It makes her feel off-kilter.

Maybe Jake just wanted to chat her up at the bar and go back to his friends, not to be bothered for the rest of the night. She’s ruined that plan by coming over here, invited or not. It shouldn’t matter. She can’t stop herself from wondering anyway. God. Why do you even care?

She doesn’t know him, and after tonight, she’ll likely never see him again.

He starts to turn, and Nora slingshots her gaze back to Bradley, refusing to be caught watching him, who is looking down – and down – with a rose-colored hue to his face. A pair of aviator sunglasses sit crookedly over his eyes, showing her reflection.

She takes a half-step back to not have to crane her neck so much to meet his eyes. Raises her voice to be heard over the music, much closer to the jukebox now. “What are you doing here? I might be out of the loop, but didn’t you already graduate from Top Gun? Like many, many years ago?”

“She’s calling you old, Rooster,” Jake cuts in, reappearing and passing out the few bottles and glasses around the circle. Seven total, including another Old Fashioned that Nora probably doesn’t need but still accepts. He shoots her a wink over the glass. “You gonna take that, man?”

“I was not, you jackass,” Nora shoots back, the second Old Fashioned blurring the lines between her brain and her mouth.

Jake settles against the pool table in a casual stance, arms crossed across his chest, biceps bulging. She must’ve imagined the earlier tension. He seems fine now, watching her with a smirk.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here. Answer the question, Bradshaw.”

Bradley’s laugh is a little loud, a little unsteady. One look at the nearest hightop table, littered with empty beer bottles and pint glasses, tells her everything she needs to know.

Bradley Bradshaw is tipsy. Color shines high in his cheeks.

“‘What am I doing here?’ You’re on a Naval base, darling, which makes me,” Bradley pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and with the hand holding the new beer bottle, gestures to his own chest. Covered in that shirt that is… not hiding much, “the law around these parts. I ask the questions around here.” A dark-haired woman rolls her eyes behind his back. “What the hell are you doing here, civilian? You following me around now?”

Oh wow. He’s so drunk.

“In your dreams.”

She doesn’t like the look on his face; doesn’t trust what drunk Bradley might spit out next in a public setting, so Nora brings them back to more even ground, summarizing everything with a short and sweet, “I’m doing Charlie a favor” that is more or less true. Gives him the barest rundown of her past 48 hours, all too aware of the four Naval aviators standing within earshot, shooting her curious glances and waiting for an introduction.

“It’s your turn now.”

“We were here on a special detachment. Eight months ago. Top secret shit,” Bradley offers in an oh so serious tone. All of his concentration seems to go towards hiding a smile. It’s given away by the obvious twitch of his mustache, dampening the effect slightly. “I can’t talk about it, or Cyclone will shoot me out of an airlock.”

“We’re on the ground, Rooster.”

“Semantics, Payback. He will take me up into the atmosphere in an F-18 just to shoot me into space. And then, probably like, come down here and have one black coffee in victory. Happy now?”

Nora offers, “I actually have some security clearance.”

Some was probably an exaggeration. Charlie set her up with a director who needed an assistant, back when Nora really needed another project under her belt to build her portfolio. Lightly sensitive, all for internal use, of course.

“No shit. Aren’t you special?”

Drenched in sarcasm, but Bradshaw is looking at her over the edge of his pint glass with a hint of something else in his brown eyes.

Nope. No. Not going there tonight.

“Now, Bradshaw.” She delivers a light slap to his chest, and Bradley looks down, amused. It’s a little more familiar than Nora was going for. She probably didn’t need another drink. “When are you going to stop being rude and introduce me?”

His arm settles over her shoulders, swiveling her like a Hard Deck barstool to face the rest of the group. They go down the line, one by one. Call signs, then their first and last names, upon request because Nora refuses to call a bunch of grown men things like Rooster and Fanboy. Phoenix is actually a damn cool name.

Phoenix, Fanboy, Payback, and Bob.

Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, and Bob again.

“And Hangman,” Jake finishes, a pronounced twang in his voice that Nora didn’t notice before. She was missing the accents earlier, wasn’t she? “We met at a little spot not far from here. I was the devastatingly handsome man buying you a drink.”

“Sorry,” Nora shoots back, all calm and collected. “I don’t think I know a Hangman. Doesn’t sound like a real name to me.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Jake.”

“It’s all coming back now.” And Nora doesn’t mean for it to come out so quiet, so intimate. “Hi Jake.”

He flashes her a dimpled grin, all soft edges. “Hi Nora.”

It’s so damn charming that Nora has to bite back an unbidden smile, but with the high-speed attention of an F-18 pilot, Jake catches it, the smug son of a bitch. He lifts his beer to his mouth and shoots her a heated look that curls her toes inside her boots.

“So,” Phoenix interjects, glancing between them with an all too knowing look that makes Nora flush. “Who is up for another round of pool?”

She should’ve stuck to her original plan, which would have seen her leave over an hour ago. Already curled up under the sheets for a long, much-needed sleep by now.

But Nora is having too much fun, sitting on a barstool near the pool table, watching the game and listening to them trade insults and stories (just the non-classified ones, of course) back and forth. All of them seem to know each other well, and Nora learns early on that Captain Mitchell recruited them for this special top-secret detachment a few months back.

“We’re still here under Maverick as an actual squadron now. We’re… I’m sorry, I’m not exactly sure what I can and can’t tell you,” Bob explains, cutting himself off with a sheepish expression. He is damn cute, clean-shaven and baby-faced. Easygoing. He reminds her a little of a duckling, jabs rolling off his back like water. “You can ask Maverick on Monday. Are you just following him around with a camera or…?”

She gives him the quick run-down, well aware that the Daggers are all within earshot now, not even pretending not to eavesdrop on the conversation. “It will probably be a good bit of interviews and additional footage. It’s not just about Captain Mitchell. I’ll be focusing on the whole team.”

“We’ll probably be seeing a lot of you then.”

It is a perfectly nonchalant observation, but Nora’s heart does a stuttered thump-thump in her chest, the exact same realization piercing through her intoxicated brain way too late. If Maverick is their CO, then Bob is on the team that Nora will be profiling in the feature. All of them are. Which means...

She will be seeing them. Probably every single day.

Nora manages to get out an even, “I guess so.”

She remembers the cardboard box of files, sitting unopened next to her overturned suitcase, and wants to bang her head against a wall. Instead, Nora washes down the overwhelming sense of uh oh with a too-quick gulp of her drink. Green eyes burn against the side of her face, stinging like the bourbon in her nostrils.

Natasha drops onto the next barstool over, providing the perfect distraction from her thoughts. She’s just landed an impressive sequence of shots against Mickey and Reuben, who now stand staring down at the table, hands on hips in identical stances of contemplation.

“I follow you on Instagram,” Natasha admits, snagging her beer bottle from a nearby table and waving off the popcorn that Bob offers her. “And I have to tell you. I have invited these idiots over to watch documentaries with me more times than I can even remember. Tried different topics too. Bob is the only one who ever comes over. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.”

“Oh, I won’t. I can smell a fraud a mile away,” Nora reassures, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes to match the other woman, “but I, for one, would love an invitation to watch a documentary with you. Make it a weekly thing while I’m here.”

And Natasha grins wide enough to inspire warm and fuzzy feelings in her chest. Is this what budding friendship felt like? She has been on the move so much lately. She’d almost forgotten.

“Nora is my friend, Phoenix,” Bradley cuts in, sunglasses sliding further and further down his nose. His large hand comes up to deliver a playful push to the other woman’s shoulder. “Stop trying to steal her away from me. Get your own friend.”

“We’re friends now, are we, Bradshaw?” Nora can’t help her laugh, slightly mocking, light enough not to be mistaken as rejection. “I haven’t seen you in like… five years. You probably don’t even know my birthday.”

He pouts. “Phoenix doesn’t know your birthday either.”

“It’s in August. She posted about it on her Instagram.”

“Go away, Phoenix,” Bradley reaches across her again to push at Natasha harder. He loses his balance a little bit and nearly topples into Nora’s lap, only caught by Phoenix shoving against his shoulder. “Don’t let her do this, Rogers. You’re breaking my heart here.”

“You’re drunk,” Nora giggles, an honest to god giggle, only reserved for drunk Nora. Sober Nora laughs. Drunk Nora giggles. It’s usually a sign to call it a night. “You’re drunk, and I think… I think I might be drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk.”

Nice. Real professional. Getting drunk on the night before her first day and with none other than the only team of pilots on North Island that she is guaranteed to see after tonight.

“Oh no….” Nora whispers through another giggle, and with a hand that feels disconnected from her arm, reaches up and pushes Bradley’s sunglasses back up his nose. His grin turns wolfish and… “I think I need to go home.”

“Or…”

“I can take you. Where’re you staying?”

Jake pulls his keys out of his pocket and dangles them from a finger, while Bradley straightens, with sudden coordination, to his full height. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha has paused mid-sip, watching with unadulterated interest, like Rooster and Hangman were the most interesting thing on television. Bob offers her the popcorn again, and Natasha takes a handful.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I stopped an hour ago, and I only had two.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“Did you not just say you haven’t seen her in five years?”

“She’s not going home with you.”

“Jesus Christ…” Jake scrubs a hand over his face, his growing irritation plain. “It’s a ride home, not an invitation to bed. You’d rather put her in a cab with a stranger than have me drive her home? What’s your problem?”

“My problem is – ”

Well. This is… rapidly descending into a testosterone fest.

She can feel a dull ache developing in her temple, a heaviness to her lids that is becoming harder to ignore. She needs a strong painkiller, about three and a half glasses of water, and a bed. Preferably tonight.

“Alright, I’m calling an Uber.”

She reaches for her phone, and Jake raises a placating hand.

“Don’t waste money on an Uber. I’ll take you home,” Jake repeats, looking pained, and then, Bradley Bradshaw opens his mouth and takes a big breath, gearing up to restart this idiotic argument.

“Bradshaw, I swear…” Nora presses her fingers to her forehead and closes her eyes. “In about five minutes, I might sleep on that pool table, so please, I will take what I can get. I’m staying at…” Did Warlock ever give her the address? Goddammit. “It’s… It’s like a blue apartment building next to the beach. It’s not far from here. Know what I’m talking about please.”

Exhaustion makes her blunt, but Jake looks amused again.. More amused than Nora would give herself credit for inspiring with her drunken rambles.

“I know it. We all live there.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Oh. Great.”

She really will see them every day, even on her days off.

Something flashes across Bradley’s face, too quick for her to clock it, but Nora is focused on putting hands on her phone, wallet, and keys. Hoisting her bag onto her arm.

“Well, I’ll come with you.”

“Rooster. Seriously?”

“No, I should probably call it a night too, and I caught a ride with Phoenix here anyway. I’ll come back with you guys.”

Jake and Bradley share a long stare-down that Nora is too tired to even process. It is some sort of telepathic conversation that must be exclusive to Top Gun graduates, or a silent dick-measuring contest. One of the two.

“Oh,” Phoenix observes, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “This’ll be interesting.”

Yeah, Nora thinks. It’ll be something alright.

It is a short ride back to the apartments. Bradley hums the words to ‘Great Balls of Fire’ under his breath the whole time, over and over in an unending loop, while Nora presses her forehead to the window, breath fogging the glass with the late night temperatures, and closes her eyes.

It does little to alleviate the weight of Jake’s gaze, dashing off the rearview mirror at every red light. He casts a sideways glance at Bradley, then opens his mouth to say something, but then Nora’s eyelids flutter closed and Jake remains silent, reaching for the radio knob to turn the volume down.

His truck finally rounds the last bend in the road and pulls into the lot, and Nora is damn near crawling out of her skin. She drank two full glasses of water at the bar before leaving. She isn’t buzzed enough at this point to blame the heady warmth on the alcohol. It’s him.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Jake expertly steers the truck, one-handed, into a spot along the front row of apartments. She can see her door from here, spotlighted under a second-floor flood light like a safe haven. “Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle until I’ve come to a full and complete…”

He’s barely tapped the brakes when Nora mumbles a good night and makes a run for the staircase.

“Alright then,” Jake calls after her through his open window, accent thick from drowsiness. “Good night to you too, sweetheart.”

She shuts her door on his raspy chuckle.

It echoes in her ears all the same, even after splashing freezing cold water on her neck, stripping off her clothes, and climbing into the bed with the slightly scratchy sheets. Lingers, like the brush of his fingertips down the side of her neck.

Nora heaves a sigh in the blue dark. “Goddammit.”

end note: likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. and if you have thoughts and feelings, please shout in my asks or my messages. i'd love to hear from you!

read the next chapter!

#am sweating posting this #so please tell me what you think #fic: baby i'm high octane #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x nora rogers #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick fic #laracrofted writes

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productivityera · 5 months

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Today was a getting back on my feet day

I have a really bad habit of just not replying to people who text me, not for days tbh. I think it is anxiety, but also I like to sit down and take time to read messages rather than have to stop whatever I'm doing. This is cos I get easily distracted, and if I stop what I'm doing to reply to someone, most likely I'll forget what I'm doing. Ya know?

The point is, it gives me so much anxiety to have a list of people who have texted me, and me not texting back. My mum suggested to a friend who had a similar issue to do this: at the same time every day, take time to respond to messages. This way, you don't have to reply to everyone right away, but you also don't leave people on read for more than a day. I think I could do this at my breakfast time?

Anyways, things I acheived today:

30 minute walk

Submitted some planned procreate sketches for a commission for feedback. Spent about 5 hours on this tbh (time flies when you do art :0)

Showered

Made a plan on google calendar things to do for the rest of the week, which leaves me times to study, do the commission, and do my own artwork.

A close family friend has asked me to do illustrations and design journal cards, which are kind of like tarot cards but you pick one out every day and write down the prompt. I have never had someone commission me anything before, especially such a big project. It's stressful, especially coming up to starting my small business for art.

I realize I've put a lot of pressure on myself to make these cards the start of my brand, but also my friend's vision for her work. I also have a due date for 30 cards, which is kind of a lot considering I want at least 15 original pieces, due on the 1st of December.

I really like doing these journal things on tumblr! They are like a debreif for the whole day, plus kind of a vent on what I'm struggling with.

ttyl!

#productivity #study motivation #studyspo #study #studyblr #university #essay #study blog #writing #100 days of productivity #journal #journalling #journal entry #commision #art #commisions #small business

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shuunnico · 19 days

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what do you do during the day?

Depends on my depression. I try and manage it the best I can but some days, when it's bad, I have no energy and will to do anything. It sucks, but I try and manage it as best I can using 'task' management.

People have about 6 hours of focused attention they can give before it gives out. So I try and use that as a benchmark. Depression can rob me of some (or, at worst all) of those hours, but I try and push through.

I aim for 6-12 tasks per day, averaging about 30-90 minutes per task. Tasks are "work" in that they are not leisure activities.

My consistent daily tasks are:

Doing an art study or tutorial to get better with art

Drawing something that I want to post

Work on my writing in general or work on an existing story

Walking/Exercise (for mental health, a bit of exercise)

Hygiene/Self Care*

Tasks that I spread multiple times throughout the week/month:

Working on a tabletop game (particularly the mechanics)

Cooking a meal/meals (actual prep, not just boiling pasta or throwing something in the oven)

Cleaning my apartment

Grocery shopping/errands/etc

Counseling/therapy

Medical appointments (nutrition/medication/etc)

Finances/budgeting

Doing a review of some sort (game/show/etc)

My leisure activities are:

Playing a video game

Watching movies/tv/etc

Reading/Listening to an audiobook

Chatting with friends

Watching youtube

I would put 'browse social media' as "leisure" but with how much psychic damage it deals to me, I hesitate to call it anything but masochism.

Overall, on the usual day, I do creative work about 6-8 hours a day, plus an additional 2-3 hours of other tasks. On a good day, I can spend 12+ hours on creative work.

I try and break up my 'tasks' with leisure activities throughout the day so I don't get completely burned out.

*I know it's lame to make this a 'task'. Depression has made it hard for me to care about taking care of myself. I do all the basic stuff, but also things like cognitive behavioral therapy, deep breathing and other things for my mental health.

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pteroducktyll · 9 months

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FtM Hysto Recovery + Tips (Plus general tips for dealing with low/no spoons or recovering from any surgery)

I haven't been on Tumblr for years, but recently re-joined to check out art, as I start to work on getting my idea for a graphic novel off the ground (as well as getting serious about improving my art again). However, I'm hoping these first few posts get found by an entirely different audience. This is being written in 2023.

I'm going in for a laparoscopic hysterectomy on Thursday (today is Monday) and want to share my experience, as much as spoons will allow, so that other people can hopefully benefit in the future. I, personally, have struggled to find things online that fit my situation as a trans man with a history of pre-cancerous pap smears, abnormal bleeding, PID and ovarian cysts (but not PCOS). Although hysterectomies for "GRS" or gender affirming surgery purposes are easy to get where I live, mine in particular is primarily being done to avoid cancer and to stop the abnormal bleeding and random debilitating pain that comes out of nowhere every few years and upends my life for weeks/months. So if you're someone facing the prospect of a laparoscopic hysterectomy, regardless of your gender identity, and have a history of medical issues (but not PCOS or endometriosis) in your reproductive region, this blog may help you! Or, alternatively, if you're a trans man looking to get a laparoscopic hysterectomy, whether or not you've had issues in that region, this might help you, too!

It should be noted that this is written from the perspective of someone in their 30s with a complicated medical history, including Type 2 Diabetes and a very rare kidney disease (which has an average life expectancy of 29 years for men, but we aren't sure how it affects trans men), so the pre-surgery process I've been through is not the typical one. I also have chronic pain and know from my past experiences with very severe pain that a) I have a low tolerance for any pain beyond what I deal with day-to-day and b) I have a high tolerance for opiate pain medication, which means it takes a higher dose for me to address the level of pain that a lower dose would address in someone else. These both affect the length of time that I'll likely need to be on painkillers, and how functional I'll be while I'm on them. This, in turn, affects how quickly I'll be able to do things like return to work and driving.

I should also note that although it's common in some places for this surgery to be completed as day surgery, my jurisdiction almost always keeps people in overnight; this is because it takes almost 24 hours for the anesthetic to work its way out of your system, and until it does they won't have a true indication of your pain levels and, therefore, won't be able to make sure it's adequately controlled before sending you home. It's much easier (in my experience, and according to the doctors!) to stop you from having pain in the first place than to get it under control once you do.

Also, I live with my partner and a roommate, and my retired parents are about 90 minutes away and have a guest room. My support network isn't huge, but it's high quality. My partner managed to get 3 days off work for my surgery and the 2 days following, and after that is on a light workload for about a week in case she needs to take care of me. She also has a lot of flexibility with her job, and her boss really likes me, so if there are complications or she needs to spend more time at home to look after me, I don't think it's completely out of the question. All of this is to say that I'm going into this surgery from a very privileged place, in terms of not having to do much to look after myself in the aftermath. My surgeon did advise me, however, to take 1 week (for sure) off work if I could, and that I may need a second week. My work consists of two research jobs that draw heavily on my brain power, but don't require me to move around at all, especially as I work from home, so the issue is the painkillers, rather than actual healing time. Other jobs will require different amounts of time off work.

Because I'm neurodivergent and like to have as many details as possible about ... literally everything, I'm going to make this as detailed as I can. Essentially, I'm hoping to share everything I know and experience without leaving anything out. If it's too much detail for you, I'm going to be doing my best to include useful headers.

Notification of Surgery & Lead-up

I received notice about my surgery just over a month before my surgery date; it was around June 26th that I was emailed and told my surgery would be on August 3rd. I had previously met my surgeon in January, and was told it would be a 6-8 month wait until surgery. Between that appointment and being given my surgery date, I'd had bloodwork done, as well as an internal ultrasound. I've had several internal ultrasounds before and while they are far from pleasant, they are not as dysphoria-inducing for me as they are for other trans men, I'm sure. I am more physically uncomfortable during them than mentally/spiritually uncomfortable.

In the notification email, my surgeon sent additional attachments; about 200 pages of information from a) their office specifically and b) the health authority [one document about hysterectomies, one document about recovering from surgery in general]. These documents answered most of my questions, and also had instructions about fasting, pre-surgery instructions (there's a special sponge I have to buy and use the night before surgery and the morning of surgery) and recovery information. The documents were very generic, and because they came from different sources, the information was sometimes contradictory. I, personally, took the information on board in this order of trustworthiness:

Things my surgeon had said in-person during my consultation appointment in January

Things included in the information from my surgeon's office directly

Things included in the documents from the health authority

If there were contradictions that seemed extremely important (e.g. one document said to wash everything my face with the special sponges, while another said, in all caps, to absolutely NOT wash my head or face with the sponges), I followed-up with the surgeon's office or the most appropriate person (e.g. pharmacist).

Pre-surgery Appointments

Because of my medical history (diabetes and Alport's Syndrome), I had an extra step in here. My surgeon required me to have a consultation with my internal medicine doctor's clinic (but not with my specialist) to get the all-clear and make sure my risk level wasn't too high. This doctor made some assumptions about the medications I'm taking, which led him to think I had both diabetes and a heart condition, which would have put me in a much higher risk category. Because of that, he ordered extra bloodwork, and an ECG, and booked a follow-up with me for a few days later. That initial appointment with him ended on the assumption that the surgery likely would be postponed. However, the bloodwork and ECG all came back fine, and at the follow-up he gave me the all-clear and said my risk wasn't very high at all.

I had a few other pre-surgery appointments.

One was with the surgeon. In my case, the doctor actually doing my surgery is a resident colleague of the surgeon I initially consulted with. Now that I had a specific date for the surgery, and my life situation had changed a bit since the consultation (e.g. work), I asked to meet with the surgeon to ask questions that had come up since the initial consultation, and so that I could meet the person who would be cutting into me and make sure I was comfortable with her. She answered all my questions really well, and it turned out I was more comfortable with her than the original surgeon. This was a quick 5-10 minute talk, but I highly recommend asking for it, even if your surgeon hasn't changed. You'll have another chance to talk to your surgery just before being wheeled into the OR, but you'll be nervous and may be medicated by then, and it's just nice to have this conversation ahead of time and in an environment where you can look at a list of questions you've written down, and actually pay attention to the answers.

The hospital required another two appointments before surgery:

The pharmacist

About a week before my surgery, the pharmacist called for 5-10 minutes to discuss my current medications, supplements, vitamins and holistic medicines (if I were taking any) and to find out what time of day I take them at. Easy peasy.

2. The anesthetist

Exactly a week before my surgery, the anesthetist called to discuss the operation itself and the anesthetic. I'm not sure if the doctor I talked to will be the anesthetist who is actually in the room with me, or if it was just her job that particular day to call and get the information that will get passed onto the one who will be in the room. She was very nice, and explained the method of anesthesia, as well as how I'll likely feel when I wake up, etc. She also saw on my chart that I have a history of chronic pain, and zeroed in on my back and shoulder. She asked if there are any positions that make me more comfortable, and then explained the position I'd be in for my surgery -- tipped back toward my head -- and that this sometimes gives people back and shoulder pain even if they don't have any to begin with. She said my arms would be alongside my body, fairly tight to it, and I said that would be fine. I practiced laying them beside my body later that day and promptly discovered that's actually pretty painful for one arm, but I'll mention that when I get there and hope for the best! If I was having the conversation again, I'd answer by saying I wasn't sure how that would feel but that I'd practice it before the surgery day to see, and then ask who I could talk to if it turned out there's a better position or if that one wouldn't work. Ultimately though, the surgery should be 1.5 hours to 4 hours at most, so I'm not overly concerned. What you should take away from this if you're having this surgery and don't already have back/shoulder pain is that you might wake up with some, but that it should go away in a day or maybe a little less. This type of surgery also requires the surgeon to inflate your belly with gas in order to make room for the scopes and so that they can see what they're doing. That gas can stick around for a day, sometimes two, according to the anesthetist and can be a little bit painful or uncomfortable. I can't remember anything else that came out of this conversation.

In terms of pre-surgery appointments, that was it.

Tips and Tricks for Being Prepared

The next little bit is information I acquired through talking to my therapist (who's had several laparoscopic surgeries!) and many hours of research online, as well as living as a person who often has few spoons.

Get your first 1-2 weeks of meals planned and ready in advance. For me, this means I've picked up a large number of cans of Alphaghetti-type foods, and I'll be buying as many frozen meals as I can but have VERY little freezer room because my partner and I share with our tenant. Other options include things like HelloFresh, identifying nights when it will be easier for your partner if you order food in (if you can afford to), making big batches of food leading up to surgery while you're well and then freezing them, creating a list of meals you'd appreciate friends bringing over [remind them to bring them in disposable containers, so you don't have to feel guilty when it takes you weeks to get the containers back to them!], etc

Buy some Depends/adult diapers. I bought store brand (Life brand, specifically, which is Canadian) ones. The only ones I could get were maximum absorbency unless I wanted to pay twice the price for name brand ones, but I suspect I could do with a minimum absorbency one. I bought the underwear-style ones. In the store brand, they don't look very underwear-like at all, but if you have more money to spend, some of the name brand ones look convincingly like underwear! I also bought 'Unisex' ones, but would have bought womens if the unisex ones weren't an option; I suspect the mens' might have a built-in bulge area that would be awkward for me. The point of the adult diapers is that their 'waistband' is not a traditional waistband -- it's about 8" tall, very thin, and crinkle-cut so that it doesn't put pressure on your skin. This will stop you from having clothing pushing on your incision sites. BONUS is that they ARE absorbent, so you won't have to also wear pads to deal with discharge (which can, apparently, last for 6 weeks). Try the Depends on for a day a few days before surgery. Yes, it will be awkward and you'll feel silly. I am literally sitting in bed, with nothing wrong with me, wearing nothing but an adult diaper and a tee shirt while my partner's at work. But this has 2 purposes: 1) chances are you haven't worn these before, and you want to make sure you've got the most comfortable ones you can in terms of fit and style; 2) if you've worn them once already, it'll be familiar when you go to put it on when you're ready to leave the hospital; you'll know which side is the back and which side is the front, and the 'weirdness' of wearing them will be less unsettling. You're going to have other weird stuff going on, this doesn't have to be yet another weird thing happening!

If you live alone or your partner doesn't (or can't) change the sheets, layer sheets on the bed. That's right, layer your mattress with bottom sheets. That way, you can peel the top one off and have a cleaner sheet beneath it. It won't be the same as being able to sleep on a fresh, clean sheet straight out of the cupboard or dryer, but it's going to be better than the one you've slept, sweat or, universe forbid, bled on.

Get a LEAKPROOF (truly) travel mug with a handle. After surgery you'll have maybe one comfortable position to lay in. You're not going to want to get out of that position to retrieve your water, but you're also going to need to be drinking a lot of water (it helps you recover, and also helps get your bowels moving again). Being able to lose your water in the bed is a luxury, but a necessary one. I got mine at Winners for pretty cheap.

Get a nightie or onesie. I usually sleep naked. I don't really own pyjamas -- when I need to cover up to sleep (like when I visit friends or travel), I throw on a pair of joggers, or boxer briefs. But those both have waistbands and, remember, we're trying to avoid waistbands. I ordered a sleep shirt from Oodie, which was on sale, but still expensive (I paid around $60, including 1-2 business day shipping because I didn't think of it until the last minute), as well as a halloween one-sie from Old Navy that's apparently leftover from last year's halloween stock. I'm expecting the onesie to be way too hot, but I need something I can wear out in public in case I have to get groceries, or pick something up at the pharmacy, or stand outside because the building's burning, without exposing myself. I also borrowed a robe to go over the sleep shirt when I leave the hospital.

Have whoever's picking you up bring 2 pillows. One goes between your abdomen and the seatbelt, and you sit on the other one.

Have whoever's picking you up bring fast food. When you leave the hospital you're going to either be ravenously hungry or feel like you never want to eat again. Either way, fast food is going to be the one thing you didn't realize you needed so badly in your life until that moment. Your body's going to be craving carbs and fat, and fat is also what's going to help your pain pills kick in.

Have ice cream, chips or other junk food on hand. This is mostly so that you have something to eat when you take your pain pills. Fatty foods help opiates work faster; as someone who takes them several times a month for chronic pain, I've sometimes noticed a difference of -hours- between taking them with fatty foods and taking them on their own.

Get a walking aid. We use our abdomens for everything. If you don't already have something like a cane, pick one up. Keep the receipt though; if you don't end up using it, you can usually take them back. With that said, my therapist said it's at about the 2 week mark when you feel like you actually need one. If you don't have a cane but you have walking/hiking sticks, dig them out and keep them handy.

Grab some baby wipes. You can get laparoscopic incisions wet, but that doesn't mean you're going to feel like you have the energy or endurance to shower right away. You're still going to want to keep your pits and bits clean.

If you take daily medications, organize them in a pill organizer. Things can get confusing when you're on painkillers, or when a partner is dishing out your meds. You know exactly how many you take, and how often, so the best way to approach this is to get a pill organizer and get all your doses for a week ready before your surgery. Monday AM, Monday PM, Tuesday AM, Tuesday PM, that kind of thing. There's nothing worse than being on painkillers and trying to remember if you've already taken That Very Important Medication You Can't Miss or not. Or, worse, not even realizing you've missed something that can give you withdrawal symptoms, and suddenly waking up a few days after surgery feeling worse than you've ever felt in your life and wondering if you need to go to the ER, only to have it turn out that you missed your meds.

Buy something for yourself that you can look forward to. I bought a video game that I've wanted for a couple of years that was finally on sale. I haven't touched it, and won't until sometime after surgery when I feel up to it. Giving yourself a little reward when you're going through something hard is always nice.

If you're diabetic...take a minute before your surgery to remind your partner/anyone you live with/anyone who's going to be looking after you about how and when to check your blood sugars, what numbers are abnormal for you, and what to do about them. Being ill or recovering from a surgery can really throw your diabetes out of whack, even if it's well-controlled beforehand, and recovering from surgery might make you feel a lot of the same symptoms you'd feel from a hypo/hyper or DKA, so make sure you (or someone else) test your sugars regularly and have things on hand to deal with abnormal or worrying results.

Take your phone everywhere. Painkillers (and pain) can make us unsteady. As someone who's taken a fall and had to wait hours for my partner to wake up and find me and help me back to my feet (and then bed), I don't recommend it.

These are the things I know about pre-surgery, but I'll try to update...eventually if I learn anything new post-surgery.

#transmasc #trans guy #trans man #transmasculine #ftm trans #surgery #medical stuff #hysto #hysterectomy #disability

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iasmelaion · 2 months

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1,000+ Hours??

Steam tells me I've played over 1,000 hours of Stardew Valley. WILD! In my defense (?), that's over about 7.5 years, so it works out to about 130 hours a year, but still, it's by far the videogame I've played the most, and now that the 1.6 update is coming out in a couple of weeks, I got to thinking about just why that is, and why I enjoy the game so much.

For anyone who doesn't know, Stardew Valley is a farming life sim in pixel art style, where you inherit your grandpa's farm and are tasked with fixing it up and revitalizing the town it's in. It was created by a solo developer, ConcernedApe aka Eric Barone, as a passion project that took him years to make, because he did everything: the coding, the art, the music, all of it, while he had a part-time job and his girlfriend supported them.

It's a hell of an underdog story: solo developer labors away at this passion project for years, and then when he finally releases his game, it becomes an enormous hit. In the past eight years, it's sold over 30 million copies. At around $15 a game, all it takes some quick back of the envelope math to calculate that, even accounting for the cuts various platforms and past publishers have taken, discounted prices, and his overhead now that he has a small handful of staff, ConcernedApe has made hundreds of millions of dollars.

I mention all of this because in a lot of ways, Barone is living the dream. He did it, he hit it big: he worked really hard on this thing he loved, and it was a success, and people love it, and now he's set for life. Of course it came with its own costs: this GQ profile points out that it took a near obsessive dedication to pull off, and obviously, he couldn't have managed it without the financial support of his partner. But like, damn! It more than paid off!

The fanbase almost universally adores Barone: not only is he an incredible underdog success story, but he's released multiple updates for the game for free. Like, dude absolutely could have charged for the 1.5 update, it added a lot of content and the players would've been happy to pay for it, but it was free! He also personally helps people out sometimes, when bugs break their game saves, and he's supportive of the lively modding community (in fact, the 1.6 update includes a lot of updates that are specifically meant to make modding easier).

All that external stuff wouldn't really matter to me if I didn't actually like playing the game. But I do, and as I've thought about why I love it so much, I know part of it is the knowledge that it was, in fact, this one guy's passion project, and very clearly a labor of love that he devoted a ton of care and attention to. It's an inextricable part of what makes it feel good to play the game. (Also, it's nice to know the game isn't, like, evil, lol. No exploitative labor practices [other than the creator's own perfectionism], no microtransactions, no dark patterns meant to make you throw more money at it, though it is for sure an addictive game play loop.)

Anyway, it's been one of my emotional support videogames over the past seven and a half years I've played it. The great thing about my anxiety, to the extent there can be great things about it lol, is that it's very easily distracted, and games like Stardew Valley (and Hades) are A++++ ways for me to break out of an anxiety spiral. Very useful during the Trump times and the pandemic! Also, even when I'm not feeling notably anxious, it's just a super chill and satisfying game to play, one that gives you that sweet, sweet dopamine for accomplishing tasks, plus it's a great game to play while you're listening to an audiobook or podcast.

But like, I'm still kind of baffled about why this game. I've tried a bunch of different games that are similar, and none of them have hit for me like SDV. Like, objectively, I should be sick of SDV! Even with the amount mods add to the game, I've basically 100%ed the game with two different saves (the achievements I haven't gotten are the ones I'm NEVER going to get: never gonna do a Joja run, and never gonna come close to beating the Journey of the Prairie King minigame). And yet, here I am, still playing it!

Other games like it that I have tried, and even enjoyed, but that haven't held onto my attention like SDV has:

Animal Crossing: New Horizons: Like probably everybody else, I downloaded this just as pandemic quarantines and restrictions were kicking off in the US, and it became my Emotional Support videogame while I was stuck in my apartment. It was charming and comforting and cute, and the routine it added to anxious, isolated days was a true gift. It has plenty in common with SDV: farming and foraging mechanics, decorating a house, befriending villagers. But I abruptly dropped it in July of 2020 and just...never went back to it. It served its purpose for me, and while I think of it fondly, I don't really have any desire to play it again.

Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom: Not, strictly speaking, in the same genre as SDV. But I've played a lot of it, and it has some of the same vibes, if you will: gorgeous scenery, the ability to play it however you want, foraging, great music, a chill vibe (when you're not fighting monsters). And indeed, I do occasionally come back to these games! They truly are beautiful, and genuinely thrilling at points. But there's not quite enough structure here to make for a comforting gaming experience.

Littlewood: a cute little RPG with some of the same mechanics as SDV. I played about 40 hours of this, but got bored with how grindy it started to feel. SDV also has a fair amount of grind, but I think what keeps it from feeling too grindy is the amount of variety. Littlewood's grindiness felt like it was just about making Number Go Up. With SDV, you have a bunch of different kinds of grindiness: making money, catching all the fish, collecting stuff for the community center, collecting enough resources to build stuff, going into the caves to mine and fight monsters, etc.

Spiritfarer: billed as a "cozy management game about death", and not really fucking around with that description. Has farming and fishing mechanics, plus you get to explore the world by sailing to various destinations, but there's not really any replayability here. Also it is emotionally devastating. Like, you start it, and you're like, oh, the art is so pretty, the music is so nice, how lovely, how charming, there is an adorable cat here as well, and then the game reminds you, hey! you are here to help souls release their earthly burdens and move onto the next stage of the afterlife! And you will cry. Like, seriously, this is the only videogame to have ever made me cry.

Cult of the Lamb: darkly funny little RPG about being an adorable little lamb who's building a cult to your dark god. The vibe here was funny, with the juxtaposition of the cutesy art and the dark humor. I got bored with this, plus it got pretty buggy for me on my Switch, but it was fine!

Sun Haven: farming sim RPG, much heavier on the fantasy and anime vibes than SDV. I gave up on this one after 15 hours. There were a lot of little things that just piled up and annoyed me too much to keep going. Something about the game's balance and pacing also just felt off to me.

Dave the Diver: like, yes, this is about a guy diving into a Big Blue Hole to catch fish for his sushi restaurant, so objectively quite different! But honestly, this was a delight to play. It juggled its various different aspects in a fun way, cycling between the fishing, the RPG stuff, the restaurant management, and even a little bit of farming. The art style is neat, the cut scenes are funny, and it's pretty nice to just swim through the water catching the occasional fish. Again though, not super replayable, and the gameplay loop does get boring once you've played through the main game.

Roots of Pacha: this is basically SDV, but make it prehistoric. I liked the pixel art a lot, and it's a neat tweak on the SDV formula. I had fun playing it! But again, I finished the main game and felt no real urge to go back to it, or to grind out all the achievements.

Wylde Flowers: another cozy life/farming sim, but this one includes witchy elements. An art style reminiscent of Pixar movies, which tbh, is really not my jam in video games. This one stands out though for how it's fully voice-acted, which is a neat touch. Nothing out and out wrong here, I just got bored, and as noted, the art style is not my favorite. I think the gameplay loop here just wasn't as satisfying as SDV.

And finally, Hades: this is nothing at all like SDV, obviously. The only thing they have in common is a fishing minigame. But it and BotW/TotK are the only other games I've played anywhere close to as much as I've played SDV. Hades, like SDV, offers an immensely satisfying gameplay loop, one with enough novelty to keep you playing, and the art is gorgeous. An incredibly fun gaming experience, and yeah, I come back to this one every so often. It's pretty relaxing for a rogue-lite fighting game, at least, once you've gotten the hang of it!

Graveyard Keeper: I haven't played this, but I did watch some Youtubers play it, lol, and counted it a bullet dodged. Not because the game looked bad, but just because it looked the kind of grindy that would CONSUME me but that would be ultimately unsatisfying. Way better to have saved myself ~50-60 hours and just watched Youtubers play through it instead.

After all that, I'm still not quite sure what keeps me coming back to SDV over and over rather than other games in the same or similar genres! I'll keep giving other games like it a try: I'm especially excited to try Coral Island when it comes out for the Switch, and Chef RPG whenever it's released. But for now, I'm super excited for the 1.6 update, and can't wait to start a new save.

#stardew valley #games

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risetherivermoon · 1 year

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Hogwarts - An Explanation

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Hi! this is me forming a schedule to detail how i imagine daily life would consist of in Hogwarts! (because im a nerd and this is what i choose to do with my time)

Note: that this schedule is not canonical, it's something im using for a fic and probably will use in future ones, although highly based off of canon information that we have about how Hogwarts works, not all of this is accurate,

I also give anyone who wants to use this full permission to!

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Here is a time table i created of how a weekly schedule for a First year would look like:

- I'm using a Block and Period system for this, as to not be confused, Periods are specific to each day where as Blocks are specific to each class!

- All meal periods are school wide, although attendance is not mandatory (except for the feast once first arriving on sept 1st)

- i am also using a system where the days switch off as in a A day and B day schedule, with Wednesday being a day where they have all of their classes

- A day consists of A Block-D Block, each Period is Two hours long,

- B day consists of E Block-H Block

- I Block is the Astronomy class which takes place at a different time than other classes, so it isn't included in this, it is shown three separate times in the chart but the student should only have this class twice a week at most

- On a Wednesday, or an All Block day, they have all blocks, though the class periods are only one hour long instead of two hours like on a normal A and B day

- Class hours go from 7:30am-4:30pm everyday

- Curfew is from 9:00pm-6:00am, though this does not apply to students who are in Astronomy between these times

- Curfew on Saturdays and Fridays (although not said in the chart for convenience) is from 10:30 pm-6:30am, as it is the weekend

- All meals are at the same times everyday besides weekends, where the periods of availability of food in the Great Hall is longer than usual although starting at the same time

Now, the Block Schedule:

- In the charts above, i have an example of how these blocks work, the first chart shows First Year, the second, Second Year, and then the Third, well...you can kinda guess

- The classes that are highlighted with grey are the main courses that every Hogwarts student are required to take each year:

- Transfiguration

- Potions

- History of Magic

- Defense Against the Dark Arts (DADA)

- Charms

- Herbology

- Astronomy

- These classes stay in a students schedule every year, if we look at the chart that shows the First Year schedule, it has Flying as one of the classes:

- When you are a first year you are required to take one class of Flying, although it is an extracurricular course without an O.W.L. (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) exam,

This is what the first chart looks like filled out using this block system:

- Going back to the previous charts, In the second year chart I have removed Flying and replaced it with a Study Period, you can see that theres is another one of those there already as well

- Once entering their third year, a student in Hogwarts gets to pick from a selection of electives, two of them to take (these classes, although having O.W.L. exams, do not require you to stay in them, and you can drop these classes whenever)

- Care of Magical Creatures (CMC)

- Divination

- Arithmancy

- Muggle Studies

- Ancient Runes

- These, plus the required courses make up all 12 O.W.L.'s

- The hypothetical student used in the third year chart has chosen Divination and CMC as their electives, so they replace the once Study Periods with those classes

- Although they lose Study Periods, they are provided time after classes and on the weekends to complete school work and study (during exam season I imagine that teachers provide students with being able to use whole periods to study for that specific class)

- A student has until their fifth year to start thinking about O.W.L.s and change electives if needed or wanted

- On the other hand, because of this system of scheduling, it makes wanting to do more than two electives difficult, if not impossible

- This is is seen with Hermione in poa where Mcgonagall spoke to the ministry and was able to give her a time turner so she could attend all of her classes

- Using a time turner (in this situation to get all 12 O.W.L.s) would most likely, look something like this:

(sorry for the weird cropping on this one)

- The blocks that have two classes would be times where a student would have to use a time turner to go back in time and do a class after finishing the first one because of the classes overlapping

Then, there's extracurricular classes:

- Flying

- Quidditch

- Art

- Apparition

- Muggle Art

- Frog Choir and Hogwarts Orchestra

- Ghoul Studies

- Magical Theory

- Music

- Muggle Music

- Xylomancy

- Alchemy

- These classes are ones that usually take place outside of the normal school hours, on weekends or after school on weekdays

- These classes do not have any O.W.L.s and are usually low effort compared to other classes

- The extracurricular are mostly similar to after school clubs in other schools

- Apparition would have an exam at the end of 7th year to determine if a student is allowed to apparate.

- There are most likely more of these although these are the ones i could find canonical relevance for

- In a schedule, these classes would be mentioned as extra blocks & be placed at their respective times:

- These two schedules are more similar but i'd imagine that students 5th/9th period blocks would be at different times depending on the class

- In the beginning chart the ones that are highlighted in a lighter grey are extracurricular classes

- There are a few things I may edit in to these schedules that i haven't right out of laziness, such as Hogsmeade times on those weekends, and different things like that, how Hogwarts holiday weeks works for kids who stay at the school in the holidays, and what houses have which classes together (so i may make an updated version of this schedule at some point)

you're free to ask me questions if you have any, id be glad to answer them, thanks for reading my slow descent into madness because of times and scheduling for a school that doesn't exist!

lets hope im good at explaining things lol

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walks-the-ages · 5 months

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Happy 20th Anniversary, Scherzo!

I totally got my days mixed up and somehow still thought it was next week X'D

[ID: A basic digital art made in MS Paint, showing a pale light blue background, and two hands joined together in the foreground, with the one on the left wearing a long green jacket with a white cuff, and the one on the right wearing a lavender shirt with mid-length white cuffs. End ID]

I totally meant to have a whole bunch of prompts *prepared* before today, but work has been hectic so here we go off the top of my head:

Scherzo Prompts (contains Scherzo Spoilers, but purposefully vauge):

AU- The DoctorCharley stay ~together~ at the end. How does this change their experiences in the Divergent Universe and beyond?

Wild Blue Yonder AU: The Doctor and Donna land in the test tube and meet ( plus have to rescue), the Doctor and Charley, and get them to actually talk about their feelings with the power of Fourteen's emotional openness.

The Doctor and Charley become unlikely allies with, and eventually befriend/adopt The Creature as they all escape together

The scientist running the experiment comes home to find some random aliens have crashed his experiment and caused some extremely weird effects in the substrate, and has to find a way to communicate with these little sentient beings and find out where the heck they came from, and try to find a way to get them home.

The Doctor and Charley actually talk about their feelings, fully, properly, and somehow this leads into a conversation about queer identities and Charley gets introduced to the concept of Aromantism and Asexuality and is like "ohhhhhhhhhhh"

Even long after the events of Scherzo, the Doctor and Charley can still tap into an extra sense that lets them find and sense the other. This comes in very handy, on a certain ship...

If you would like to listen along tonight (about 7 hours from the time I make this post), you can join as a guest here when the event starts at 9:30 pm est :)

You can buy Scherzo here directly from Big Finish for £2.99:

https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/doctor-who-scherzo-218

Or you can start your adventures with Eight and Charley with their first adventure, Storm Warning, here for the same price!

https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/doctor-who-storm-warning-641

#bold text #described images #scherzo #doctor who #dw #big finish #Eighth Doctor #Scherzo day 2023 #20th anniversary #Charley pollard

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u2fangirlie-blog · 5 months

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50 Things for My 50th Birthday - Now With 10 Bonus Things!

50 Things for My 50th Birthday

A continuation of my 40 Things for 40 List, with 10 additional entries for 50. Plus 10 Bonus Things!

Originally written December 2013 on my 40th birthday. It's a list of bits of wisdom I wish I had known when I was younger. Every item has a story behind it. I don't know if this is original, intelligent, humorous, creative, interesting, or valuable to anyone other than myself. But it means something to me.

Maybe someday I'll write an annotated version of the list with the stories for each one. Then that would turn into a book. Maybe it's better to give short snippets and remain mysterious than to overshare everything. December 2023.

40 Things for my 40th Birthday: 12/2013

1. The Universe has a sense of humor which manifests itself as irony. Take time to stop and notice the big glowing neon signs that point to irony.

2. Karma, like gravity, is a force of nature. It does not discriminate. It balances your actions and consequences like balancing an equation.

3. It’s better to be single and alone than be in a bad relationship for the sake of being in a relationship.

4. See the patterns and interconnections - streams, veins in leaves, flowers, moss, agates, geodes, galaxies, calendars, time – it is beautiful and awesome.

5. Every day is different. If today is shitty, tomorrow will be shitty in a different way.

6. Look for the positive. Thousands of things go right every day.

7. Have a good work ethic. Do your best, but don’t let perfectionism interfere.

8. Know your history. Remember your ancestors and family. You could not be who and where you are without all of their hard work.

9. Don’t bite the hook.

10. Don’t feed the troll.

11. Remember Professor Remus Lupin’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons – Ridiculous, Expecto Patronum, and Chocolate.

12. Learn crafts – sewing, knitting, beading, etc. – it enriches life. It’s fun to give surprise presents to people.

13. Dream out loud at high volume. Turn it up to 11.

14. No good deed goes unpunished.

15. The Platinum Rule: Treat people how they want to be treated.

16. Always have 2 weeks’ supply of socks and underwear.

17. Invest in good bras. Your back and boobs will thank you later in life.

18. Always wear comfortable shoes. Your feet will thank you later in life.

19. Don’t waste time in front of the mirror. Save money. Cosmetics are optional.

20. Do not fester. To fester is bad. Don’t bottle things up for years. When you eventually explode, it only frightens, confuses, and pisses off the target of your nuclear blast, and innocent bystanders may be injured.

21. Don’t confuse lust for love. Lust and love are not the same thing. Don’t allow physical attraction to obscure reality. Ask questions. You might not like the answers but ask anyway.

22. Beware of charming men. They use sexual energy to get attention and evoke a reaction, like using glamour magic. The feeling is fleeting. It’s nothing special.

23. Don’t wait by the phone or the computer. When a man says, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he probably won’t. He might intend to call, but he doesn’t know which tomorrow he means – 24 hours, 6 months, 8 years later. Don’t take it personally.

24. Diamonds are not a girl’s best friend. You don’t need a ring. A loving relationship is the real treasure.

25. U2 is the greatest rock ‘n roll band and “Achtung Baby” is the greatest rock ‘n roll album in the entire Universe.

26. You are your own worst enemy. You are the only enemy you will ever have. Stop listening to the Itty Bitty Shitty Committee.

27. You are your own best ally. You are the only ally you will ever have. Never betray yourself to others or to yourself.

28. It is what it is.

29. Chill the fuck out.

30. On the subject of Big Girl Panties: Pull them up. Deal with it, whatever it is. They can be She-Ra Princess of Power, Wonder Woman, or Tinkerbell Underoos. In times when you can’t pull up your Big Girl Panties, get some Coping Skills so you can deal with it. Use Coping Skills until the problem is solved or the situation subsides. Repeat as necessary. Coping skills will eventually become the New Normal way of dealing with it.

31. Learn as many life skills as you are capable of doing - housekeeping, home repairs, yard maintenance, gardening, cooking, car maintenance, etc. Be as self-sufficient as possible.

32. Know when to ask for help. Offer to help others too. Know when to hire professionals to do the job.

33. Felines are the best animals ever in the history of all species on Earth. Being a Crazy Cat Lady is wonderful. It’s the cats who are crazy.

34. Read everything. Read constantly. Develop highly effective writing and verbal skills. Clear communication is essential.

35. Book smarts, diplomas, and degrees are not an accurate measure of intelligence. Common sense, ability, skill, and experience are most important.

36. No one likes an insufferable know-it-all. Don’t correct others even if you are right – unless it is a life-or-death situation.

37. Practice mindfulness. Orient your perception to the meta level.

38. Be grateful and express gratitude.

39. Be compassionate, sympathetic, and empathetic – even to people you dislike or who dislike you. Everybody hurts. Everybody has bad days. Understand that.

40. Remember the reason why you had your ears pierced on your 30th birthday. Enjoy the small pleasures of life: favorite foods, scents, sights, sounds, clothes, jewelry, and all the pretty things. These are what the dead remember and desire the most.

50 Things for My 50th Birthday: 12/2023

41. Toxic Situations: Know when to get out on your terms while you still have options. Leave before they force you out. Otherwise, you could be left scrambling and everything is worse.

42. The Ultimate Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything is 42, obviously. (Thanks to Douglas Adams.) 42 is the atomic number of molybdenum. 42 divine beings, with Osiris, Ma’at, and Thoth in the Hall of Truth, judge souls before they enter the afterlife in Egyptian mythology.

43. Dialectical Behavior Therapy skills, motherfucker, do you use them? You spent 2 years in Fight Club. Strive to be skillful every day. The core skill sets are mindfulness, distress tolerance, emotional regulation, and interpersonal effectiveness. Remember your values. Remember Wise Mind. Remember Radical Acceptance.

44. Gaslighting: Discussing problems is complaining. Telling the truth is causing trouble. Explaining yourself is making excuses. Asking questions is undermining others, making others look bad, or challenging authority. Challenging hurtful comments is not knowing how to take a joke. Expressing emotional needs is neediness. Expressing emotions is seeking attention. Showing confidence and intelligence and using an above-average vocabulary is being a bitch, being a know-it-all, or flexing your education and experience.

45. You need people whether or not you like it. Remember the pandemic lockdown. Remember working from home for a year and a half. You thought you trained your whole life as an introvert for that historic moment and would be excellent at it. No. It was objectively bad. It was a disaster. You need people. Be a better daughter, sister, and friend to the people in your life.

46. People change for better or worse. People will drift in and out of your life. People grow apart. This is a natural part of life. Accept it.

47. Magical Thinking: It’s one thing to know better. It’s an entirely different thing to do better. This is stupid behavior. It doesn’t matter how smart you are, how hard you work, or how good your intentions are. It’s never going to work out how you want it to. It’s never going to get better. And no one cares. Accept responsibility for your part in it. Don’t make excuses. Do something different. Do better. Change.

48. “Do or do not, there is no try” is fundamentally bad advice. Yoda’s lesson led Luke to black-or-white thinking. What would Spock or Picard teach Luke about learning a new skill? Get up and do it again until you can do it or find another way to do it.

49. Everybody is sick of your shit. Everybody, including you, is sick of your shit.

50. On the subject of Giving a Fuck: You either give too many fucks or you never have enough fucks to give. You need to practice, as the internet meme says, “moderate fuck distribution.” Ask yourself when you truly feel like you have zero fucks to give, are you completely out of fucks? Can you have a fuck debt, have a negative number of fucks? Or does something magical happen? Like a mint in the bottom of your purse, like loose change between seat cushions, like a potato chip under the fridge, there is always one more fuck to give. Like a free play token or an extra life in video game, one more fuck will magically appear. That one magical fuck will be dirty, hard, bitter, and broken, but it will be there when you need it. That one magical fuck can be saved or given as needed until you can replenish your regular supply of fucks.

BONUS CONTENT: I have more than 10 things to add to the list of 50 things.

Life is unpredictable. I don’t know if I’ll live another 10 years to continue the list, so I’m writing 10 Bonus Things. Everyone loves free bonus things!

51. “If I don’t do what my parents want, they will be mad at me.” WHAT? Did you just say the quiet part out loud? Every decision in your life is based on it! How can you be in the fifth decade of your life on this planet? Are you even an adult?

52. You can’t be needy if you don’t have needs. Meet your needs for yourself. No one else will. If there’s the slightest stink of neediness on you, people will abuse and reject you.

53. Don’t have expectations of others. Don’t engage in wishful thinking. Stop wanting people to demonstrate their feelings or care for you in the way you want. They won’t. It’s never going to happen. If you ask for what you want, then you are needy or attention-seeking. Accept what they offer as they give it, even if doesn’t meet your expectations, even if it’s nothing. That may be the only thing they can offer or the only way they know how to express it.

54. Most of being an adult is lying to everyone that everything is okay and that you are fine, when in reality your life is an unbearable mess, and you are not anywhere close to being okay.

55. Nothing you do is ever good enough for others. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. It never changes.

56. “Use it or lose it.” You refused to believe it until you quit using it and you lost it. You don’t need to look in the mirror to see it. How does your body feel? Get up, girl, and use it.

57. No one gets out of here alive. Prepare for your death. Don’t leave the burden of your funeral plans, estate, and debts to your family, friends, or strangers. If you worked on projects or created things with other people, include it in your will. Your legacy, and that of others, literally could be thrown away. If you don’t tell people what you want, they will get it wrong. Then you’ll have to come back and haunt the fuck out of those people.

58. There’s no escaping your past, especially with family. They remember everything. Every obnoxious thing you did as a teenager. Every time you freaked out. Every time you had a bad day. Every mistake you made. Every mental health breakdown. It doesn’t matter how hard you work to change and overcome your problems. You’ll always be that past worst version in their minds, and they’ll hold it against you forever.

59. Your family is never going to forgive you for getting a degree in English. It’s always going to come down to their misperception that you are nitpicking and correcting them when you’re not. They’re going to throw it in your face like a glass of ice water.

60. Remember the “Litany Against Fear” from Dune. You memorized it when you were 15 years old. It still works.

#50th birthday #gen x #generation x #things i wish i knew #advice to younger self #adulting #life advice #50 years old #memoir #autobiography

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sailorsolar12 · 2 years

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Never Good Enough - Maverick x DaughterOC (platonic)

Here is another Top Gun fic. Hope you guys like this one.

Rating: T+

Words: 3.7k (kind of went overboard on this)

Warnings: slight Angst, yelling, swearing, low Self Esteem.

Summary: Pete Mitchell’s daughter never felt good enough for her father as she never wanted to go into the military or go to college for anything other than art. As a result, Jessica Mitchell hasn’t spoken to her father in 15 years. Now that he has been called back to Top Gun, can he mend their broken relationship?

All her life, Jessica Mitchell had felt as though she was completely useless in the grand scheme of things. Her father was a very good Naval Aviator and considered the best of the best after serving 30 plus years in the Navy. Jessica, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of her father. While her father had wanted her to join the military or pursue what would be considered a stable career, Jessica preferred being involved with the arts. She loved painting, drawing, anything she could get her hands on that would be considered artsy. All throughout her high school career she had been the one to make all of the school costumes by hand for every school production and even designed all of the sets for the drama club to make. When she first told her dad what she was doing for the drama club, he thought it was simply a pass time she had picked up to do as an extracurricular. She could tell her father wasn’t going to take her seriously with what she felt like was her calling. As she continued high school, she got a few commissions for paintings and drawings to do from some teachers and classmates, but her biggest accomplishment was when she had been picked to be the main showcase for her Senior project. She had told her father and close family friends about it excitedly because she had done a whole collection of different fighter jets throughout history as well as using some of the call signs of people she knew - with their permission of course.

-Flashback-

17 year old Jessica Mitchell stood dressed nicely by her large collections of paintings she had done for the school showcase. It was a good way to get art colleges to notice potential students as well as to start building a clientele as they were allowed to sell the work they did. She had been tasked with only making at least six pieces in six weeks but had gone slightly overboard and made 15 pieces in the allotted time. She had told her father and a few of her family friends about the showcase while sending a picture of one of her pieces to hopefully entice them to cme. The beauty about this showcase was the students kept 95% of the money from the sell as the school’s art department made most of its money from admissions and the snacks it had for sale on the patio.

Her brown hair was curled and half pinned up in the back as she eagerly awaited people to show up. For the first hour, she gave steady smiles to many parents and even sold a couple of her paintings with the older models of fighter jets to Vets who had come as the school had posted about her collection on social media. Her green eyes brightened as she saw her uncle and aunt Tom and Sarah Kazansky. She quickly hugged them and showed them some of her paintings. As she showed them around, she hadn’t noticed someone else come in whom she had also invited. A yelp left her mouth as she was suddenly picked up and brought into a tight hug. Her green eyes went wide as she saw her honorary brother, Bradley Bradshaw, hugging her tightly. Jessica gave a squeal of happiness and hugged him tightly, shocked that he was there. She had extended the invite as a courtesy not realizing he had moved heaven and hell to make sure to be there. Her green eyes were dancing with excitement as she showed the three adults to her two biggest paintings. One showed an F-18 shooting straight up. The painting was on a 36 inch by 48 inch canvas and showcased the sunrise in the background. The detail of the plane made the painting look more like a photo than a painting. The pilot could also be seen in the cockpit showing the slightly contorted look on his face from the force of the Gs he was feeling. Jessica watched as Bradley went wide eyed seeing how the helmet of the pilot was painted causing her to giggle as her honorary brother realized she had painted him in the cockpit of the plane. The second painting that was right next to it was also on a 36 inch by 48 inch canvas. The plane painted on this canvas was an F-14 that was in the opposite direction of Bradley’s F-18. There were two people in this plane, and Jessica could see both her uncle and brother choke up realizing just who was in the plane. Her father hadn’t shown any interest in coming tonight and never told her if she could use his call sign or not in her paintings. She had to improvise as a result of no answer. Bradley had told her she could use his old man’s sign, and her uncle Tom had also told her she could use his sign. As a result, she had painted both her uncle and Bradley's father in the F-14 together. A smile graced Jessica’s lips as Bradley hugged her again seeing his father looking happy. “I wanted to somehow honor the most important men in my life, and I thought what better way than a set of paintings showing the past and the present,” Jessica said simply.

Tom Kazansky - call sign Iceman - smiled proudly at his niece. He knew that Pete Mitchell - call sign Maverick - and one of his good friends did not really support his daughter in her venture to try and be an artist, but Tom didn’t understand why because Jessica was an amazing artist. Her showcase was the perfect way to tell people just how good she was. Tom glanced at his wife, Sarah, and nodded as she snuck off to go buy the painting that showed him and Goose while Bradley gushed to Jessica how amazing all of her pieces were. He had already been planning to buy a few pieces that she had done to hang up at Top Gun, but this one was the one he had wanted to hang up in his personal office. He would happily support Jessica in anything and everything she did with her art as she had a real future in it.

-End Flashback-

Jessica had made quite a large amount of money that night as she was the only student to sell all of her pieces. Many veterans and even some active duty personnel had bought her paintings as they reminded her of the good times and the bad times that the soldiers had gone through in their life. That was the night her father had given her an ultimatum. That was the night that she had cut off all ties with her father. She had moved out of the house right after he had left for the mission he was sent on and moved in with her aunt and uncle until she had enough money to go to art college to get her degree.

Now, Jessica was 32 years old and had quite the portfolio built up. She had done a lot of commissions over the years for a wide variety of people - from celebrities to high ranking military officials to political figures. She had made a good amount of money and could be living anywhere in the world right now, but she chose to make her permanent residence in Miramar, California aka Fightertown, U.S.A. She had moved back at 29 when she had been commissioned by not only the Mayor of San Diego, but also commissioned by the Admiral of the Marine base nearby to do two large murals. The San Diego Mural was in the heart of Downtown and showcased hundreds of different species of sea life with divers mixed in. She had named the mural “Friends Among Us” and made a very pretty penny off of it. The mural for the Marine base was spread out between seven different walls and was the largest mural she had ever done. Each wall had a set of years since the school had been started showcasing members of the school who had fallen from each year. She was especially happy to add Goose to the mural, sending the picture to her honorary brother she had kept in touch with over the years. When she had finished these murals, Jessica had connected with one of her father’s old flames, Penny Benjamin, and decided to still do commissions while working at the bar that Penny had bought. Jessica happily took up Penny’s offer to decorate and paint the inside of the bar after the older woman had remanded the bar The Hard Deck.

Jessica loved working at the bar and seeing the numerous locals and Top Gun students that passed through. Time seemed to fly by for Jessica as now here she was 3 years later and working at the bar still. The brunette had decided to take a small break from taking commissions as she had enough money to live comfortably for a while as she did still have the steady income from the bar. The 32 year old artist was currently manning the bar as she had insisted Penny have a night off to spend with her daughter Amelia. The night had been relatively easy so far as there were only a few locals and very few pilots. Her world froze, however, as she turned when someone called her name and Jessica saw her father…whom she hadn’t spoken to in 15 years. Jessica swallowed thickly as she finished wiping out the last of the shot glasses she had been cleaning as her father, Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell sat at the bar in slight shock seeing his daughter all grown up. “What can I get you?” she asked lightly.

Pete gazed at Jessica in complete shock for a moment before registering what she had said. “Just a beer,” he said lightly. He wasn’t sure how to act around his daughter. He hadn’t spoken to her in 15 years and felt incredibly guilty for what he had said all those years ago after her Senior showcase. He couldn’t stop staring at her as she handed him his beer while he flashed back to the night everything fell apart.

-Flashback-

Pete Mitchell looked at the paperwork he had started filling out for his daughter. He didn’t like how she didn’t show any kind of interest in the military. He wanted her to have a stable career and knew that if she pursued her art she would only be disappointed. He looked up as his daughter came home from the senior showcase that had been put on by her high school and cleared his throat just before she could go up the stairs for the night. His green eyes were hard as they stared into his daughter’s. “We need to talk. You need to listen to what I have to say.”

Jessica frowned at the look she saw in her father’s eyes and swallowed thickly as she slowly sat down in front of her father. She saw the paperwork in front of her father and frowned almost immediately. She could see the paperwork was for colleges that didn’t have the program she wanted as well as paperwork for the Naval Academy. “Not this again, Dad,” she stated simply and flinched slightly as her father got angry.

“You have these colleges as your choices or the Naval Academy. Doing Art is not going to be stable enough for you to be comfortable in life. It would be best to have it as a side project, Jessica,” he said with a very obvious bite to his voice. He was tired of her having the fantasy that her art would get her somewhere in life. He saw Jess flinch slightly as she looked away from him. “I mean it, Jessica. You need to choose one of these colleges.”

“And if I don’t?” Jessica whispered lightly.

“Damn it, Jess! I am trying to make sure you can succeed in life! Either you go to one of these colleges, or you are no longer welcomed here! I have entertained this pastime of yours long enough. Being an artist will not get you where you want to be in life!” Pete yelled, slamming his fist on the dinner table as he let his anger get the best of him. He frowned seeing his daughter’s eyes tear up.

Jessica bit the inside of her cheek as she stared at her father wide eyed. She suddenly realized she would never be good enough for her father. She would never be able to make him proud. She would never be able to follow in his footsteps like Bradley had done for his father. Her lower lip trembled lightly as she bolted from the table and up the stairs packing her large duffle bag and grabbing a few items she needed. She didn’t know how much time had passed as she packed, but she ignored her father calling her name. Jessica ran down the steps as quickly as she possibly could with her school things and a duffle full of personal items. A glare set on her face seeing her father trying to block the front door. “I don’t want to join the military! I don’t want to go into engineering or mechanics! I want to do art! I am happy doing art! I see now that I will never be good enough for you. I don’t know what I did that was so wrong, but you will never see me as a good daughter! Uncle Tom and Aunt Sarah and Bradley all support me! Why can’t you?! I HATE YOU!” she cried out loudly as tears streamed down her cheeks while she pushed her father out of the way and ran out of the house vaguely hearing the front door slam shut behind her.

-End Flashback-

Pete felt his heart break that night for the first time in a very long time. He hadn’t had the courage over the years to reach out to apologize, but he did keep tabs on her over the years. He saw that she had in fact made a very good life for herself. He had heard rumors she had done a very large commission for the Marine Base nearby as well as the city of San Diego, but he hadn’t gone to see the murals yet. The Naval pilot swallowed thickly as he held onto the beer glass his daughter had given her to hide how badly his hands were shaking. “Jess…” he started but was quickly interrupted by his daughter.

“I have customers to serve. Could you make it quick please?” Jessica whispered lightly.

Pete gazed at her and took a deep breath. “You look really good,” he murmured to her genuinely meaning what he said. “I mean it, Jess. I know I made a lot of mistakes with how I tried to force you to do certain things with your life.” He frowned as Jessica looked on the verge of tears. “Jess, I’m sorry,” Pete whispered softly.

Jessica swallowed the scoff she was about to let loose back hearing her father apologize after 15 years. She could hear the genuine emotion behind his words, but everything still hurt. “15 years. It took you 15 years to say those words to me.” The brunette bartender closed her eyes for a moment to get control of her emotions. “Right now isn’t a good time, Dad. We’ll talk in a couple of days okay,” she said before smirking seeing his phone on the bar and shook her head. Jessica loudly rang the bell as everyone cheered. Her green eyes danced with mischief as she pointed to the sign that Penny had introduced when she bought the bar that said ‘Disrespect a Lady, the Navy, or have your phone on my bar, buy a round for everyone.’ “Penny’s rules,” Jessica said with a light giggle as she went about serving customers. Her green eyes looked up as one of the pilots that had walked in earlier came over with a $10 bill. She raised an eyebrow as he handed it to her asking for two more beers on the old man’s tab. Jess took the money and got him two more beers while reading his name tag. “Seresin? What do they call you?” she quipped.

“Hangman, Sweetheart,” Jake Seresin flirted in response to her question.

“Hangman? Is that because you leave people out to dry?” she quipped back with sarcasm and sass. She went wide eyed as she heard the familiar voice of her brother in everything but blood.

“Hangman. You look…good. Now quit flirting with my sister,” Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw said as he walked into The Hard Deck. He came up beside Jessica behind the bar to give her a big hug while giving a light glare at Hangman.

“Seriously? This is how Phoenix and I find out you’re back stateside?” Jessica snapped, slapping Bradley’s arm with her towel. She rolled her eyes at the pilot and continued serving the customers of the bar for the rest of the night. Even having three of the pilots toss her dad out cause he couldn’t pay his tab from how high it was. Jessica smiled hearing Brad play “Great Balls of Fire” but quickly noticed the pained look on her father’s face as he listened, realizing he was flashing back to Goose playing that song. The brunette bit her lip lightly with a light sigh. Maybe she could reconcile with her father after all these years.

-A few days later-

Jessica stood wearing all black under the heat of the Miramar sunlight. She had a black palette on her thumb with many different colors. The 32 year old was doing everything in her power not to cry as she painted the scene of the funeral with a F-14 in the sky with her uncle’s call sign on it. She had known the cancer was back, but she hadn’t expected to pass like this. Her uncle was more like a father to her over the last 15 years than her own father had been. She glanced up from the canvas she was using to paint the scene and saw her father saluting her uncle’s casket with tears streaming down his own face. Jessica closed her green eyes as tears finally slid down her own cheeks as the pain of losing another family member finally got to her. She set down her brush and palette on the small stool she had in case she wanted to sit down and met her father’s eyes when he turned to face her. The talk she had said they would have was long overdue even if their emotions were at an all time high right now with Tom’s death. She felt another set of eyes on her and looked over at Bradley who looked about ready to crack as well. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky had been there for both of them. He had believed in the both of them…in what they wanted to do with their lives…and now he was gone.

Almost two hours later, Jessica was finishing the last little details of the painting her Aunt Sarah had asked her to do for the family as one last memento of her uncle. The brunette wiped the sweat off of her face and turned to see her father waiting there for her.

“Jess-” Pete started softly but was quickly stopped by his daughter.

“You…you can’t just say sorry. You can’t just expect that one little word is going to change everything…to make everything better. You can’t just waltz into my life after 15 years, say you're sorry, and expect us to be okay! I waited 15 years to hear you say that! I waited even longer for you to support my passion! My dreams! I am not a little girl any more seeking approval from her father who doesn’t even care about what she wants in life!! He was more of a father to me than you EVER WERE!” she exclaimed loudly pointing at her uncle’s coffin that had her father’s golden aviation wings on them. She panted heavily trying to get her emotions under control but failed miserably as her knees buckled and her father caught her in his arms holding her for the first time in 15 years.

Pete rushed forward catching his daughter in his arms as she almost fell to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her as she cried and sobbed and broke down. One hand gently cradled her head as she almost immediately nuzzled into his dress uniform to let out every emotion she was feeling in that moment. Tears began streaming down his own cheeks again hearing how broken his daughter sounded. He hated how much she was crying and wanted to do everything in his power to reconcile for everything he had done to her. “I am so sorry, Jess. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t good enough. I am sorry I wasn’t the best father. I am sorry I didn’t support your dreams and passions. I want to do better. Please,” he begged softly as he held her close. He pulled away slightly looking down at the beautiful woman whom his daughter had become. Pete lightly wiped away her tears and leaned forward gently kissing her forehead like he used to do when she was a little girl. “I love you so much, Jessica. You are the one thing I am the most proud of in my life,” he whispered lightly with a soft smile.

Jessica looked at her dad with a small yet watery smile. She knew there would be a lot of work that they would have to do to get to the point where they trusted each other again, but he was her father. Even over the 15 years that they didn’t speak, Jessica never stopped loving him. “I love you too, Dad,” she whispered back before hugging him again. She was going to make sure that she and her dad would be on better terms before he left California again for god knows how long.

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