grady as a dad is the swearing when you tell him you're in trouble. he's the "who do i need to kill" to your tears. he's the strong hug and the angry glare at the person who talks crap to you. he's the fierce and the bold, the daring, the sharp, and the fight, the defense. he's the sword, the fire, the rage, the burning. he's the ferocity of loving, the promise of fighting, the war that wages in the heart of every good dad, to protect their kids no matter what, and to do whatever it takes to keep them safe, bring them home, show them how much you love them. he is the pride that bursts to the front, the bragging about you in front of his friends, the my kid is the coolest, the pictures in his wallet. he's the pride that shows up when he cheers at your events, shouts your name in the most perfect moments. he is the ferocity of paternal love, that will fight, die, and kill for you.
elwin as a dad is the long rambly talks in the car on the way home from college. he's the advice that goes nowhere, the hug after a long day. he's the feeling of warmth in the bowl of soup he gives you. he's the extra blanket that's given to you because the air conditioning vent won't close all the way and he wants you to be warm. he's the warmth, the calm, the ice pack given to your cut, the pain relief spray from the first aid kit he tries on himself first to make sure you know it doesn't hurt when you spray it. he's the care, the firmness, the love, entrenched deep, that comes out in soft protection, gentle care, the picking you up and tucking you into his arms and kissing your forehead softly. he is the gentleness of paternal love, that holds you close and keeps you softly safe, carefully warm.
tiergan as a dad is safety. it is the knowledge that you will be okay tomorrow, as long as he is here. he's the calm feeling of rain on the windows while he reads a book on his chair, which you know is his chair because he always occupying it. he is the space between the kitchen and the living room, full of warm yellow light, wood floors and the smell of what's cooking for dinner. he is calm safety, a firm knowledge that you are going to be okay. he will do anything to keep you safe. he's going to be here, it's going to be alright. he's pulling you close, and he gives you a cup of tea after he sets his hands on his shoulders and looks you in the eyes after you cry about your nightmares to ask you if things are okay silently. when you nod, he smiles, softly, tiredly, and your cup of tea gets set in your hands. he is the steadiness of paternal love, that stands with you, stands by you, doesn't leave.
