#to (and they did so last year) but still everyone really likes my pies and I always feel bad if I don’t provide on that end so

[mars-and-the-theoi]

Feeling Lady Hestia’s influence in my kitchen today. Have 2 pies in the oven (pumpkin, of course), a roast in the crockpot, spiced hot chocolate on the stove, and potatoes peeled and ready to be turned into mashed potatoes. Feels good to be out of my flare (finally) and in the kitchen again.

[weezerlvr228]

It's giving the...main character syndrome. like who tf does she think she is??? Y/N???

NO OH MY GOSH ANON. LET ME TELL YOU. LET ME FRIGGIN TELL YOU.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Deal Maker's Chapter 201

TL;DR - Cale gives gifts to the kids. Learns about On and Lily's academy plans. Clopeh offers his sword to Cale. Cale is troubled on how to explain Ahn Roh Man's weeb and gaming terms.

Santa Cale It was the new year already when Cale returned from the Central Plains, so following Korean custom (of the author), everyone turned one year older. Thus, Cale congratulated the three children who were now average ten year olds. 🥰

For the gifts:

Hong - 5 of the 9 treasure poisons of the Tang Clan. It was originally supposed to be 3, but the Tang Clan increased it to 5 to thank their benefactor after Cale's miracle in Hainan Island

On - 30 items he got from the GED, like daggers, elixirs, and so on.

Cale gave something to Sheritt too, but it was not mentioned. As for Raon, he brought a basket of sweets and still-steaming hot dumplings for the kittens and his mom. The author is projecting her dumpling obsession on Raon... 🤣🤣🤣

Academy Arc Because On turned 13, Cale thought of sending her to the academy to gain more life experiences and meet more peers. He thought the wolf children were not enough. But he found out from On and Ron that On had already made plans to attend.

Cale also recalled his younger sister Lily. Ron said that Lily would be attending the academy too, but in a higher grade because she wanted to study military science. Of course, Cale was supportive of Lily's decision. 🥰

Knight Clopeh Half of the chapter was about Clopeh, so I'm really happy! Yes, I'm a huge Clopeh fan. I wanted to translate the entire part about Clopeh, but this is a reaction post, not a translation one, so I'm sorry... 😞

Anyway, Cale asked Clopeh what he wanted to do if he could use the sword again. Clopeh went through some introspection about his past with Cale, and ultimately made a decision. He knelt down on one knee and dedicated his sword to his Cale-nim! 🤩

I really liked this part because it showed how Cale's relationship with Clopeh had greatly changed. From enemies to close allies. Of course, Cale pretended to not care much, but Clopeh knew that Cale did care about him. 😂

Cale had CH give the murim martial arts book to Clopeh. He wanted Clopeh to take HD's role and become stronger too. Also something about how Clopeh would now use his sword to save lives.

After CH and Clopeh left the room, Cale suddenly had a bad feeling. It was not a surprise because at that time, Clopeh was thinking something like, "I can't become a legend. But I will help create that path for my Cale-nim!" 🤣🤣🤣 Oh, Clopeh, this is why I love you~ 🥰

Ahn Roh Man is a Weeb The last part was also funny. Alberu suddenly called Cale because of some "emergency." Turns out, he had talked to Ahn Roh Man and misunderstood several terms the latter used. It all started when Cale told Alberu to mention "The Blue One" to Ahn Roh Man and gauge the latter's reaction.

And Ahn Roh Man's reply confused Alberu.

Ahn Roh Man thought The Blue One was a guy 😂

The two agreed to a "hyunpi", but The Blue One did not show up.

Ahn Roh Man said The Blue One almost spilled his "dark past."

Also said The Blue One caused him quite a considerable crisis (because of the dark past).

Hyunpi is a Korean gaming term. Hyun came from "hyunsil" which means "reality", and Pi came from P of PK (Player Kill). It means when two gamers who are having an online fight/argument get so angry that they agree to meet in real life and settle it there personally (through physical violence). So instead of a meet-and-greet, it's like a "meet-and-fight."

I can't think of an English equivalent to that term. But from what I know, some hyunpi meetings become violent enough that it made headline news in Korea. Gamers in Korea are just on a different level...

As for "dark past", it's an East Asian slang. It refers to an adult recalling the shameful, cringe-worthy, and embarrassing things they did in their childhood and teenage years. Most weebs use it to refer to their past as a chuunibyou, but it can also mean the stupid stuff you did as a teen.

So when Ahn Roh Man said he was in a crisis, it was because he was afraid of The Blue One spilling his dark past. 🤣🤣🤣 But Alberu misunderstood that and thought The Blue One was some powerful person who caused the president of a country some serious trouble... 🤣🤣🤣

Even Raon thought the same as Alberu. Cale was shocked in learning that Ahn Roh Man was such a weeb and gamer, and then did a facepalm. Alberu and Raon asking Cale what "hyunpi" and "dark past" meant was so funny. 😂

Cale was troubled on how to explain those terms. And Ron wasn't helping because he suddenly asked Cale if he wanted some lemonade. 😂

Ending Remarks Next chapter will probably be Cale explaining those terms to the Roan residents. And hopefully, Cale's talk with Ron. Cale was actually troubled today on how to explain about the KRS-Cale stuff to Ron, but Alberu suddenly called, so it got postponed.

But seriously, where are CJS and LSH? They still haven't been mentioned! Mary and the half-blood dragon were mentioned to be training together, but what about the Soos? What happened to them? What about Toonka and Durst?

And because today is the 1000th chapter of TCF, our author wrote another Author's Note:

Author's Note Greetings. Today, this Yoo Ryeo Han is sending greetings to commemorate the 1000th chapter. Oh my goodness, one thousand! A thousand! Actually, I still can't quite believe it. I still clearly recall the emotions I felt when the prologue and first chapter were posted. However, I have mixed feelings when I hear that it has already reached chapter 1000. Above all, I am truly grateful. Thank you for joining us. I will continue to write diligently. Hmm… Hmm… Hmm… Chapter 2000… I probably won't give greetings again, right? Hehe Well, once again, thank you very much! -Yoo Ryeo Han

Please, NO. DON'T MAKE IT REACH CHAPTER 2OOO, YRH-NIM! I love TCF, but 1000 more chapters are too much! 😭

[saiyanmyname]

Hi, I just want to wish everyone a lovely Christmas, however you’re spending it Xx

My gift to you is this goofy pic of Endeavor… and a reader insert ;)

Enji kept looking at the clock, how much longer until his shift was over? Just over half an hour.

He couldn’t believe they were making him work Christmas, especially since he’d done so the previous three years. Not that he had anything to go back home to, but he’d rather be at home doing nothing, instead of having to watch all of the happy families out and about on Christmas Day. He almost found himself wishing a terrible villain would turn up, at least then he’d have something to do, turns out even villains took Christmas Day off. He chuckled to himself at his own silent joke.

“Merry Christmas Endeavor”

“Still working Endeavor? Have a good Christmas”

Why did people have to talk to him? He grunted and nodded. He’d never liked dealing with the public, it was partly why he made himself so unapproachable, because he was scared of talking to people, making small talk was something that came naturally to most of the pros, but he’d always been introverted. Not that you’d believe it if you’d seen him, with those flashy flames and booming voice, but it was just an act, an act to get by.

That’s when he saw them, five of the most perfect mince pies, stacked neatly in a row of three and a row of two, they looked delicious, pale shortcrust pastry and sugar on top that had been caramelised to a hard shell, they were in pale blue and green festive foil wrappers, and he had to have them. He checked his watch, and peered through the window biting his lip hungrily, it looked like they were closing, it would be impolite to go in now, so close to closing time, but he just had to have one. He didn’t have any at home, and it would be a terrible thing not to have at least one on Christmas Day. He’d rather hoped Fuyumi might bring him some, but she was away on a trip for Christmas.

“Are you sure you’ll be Ok on your own dad?” She’d asked.

“Of course, it’ll be fine, go and enjoy yourself.”

He’d replied, it was a lie, and now he had no mince pies at two minutes to five on Christmas Day.

He pushed on the door and the little bell rang. He tried to sound casual.

“Oh sorry, are you closing?”

“Yes, I was.” You reply bluntly, without looking up from sweeping the floor, back turned.

“Oh…” he was not expecting this response, he was Endeavor, usually people went the extra mile for a hero, he was stunned.

You paused waiting to hear the bell as he left, but he didn’t move. You leant your broom against the counter.

“Look, I’ve just closed up, you’ll have to…” you turned, the last person you’d expected to see was Endeavor. His flames were roaring from his jaw and his boots, snow had started to fall outside, but the the windows had already started to steam from the intensity of his heat.

You briefly wondered how his wife had ever gotten close enough to him to produce four children, he was hotter than the sun, but then again, you’d heard she’d had an ice quirk.

Enji looked at you, trying to discern the look on your face, you looked like you were solving a mathematical puzzle.

“Could you move away from there?”

“Sorry, from where?”

“Behind you, you’ll melt the truffles.”

“Oh, I’m sorry” he stepped forward.

“What is it you want?” You asked folding your arms across your chest. It brought his eyes to hover briefly over your breasts. You noticed and tried not to smirk.

What was the number one hero doing waltzing into your shop and checking you out?

“Are you this rude to all your customers?” He asked bluntly, he shouldn’t have said that. He realised straight after he said it, but he still really wanted those mince pies.

You replied before he could apologise.

“Only the ones I like” You smirked, wiping your hands on your apron. His eyes hovering over you again, where of course they shouldn’t be. You wondered if it was only more noticeable because his eyes were so glaringly blue, so bright and icy against the billowing flames that burst around his face. “Do you check out all your shop keepers?”

“I was not…” He stepped back.

“Truffles!” You exclaimed.

“Sorry” he said jumping forwards again. “You should put them somewhere further from the natural place to stand”

“Most of my customers aren’t on fire.”

God this was awkward, he shouldn’t have come in, this was exactly the kind of social exchange he hated, it was uncomfortable.

“So, what can I get you?” Your face softened, you had a lovely smile he realised. His heart settled a little, and his flames reduced.

“Um… the mince pies in the window.” He paused, you looked like you were waiting for something. “Please.” He added, tentatively.

“Sure, how many would you like?”

“All of them…” You raised you eyebrows waiting again. “Please” he added gruffly. You were winning and he didn’t like it. Making him say please, it was annoying… and maybe a touch erotic? He tried to get the thought out of his head, but it stayed like one of those trick candles, reappearing with a flicker.

You took them out of the window.

“One each is it?” It was common knowledge he had four children, but he felt it a little presumptuous of you to ask. Or was that small talk? He wasn’t sure.

“No, I’ll be on my own.”

“Ah, me too.” There was that smile again, like butter, your lips… they were really… pretty. He thought to himself. “Big appetite fighting all those villains?” He was fairly sure you were mocking him now, the question was rhetorical.

You placed them in a white box. With six gaps. “Room for one more if you want anything else?”

He was still thinking about your retort about spending Christmas alone.

“Excuse me?” He asked, wondering if he’d heard you wrong.

“Box holds six, you have five, do you want anything else?”

“Oh, of course.” He held his chin, gazing down at the glass cabinet. Most of the really good things had sold out, but there was still too much to choose from, aside from the five mince pies. He was rather pleased with himself about getting those.

“Spoilt for choice?” You leant over the counter. “Need some help Endeavor?”

The way you added his name at the end of the sentence made him blush, what was it about the way you said it that made it sound so intimate.

“I think so…” he hummed.

“Ok:” you jumped up squatting down behind the other side of the glass.

“These ones,” you tapped the glass, “are a big hit, they’re custard on the inside but with a hard crème brûlée type topping, most people think they’re going to be soft until they bite into them, and they are, but I just like the way the crunch adds something special to the experience. Custard pastries are usually a hit with men, I don’t know why. Sound like something you might like?”

“Perhaps,” you were really quite passionate about the subject. He smiled, you were pleased you’d managed to break down a barrier, Endeavor wasn’t known for smiling, it felt like a little win.

“Well I’ll take one out for you try. Then we have these, don’t confuse them with mince pies, they’re Eccles cakes.”

“But they’re not cakes?” He looked at them confused.

“Look, I didn’t invent them so take it up with the name police. What does Endeavor mean anyway?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” You’d struck a nerve you realised, this could prove interesting.

“They’re filled with currants rather than mincemeat and then wrapped in flakey pastry, that’s what sets them apart from a mince pie. Hawks flies, Jeanist… jeans, All Might is a cool name because he’s ‘All Mighty’ and strong etc, so I’ve always been curious, why just Endeavor? Why not… Flamey McFlame Face?” You giggled. “Sorry I wasn’t being rude, I promise, I just assumed I may not have another chance to ask.”

“They sound good, could I try one of those too?” He paused then “I’ll pay for these too of course?” He added hastily.

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask since I need to get rid of the stock, but since you’ve offered, how about I do you a deal?”

“Ok.”

“Good.” You didn’t mention anything further about the deal and it got his mind ticking.

You continued to explain each of the different flavour and textures of the treats, they all sounded delicious.

You glanced at the clock, you’d been going through all the different items for about quarter of an hour, he’d chosen four to try, although he’d struggled to whittle it down to so few.

“I’d really like to try them all.”

“Well if you’re really good maybe Santa will let you.” You smirked. “Maybe not all in one day though.”

You were definitely flirting with him, at least he thought so, people didn’t tend to flirt with Endeavor, he was unapproachable, and that’s the way he liked it, or so he’d thought.

He decided to try his luck.

“I am good, very good actually.” He said, picking up the first pastry.

“Oh?” The corner or your mouth twitched. “Then you’ll have to show me.” You leant over the counter.

“Oh my god, this is so good.” He said as he finished it up.

“Isn’t it?” You grinned, eyes lit up.

“How do you make these?” He asked, mouth half full, chewing away.

“Trade secrets.”

“Hmm, I bet.” Endeavor raised an eyebrow.

He made the rest of his way through them deciding to buy the remainder of each, 1, 3, 1, and 5. He smirked. All your stock was in odd numbers and all the boxes were even. A smart way to suggest people leave with more than they intended to buy.

“What’s your quirk?” He asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Is it perhaps a… disappearing quirk?”

“Very perceptive Endeavor. People do like filling things up. It’s not illegal, reducing your stock is it?”

He leant over the counter in the same way that you were. Suddenly you felt very very close, noses almost touching.

“Would you like it to be?” His voice was almost lower up close, you could feel the heat from his flames and the breeze of his breath. He was actually quite good looking up close.

“Why, will you arrest me Endeavor.”

“No,” he grinned, a boyish grin that you rather liked. “The police arrest people, I just bring them to justice for what they’ve done.”

You were blushing now, you didn’t think he’d pluck up the courage to be so blunt, afterall you’d be coaxing him for about half an hour or so now.

His lips brushed yours teasingly, an invitation to open your mouth, his hand sliding gently around the side of your neck. His fingers big enough that he could stroke his thumb down your cheek, you bit his lip gently and he groaned. You found yourself leaning further over the counter, hands in his hair, pulling it a little, he groaned again. You smirked as he kissed you, you were fairly sure he liked it a little rough.

“Hold on” he paused, making his way around behind the counter. “Mind if come back here?” He asked, arms instinctively wrapping around you, leaning to kiss you again. He was a good kisser, and it was better now the counter wasn’t in the way, you could feel his whole body against you. You wondered if his kiss would feel just as good elsewhere. “So…” he continued, speaking, about an inch away from your ear. “About this deal?”

“Only if you say please.”

[minnesota-fats]

I was rereading a Dead Marvel x Danny Phantom crossover ( last updated in 2014, RIP ) called Marvel Phantom by Slayer Anderson, and here is the Summary.

So...the Fentons punch a hole through to the afterlife in their basement, and develop unparalleled hover technology and...they're crackpots?

In that fic, that gets played seriously because they showed their tech and a brief glimpse of the Ghost Zone to the News for an interview on their studies and everyone on the planet, from Companies to the Military, wants their tech.

Like they made a physic cancelers shd gravity inverters for their hover machines to study ghosts, not knowing that what they did went beyond groundbreaking and make every technology look like it came from the stone age.

That they are actually geniuses that do genius things despite being 'kooky.'

And you know what, that author is right. Are there any other stories out there where someone stops and says 'You built a what in your basement that did what?!

Sure, Amity is Amity which deals with weird supernatural shit, so they get a pass on not actually stopping and thinking that, but what's everyone else excuse?

Suddenly imagine everyone knows about FentonTech and what they can do.

Remember the Fenton Crammer that can shrink humans and inanimate objects? And if a ghost gets shrunk, their powers get weaker? That can be very useful to transport stuff that would had taken time and money.

Or how they have a what's basically a futuristic tank for a RV that has a lot of space?

Or that they have an Emergency Ops Center on their home that can turn into a hover vehicle.

All of the anti-ghost weapons.

I can go on and on, but things can get funny/ hairy real fast.

Wayne Ent, Lex Corp, Cadmus, every military will want a generous piece of that Fenton Pie, with the Fentons going, what's the big deal? We only made this for ghosts and shit. Whatever happened because of that was a happy accident.

Also imagine Lex Luthor about to pop a blood vessel, and holding himself back from throttling Jack during a talk .

Lex: 'Let me get this straight. You built a pocket-sized mini nuclear reactor that can power the US for six generations at full capacity and still have the juice to power an extra two, and instead of using that to for the betterment of mankind and showing those aliens ( cough Superman cough ) their place, you use it to power a pastry machine homemade peanut butter FUDGE!?'

Jack: Gourmet peanut butter fudge! :D it even makes pies and cookies. That nice Superhero with that A on his chest sure loved the Apple Pie it made!

Luthor: *collaspes and start to foam at the mouth out of rage, shock and disbelief*

Vlad that was sitting at a corner: *Sniff*. 'Welcome to my world.'

Bro this is HILARIOUS!!!!

This is the type of chaos I LIVE FOR!

I know little to nothing of Alex Luther other than the fact that he is a xenophobe…. And that he got cancer from being a xenophobe. (Ha! that’s how it should be for racists and such(jk cancer is actually really bad and not a joke))

He would just be MAD that these social idiots would have been able to go all of this with NO FUNDING!

Like seriously where did they get the money to do this crap????

Also Vlad crying in the corner is so funny to me, the grown ass man being a pouty bitch cuz he can’t have a woman he simpped for for 20 plus years!

Wish I could add more but I can’t possibly think of what else to add other than this.

[hauntedwitch04]

Bday memories

Modern!Azriel x reader

Words: about 1.7k words

Warnings: sad sad sad, selfharm mentioned, death thoughts, fluffy couple, a little bit of innuendos of smut

Author's note: Hi! So this is the first for my series of oneshot for my birthday. I changed my plan and I'll plan the Steve Harrington one in honor of a lovely human that is born that day.

P.s this oneshot contains really personal thought and happenings. I don't know if you all are confortable with what I have written, but I kinda needed to get this out of my system. Please if you feel what I felt get someone to help you. I'm always here to listen if someone what someone to talk with :) You are not alone, remember it loves

Requests are open I Ask

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Bday plan

For your birthday, you never wanted anything more than to spend it with the people you love most, without going anywhere or doing anything special, yet you never really succeeded because eventually everyone you cared about would leave, leaving you alone.

You wake up in your boyfriend's bed, next to Azriel who, however, is still asleep, so you stop and look at him as you reflect.

Today is your birthday.

Usually your birthday is one of your favorite days of the year, not so much for the presents, but for the excuse precisely to be able to spend time with those you love, for no real actual reason, but rather to celebrate having gone another full circle around the sun.

Yet this birthday you feel it is different.

Last year, not on the very day of your birthday, but a few days later you had met up with what at the time was your best friend, or at least you thought she was, to celebrate your birthday, your 18th birthday, but the celebration had not gone as you expected.

Before leaving, after giving you the gift and a notebook with all the memories of your adventures together imprinted on it, she had given you a letter to read later, saying not to read it right away so as "not to spoil the mood." Immediately you had become suspicious, but had not given much weight to her words, wanting to enjoy that day with her.

In the evening, looking back at the sad and not very personal gift she had given you and wondering if really eight years of friendship was worth just that one gift on such an important day, remembering the personal and special gift you had prepared for her eighteenth birthday, you read that fatal letter.

At first you thought it would be tear-jerking, loving and sweet, as is usually the case among friendships that work, but this time you were surprised.

In this one she accused you of having changed into someone she did not recognize, into someone she did not have the pleasure of having near her because she no longer respected her tastes, and you felt as if pierced in the beginning by those words, and then turned that pain into anger, which, however, with the passage of time became sadness again.

At that moment, like a sword ready to cut the thread that kept you bound to reality, you felt like a horrible person, unable to love and unable to have friends.

Ever since you were a little girl you have been abandoned by every person you find, after a while, as if they get tired of you, and decide that you are the problem, when your only concern is that the other person is well and happy, but this time it seemed different, at least until a while before, where you had begun to sense that your friend was changing, into something different, something strange, and that between the two of you things were no longer going very well, but you didn't think it would ever come to that.

You had certainly changed a bit, but you thought you had done so for the better, as you saw yourself as more confident and happier, while she did nothing but talk about herself and think only of herself, overshadowing you and leaving you no room to grow.

His words hurt you so much that for months you were at your lowest, depressed so much that every night you cried on your pillow before falling asleep asking Mother not to leave you alone.

If it hadn't been for your friends, you don't even know if you would have moved on, or if you would have stopped doing the biggest shit of all that you had ever done.

After weeks of being in pain, and feeling cornered by life, alone in the grip of its fury, you had tried to make your pain go away by causing yourself some more pain, this time physical pain, cutting your wrists, not so much as to bleed profusely but enough to leave deep scratches that ached for days on end.

Fortunately, your other friends seeing your state did not leave you alone and made sure you got back on track to face what would be the worst school year of your life: your senior year of high school.

They have led you to believe that after all maybe you are not such a horrible person and that if they have done all this for you, there must be some good in you, however somehow this whole experience has led you to reevaluate that day that since childhood you love so much, and almost to fear it.

Then when you started college a few months ago, you met the first guy who really made your heart flutter like it was the first time: Azriel, an older guy who is in one of your classes, though, and after sitting next to each other for a couple of classes, he had asked you out, and you without a second thought said yes.

Now you find yourself here in his bed, ready to celebrate your big day, after being together only a month and a bit. Every day you wonder how lucky you were to meet him, and how much fate loves you for making him fall in love with you.

He is the guy everyone dreams about: handsome, smart, sensitive, funny and last but not least an absolute god in bed, yet he chose you and this is not possible to understand somehow.

You didn't even realize he woke up, too lost in your thoughts, until you felt his lips on your hands, clutching his shirt while your face rested on the pillow.

"Good morning baby." He says in a hoarse voice, and you almost have to hold back not to groan at hearing it.

"Good morning." You answer, trying to recover.

"What were you thinking about, before I interrupted you?" He asks curiously, as he wraps his mighty arms around you. Outside his bedroom door you hear the first movements of the morning, with Cassian, one of his roommates, leaving to go for his jog along the river.

"Well I was thinking a little bit about last year and all the things that happened to me during the year." You confess, without shame, having already opened your heart fully on that subject to Azriel a while ago, explaining to him the reason for certain faded scars on your arm.

He immediately becomes serious as he pulls your face up with one hand, making sure that you are now looking into each other's eyes.

"Love, the past is in the past and can no longer hurt you because you abandoned it at the bottom of the sea, it can never surface again." He says softly, while with his thumb he caresses your cheek, and with his mouth he leaves a trail of kisses all along your jaw. "And even if those memories surface now and then you instead of taking them as bad and evil omens, you remember that they became the launching pad for being the amazing person you are today." He continues, before leaving a sweet kiss on your lips.

You cry a little bit, unable to contain your emotions, and so you let all the emotions you were reliving before come out of you with those tears. Once you have calmed down he looks at you, trying to figure out how you were and you smile at him, so he kisses you again and hugs you tighter than before if possible. You feel the warm palms of his hands on your back, while his chin rests on your head, as if trying to absorb you into his own body.

"Happy complenno my little one." He whispers at the end, after a few minutes of pure silence. You smile and thank him with your voice still hoarse from crying.

"I know I promised to give you only one present, but we both know I can never fail to spoil you." He finally confesses, chuckling.

"Azriel! You promised me! Now I feel guilty!" You say, looking up and laughing in turn.

"How can you feel guilty if someone decides to give you a birthday present!" He asks shocked. "Besides, I couldn't decide, they were all perfect, so I got them all."

"Couldn't you keep them for Christmas, too?" You say with an obvious manner.

"Even by Christmas I already have at least five. "He confesses again in a low voice.

"You're kidding I hope!"

"I've already told you that I have to spoil you, you're my little girl and if it were up to me I would cover you with gifts every day."

"Which is not very different from what you do." You respond by sticking your tongue out at him. He responds by kissing you passionately, and pushing your body under his.

"Maybe I should give you your first present already." He says in a low, gravelly voice to your ear, before leaving a series of wet, warm kisses down your neck. "Which I believe will be repeated again tonight."

"Oh really?" You say trying to reason again, even as you begin to feel pleasure slowly cloud your senses.

"A guy has to make sure his girlfriend is well satisfied, especially on her birthday." He says chuckling, before returning to leave purple marks on your snow-white neck.

Too engrossed in your sinful activity you do not realize that Cassian has returned from his jog, until he throws open the door to the room.

"Happy birthday little one, how is it to be 19 years old-oh fuck is it possible you two are worse than rabbits?" Cassian comments, covering his eyes and walking out, not before adding. "When will you learn to close the door?"

"When will you learn to knock instead?" Azriel comments in return, covering your body with his so his friend can't see you. "Or better yet, when will you learn to mind your own business?"

"When you learn to keep your hands to yourself Azzy." Cassian replies, now in the distance.

"Well then I'd say we'd better learn how to close the door first." You comment this time.

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[the-fiction-witch]

GIRL P1

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins (Younger Jack Navy Years)

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet

I sat on my bed inside my cabin and tossed my lucky coin between my fingers my book in hand tried to get this damn reading done but it wasn't exactly going well. A dirty grimy head pops around the door, "You comin'?" Mick asked with a wide enthusiastic smile, "No thanks," I told him, "Jack. Come on." He whined as he leant on the door frame, "Don't be borin'," "I'm fine being boring," I shrugged, "Yeah, and I ain't. Come on! I'll buy ya a drink?" "I'm fine Mick really," "When did ya last get your sorry blonde butt off this boat?" "…uhhh…" I honestly didn't remember, "When did ya last have some beer that weren't watered down?" "You think it isn't at the tavern?" "It'll be less watered down," "… Maybe six months," "We've been at sea longer than that ya lil shit," "Then I don't know," "When was the last time ya even sniffed a girl?" "uhh… I think I saw a girl last time we docked, don't think I was close enough to sniff her though…" "Jack, let's go. walk or I shove ya." "Fine," I rolled my eyes and set my book down, "Yes! Come on I'll buy ya a drink," he said as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder so I couldn't get out of this, "Where are we going then?" "Ahh there is this amazing place me and the boys know just down the street we'll be plenty close to the ship, the drinks are strong, the pies are full and the girls…. are gorgeous," He explained as he led me up though the ship, "And trust me ya'll be close enough to do more than sniff 'em, Jack," "Ohh Eerrr…" "What?" "Nothing I just uhhh… I don't think I'll take up on the girls," "Ohh? No?" He asked, "They have boys too?" "No. No, I just…" "Wait," he smirked, he fully stopped as we got on deck and turned to me with this smirk, "Jack?" He smirked as he narrowed his eyes and I just stayed silent sheepishly, "… when did Grimm bring you on? How old were ya?" "…14." I gulped as I prayed he wasn't going to catch on, but his eyes lit up.

"And you're an anti-social little shit ya never come off the ship with us? "Yeah…" "so…" "No." "Oh my god…" "Don't." "You're a- "Don't! Say it!" "No… no… ya can't… you're a-" "Don't. Say. It. Mick." "Okay… okay, our little secret," he laughed, "Okay, thank you." I nodded, "let's just go for a drin-" I began, "Jack's a Virgin!" Mick yelled at full volume which made everyone stop and look at me, "Thanks, Mick," I sighed, "You're welcome," he smirked, At that moment everyone else still on the ship banded together and forced me off the ship, I knew I wasn't getting out of this I could have weaselled out with just Mick but I knew I didn't have a choice now. They all but dragged me down the street all while making jokes at my expense until we reached a little hole in the wall Traven 'The Maidens View' and I was kicked inside. Everyone found somewhere to sit and I tried to hide in the corner but Mick forced me to sit with him at the bar. Mick bought me a drink as I looked around, the place was clean, tidy the scent of beer and smoke was in the air, and I admit the girls were… pretty. Honestly, they didn't need to be I can't even remember the last time I was this close to a girl. Everyone made jokes at my expense and tried to get me interested in one of the girls but I was too blushy and embarrassed to even talk to them. "Come on! ya, pick. Anyone you want. me and Sam are going in," Mick laughed as he sipped his drink,

"What?" I blushed, "we'll pay for it come on it's your first," Sam chuckled as he shoved my shoulder, "I don't know…" I said sheepishly, "Come on, any of them take ya fancy? if not we can go down the street there are a hundred whores places like this." Mick explained, I sighed and for the first time, I actually looked at the girls rather than merely being blown away by them, none of them… really seemed all that interesting, "No," I shrugged, "No? alright, we'll finish up and take you somewhere else." Sam laughed, I nodded as I had some more of my drink kinda half hoping I could keep bar popping with them until they were too drunk to remember about all this and honestly I didn't much like any of the girls here they all seemed like… I don't know, like when you look at an old bed and you can just tell how many other people have laid in it and it just makes you… not wanna lay on it for fear of it breaking, or being gross. But… unfortunately, I stopped short as I glanced up across the tavern and saw a girl, she couldn't have been much older than me in a little sage green dress that she adjusted up her shoulder where it had fallen down her arm, her hair in a sweet braid wrapped around her head, she came down the stairs and grabbed some tankards that she began to take to tables. She was very cute, quite pretty, and… had a little bit more of a refined way about her I guess. the unfortunate part is that as I noticed her pretty much everyone noticed that I noticed her and began their jokes and playful encouragement.

And before I even had time to attempt to protest Mick and Sam were talking to the bartender and paid him. So… I'm not getting out of this. She finished up with the drinks and returned to the bar setting her tray down, where the bartender spoke to her and she nodded. "Which of you was it?" The bartender asked, "This strapping lad here." Mick laughed giving my arm a playful punch, She nodded and smiled as she came and stood in front of me, she offered her hand and for a moment I was too nervous to move, but I took her hand and let her lead me up towards the stairs as I heard everyone from the ship encouraging and making jokes at me, "Take good care of him!" Mick yelled as she took me up the stairs and into a little room with her.

[frosted-skies]

trikey —

deliver to: heaven

TW: Dr*gs, overdose and s*icidal ideation

i would wait for you a thousand years, but would my life last long enough?

trevor philips x michael de santa

a series of nine letters, corresponding to the nine years since michael townley’s death during a failed heist in ludendorff, north yankton, written by trevor philips.

the nine letters are kept safely in individual envelopes, stacked chronologically and locked in a wooden box under his bed.

engraved in the wood was:

deliver to: heaven.

—

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Yv3sN3tq0kfgZyI83k5P2?si=JKbagLZiS0KzG9A9vOgbjA&pi=a-ATFl3aYgQmuF

2004.

Michael.

I can't believe you’re not with me anymore. I can’t believe you are gone, I can’t believe you are dead. I couldn't leave your tombstone, even after everyone else had left, including your wife and children.

I stayed there for god knows how long. I cried in the cold unforgiving North Yankton winter, kneeling next to your grave. I held onto your tombstone. That smooth concrete with your name engraved.

Michael Townley, 1965-2004.

I wanted to dig out your body, I wanted to look at your face one last time. I cried, screamed, begged for all of this to be a dream. I prayed to a God I didn't even know existed, I yelled into the empty grey skies. I yelled your name. hoping that somehow and somewhere, you’d come back.

Why did it have to end like this? I should have taken that bullet instead of you, I should have died and not you. Why was it you? Why did it have to be you? Why? I don’t know how to live without you, Mikey. You were my everything. And now…you’re gone.

Maybe you’re happier on the other side wherever you end up. I don’t fucking know. But I can’t think of a way to live a life without you. I’d crumble without you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I see you in everything and everywhere. I can’t get you outta my mind. I have a shirt of yours. And a jacket. Those are my only two things that will remind me of you. And I’ll treasure it with my whole life. I promise.

I’m missing you so much, Townley. And I’ll keep missing you forever. I’ll always be waiting for you on the other side. No matter how long it takes. I’m waiting for you. I promise.

T.

2005.

Michael.

It’s been a year since you left me. A fucking year. 12 months, 48 weeks, 365 days, 8760 hours and 525,600 minutes.

All that time. I spent it alone. I moved to another part of the US. I decided to move to San Andreas. Blaine County. Sandy Shores. In a trailer.

I did drugs. All that you could think of. Just so I can fill the void and the never ending pain that your death caused. I still can’t believe that you’re actually gone. Sometimes I saw see you in my dreams. Sometimes I see your face in other people’s. God, I miss you so much I think I’m going a bit crazy.

But I don’t think you would like to see me like this, do you? I don’t know. But I just needed something to quell me from the emptiness that you left me. I still have that shirt and jacket of yours. I take care of it well, so your scent doesn’t ever go away. I kept all the pictures we took. I look at them when I miss you the most. And then I cry my eyes out. And then I smoke meth. And repeat.

One year since you left me and I’m struggling. I don’t know what will happen to me soon. But I’ll wait for you. I promise, I will never forget you and I’ll wait.

I miss you and I love you. Forever. Until I die.

T.

2006.

Michael.

Two years. Two fucking years. Two years have passed since you died.

I don’t know if I’m surviving. Barely.

Writing to Brad. He’s in prison. Even though I hate his guts kinda, I still write. I’m not heartless am I?

I went to visit you up in North Yankton. Still cold as always. I think the priest saw me. I don’t know. Don’t care. I sat there for probably three hours. Talking to you. Talking to a fucking stone. I don’t know if you heard me. I guess you did.

I miss you so much Mikey. I really do. Why did you have to leave me so soon?

I have no energy to write more. I’m gonna go smoke meth probably.

I miss you. I love you.

T.

2007.

Michael.

Three fucking years.

Three.

The more days I live, the more I wonder if I should still stay. My life has no purpose.

My tolerance grew. The usual amount I smoked isn’t cutting it anymore.

I sometimes smoke with a picture of you next to me. You’re my only friend. I think.

I tried huffing gas. Interesting experience. Ended up with a pounding headache and puking my guts out at the abandoned motel. Who cares.

I don’t think I should stay alive anymore, Mikey.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m numb. I feel invisible. Miserable. Horrible.

I should just…die. I have no purpose to live anymore. Especially without you here with me. I’m tired of crying, breathing, and living. I might just die by an overdose. I should.

I’m broken, Mikey. Maybe I’ll see you. You’re waiting for me, right?

T.

2008.

Michael.

Four years. Sorry I wrote later than usual.

I was high as fuck. Took a mix of meth and heroin. Crazy. I probably killed a guy or two. I don’t know.

Almost died. Wasn’t planning to at that moment.

I heard your voice when I was tripping. Were you visiting me Mikey? I missed you.

I dont know if it was the drugs or my imagination. But I swear I saw you.

Planning to overdose next year, on the fifth year. Probably gonna mix a fuckton of drugs. It’ll be effective. I hope so. I just wanna meet you again.

You’re waiting right? Wait for me Mikey.

I’m coming.

T.

2009.

Michael.

Well…I tried.

I overdosed. I drank, I smoked. Somehow. But somehow, I’m still alive. Fuck.

Damn it. Fuck. Wait for me Mikey.

Please. I wanna see you again.

Hold you. Hug you. Talk to you.

Wait for me. Please.

I’ll come to you, Mikey. I promise.

T.

2010.

Michael.

Six years have passed.

I still wished I was the one who got shot. Not you. God. I miss you everyday. It hurts. Even the drugs aren’t cutting it anymore.

I miss you so much. I don’t know how to describe it. This grief seems to go on forever.

Should I just…keep living and accept the fact that you’re gone?

Tried to die twice to meet you but it seems like my life has other plans. Maybe one day I’ll accept the fact that you’re gone. But that doesn’t change the fact that I miss you so much. Remember that.

T.

2011.

Michael.

Coming to terms with the fact that you’re dead is weird. I’m still doing drugs though.

I think I found a friend. His name is Ron or whatever. He's a bit of a weirdo and his wife's an ass.

He's kinda like a little apprentice to me. I started a little drug stint to make money. Forgot to tell you that.

Even though I'm slowly accepting reality…that you're gone…

I will never forget you.

Take my word for that.

T.

2012.

Michael.

Sorry for not writing. Ron got a divorce from his ass wife. He lives in the trailer next to mine. I got another kid. Wade. Very gullible young kid.

I've been thinking of you a lot.

I've fully accepted that you're dead. After eight damn years. Almost a decade of me crying at night because I missed you.

Accepting that you're dead feels weird. Really weird. It's kinda like I've made peace with it. I no longer feel the weight of my grief. Nor have I felt that soul-crushing, rose-thorns-on-my-throat feeling of deathly missing you. Even after all that.

Remember that in another universe I still love you with all my heart.

T.

2013.

Michael.

Happy New Year. Well…I'm a month late. You don't care, do you?

I hope you're okay wherever you are. It's almost ten years since you're gone.

Isn't it weird that everyone grieves differently? I'm here always having you in my thoughts. Maybe your wife moved on quick and married someone else!

Finally accepting your death is calming. I'm not a miserable mess anymore. I have those two idiots and my business to occupy my time.

You're always in my thoughts. I miss you lots, Mikey. I love you lots, too.

T.

[yandere-collections]

Since the first post about it, I am now eternally rotating Yandere Town in my mind. Lately it’s imagining how the townspeople would react if the reader was a complete recluse. There’d be clandestine watchtowers in place with a view of the readers home, and any time they left people got some equivalent of an amber alert that their darling is out and about, so be on your best behavior! Everyone working double time to make every second count should they encounter the reader, tripping over themselves to try and make enough of an impression that they just might come out more often.

The more desperate folks get dressed in blue collar outfits and pass themselves off as inspectors who “just need to take a quick look around, make sure everything’s in order.” The reader is equal parts relieved that the town takes citizen safety so seriously and confused as to why five people have showed up in the last three days, not to mention that they seem more interested in chatting than doing any work. The local government cracks down on that pretty quickly, but a few people still slip through the cracks.

Once they all get some idea of what the reader enjoys, the events going on in town get weirdly specific. Checked out a lot of horror books at the library? Big horror movie night in the gym! Spotted shopping around the farmers market? Time for the local festival with plenty of fresh pies and homemade treats! Frequently stop by a certain restaurant? What do you know, they actually throw this big feast in town every year! Crazy how it just happens to fall on the readers birthday, huh? They wouldn’t want to miss it, would they?

And since I’m a big fan of darlings who can read between the lines, the reader catching on that people are acting weird and leaving the house even less than they did when they first arrived, and turning away any unexpected visitors, even if they really are there to check on the house. Unrest sweeping through the streets because nobody’s seen them for the past month, and the leaders have to resort to drastic measures to keep the peace. The fireman chalk up the destruction of the readers entire house to be a horrible case of flawed wiring, they really should’ve let someone check that out. Nowhere to stay? Don’t be silly! Anyone in town would be happy to take them in until they have somewhere new to stay. It’s a close knit town, so expect plenty of guests! Surely the reader won’t mind, they can’t dictate such things in someone else’s home, right? :)

(Apologies for the long-ish ask, it’s just been rotting my brain and I needed to get it all out of my system. Love the stories, love you, have a wonderful day.)

YES YES YES!!! You have reached into my mind and took my exact thoughts to the point where I don't actually have much to add to this.

I definitely think being a recluse would lead to more yanderes invading your privacy, ironically enough. If they can't come in for inspections, your "neighbors" offer to renovate and maintain your home. New paint, gardening, one of them even offered to start digging a hole in your backyard to put in a pool (no ulterior motives here! they totally aren't hoping to catch you in a bathing suit on the dozens of cameras surrounding your house). While you may be missing some things and you're pretty sure you have less locks on your windows now, you can't deny how much nicer the house looks. Hopefully you don't get too attached because, like you said, something bad may happen if you spend too much time inside. They won't resort to burning it down unless they're really desperate. Most of the time, a burst sewer line or power outage is enough. Maybe the utility company will shut off your water, forcing you to stay at a friend's for a while.

Never apologize for long asks! It's a genuine delight to see how excited people get about my writing <3

[polutrope]

For the holiday prompts, @i-did-not-mean-to requested "Pets and decorations for the best boy in the whole story HUAN (Celegorm can come if he behaves)."

Here you are friend! Everyone came. ~1.2k words of Finvesen family holiday fun with Huan. One F-bomb, rated G. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list. Beleria Cast of Characters.

“Wow,” Celegorm muttered to himself as he stepped into his parents’ foyer.

Nerdanel had outdone herself this year. The Yule tree — a ten foot tall structure only vaguely reminiscent of a conifer — glittered silver and gold under the skylight. In place of branches it was girded in spear-like protrusions, spiralling up the bare wooden pillar at its centre and gradually decreasing in length until they reached a conical crown of clear glass. At the end of each javelin hung an ornament. One would have expected glass, or metal, the sort of costly thing typical of Fëanor and Nerdanel — but this Yule tree, in stark contrast to its structure, was adorned with balls of what appeared to be scrap textile.

It was hideous.

Celegorm shucked off his coat and tossed it on the shoe rack. There was no need to announce his arrival: Huan had bounded ahead the moment they came through the door.

Sure enough, the voice of Fëanor grew louder as he rounded the corner.

“Turko! Your damn dog is getting his hair all over the couch. It was just cleaned!”

“Hi, Dad,” Celegorm greeted him. “Nice tree.”

“Oh, you like it?” Fëanor asked, forgetting Huan’s trespass for the moment. “It’s quite unique, isn’t it? Your mother’s idea to use the old telephone pole and textiles. She’s become quite the proponent of upcycling.” Fëanor bracketed this last in scare quotes.

He looked skeptically at the tree then back to Celegorm. “It’s grown on me,” he mused. “But!” he suddenly pivoted to set his hands on Celegorm’s shoulders, “It’s good to see you, son!”

As they belatedly embraced, Huan came padding back into the room and yapped, leaping up on his hind legs in an attempt to join them.

“Down, boy,” Celegorm laughed. “Remember this is grandma and grandpa’s house, you’ve gotta be a good boy.”

Huan cocked his head.

“Aw, you’re always a good boy, I know.” Celegorm ruffled a hand between his ears. “Come on, let’s go to the basement, Dad won’t be upset if you roll around down there.”

Celegorm winked at Fëanor, who huffed and shook his head.

His father rattled off the usual stream of thoughts as he followed after Celegorm. “I thought you were arriving with Curvo — he is bringing Tyelpë I hope. How are they getting here? Is Cáno giving them a ride then? Have you spent much time with his boyfriend? Daeron. Of course I want my sons to be with whomever they like, but it really is uncanny with him and Nelyo and you finding partners who just so happen to be the children of — oh never mind, none of my business, is it? Can you believe, six months and he still won’t bring him over for dinner! Your mother is picking up the twins. They wanted to take the bus, if you can believe that. Nelyafinwë is picking up a couple pies. He insisted. Have you heard from Moryo, by the way? Your mother texted him but he hasn’t replied.”

Celegorm plopped himself down in a plush arm chair. “I don’t know.”

“Hello! We’re here!” Nerdanel’s voice called from upstairs. Huan bounded back up to greet her.

Fëanor frowned. “That dog is going to have to stay down here. He gets far too excited when everyone is together like this. Did you have to bring him?”

“Huan goes where I go, Dad.”

“Well we’re not spending the whole evening down here so I hope not!”

“Then you’re going to have to let my dog upstairs.”

Fëanor grunted and turned, taking the stairs two at a time to greet his wife and youngest sons. Celegorm took advantage of what might be his last moment of solitude before the storm hit in earnest.

A moment later, Amrod trundled down the stairs. “Hey!” he said.

Celegorm leapt up to take his lanky little brother into a bear hug. “Hey, it’s Red One!”

Amrod kneed him in the thigh. “I have a name.”

“You do?” Celegorm said, and released him with an affectionate smack on the shoulder.

“So, uh,” Amrod said, “what the fuck is with that tree?”

*

And so it went with each new arrival, exchanging knowing looks and murmurs and trying not to snicker at the texts Amrod and Amras kept sending the sibling group chat. Curufin was the only one of them who dared state his disapproval of the tree openly, scowling as he said, “It’s not to my taste.” Maedhros went the opposite direction, concealing his obvious (to his brothers) revulsion with effusive praise and a litany of questions about the tree's craftsmanship and inspiration and symbolism.

After a round of drinks, they all retreated to the kitchen to serve themselves from the spread of food. It was a Finvesen family tradition to get together for a casual meal when the Yule tree was erected. It used to be a decorating party, with a live tree and ornaments strewn over the ground, a memory attached to each one recalled with laughter — but with the move to Beleria, the last of the children finally moved out, Fëanor’s wealth, and Nerdanel’s increasing creative eccentricity, traditions had changed. Celegorm could not say it was for the better. He’d much preferred the joyful chaos back in Valin.

“Hey, guys,” Amrod said as he re-entered the living room ahead of the others. “Where’s Huan?”

Celegorm strolled up behind him to see his dog, indeed, gone. “Huan boy!” he called.

There was a playful yelp from the foyer, and Huan came barrelling in shaking one of the cloth ornaments in his jaw. He tossed it on the ground and disembowelled it of its stuffing. Then he ran back, and there was a crashing and yelping, and another ball rolled into the living room.

It seems Huan agreed with the general opinion on the tree. Celegorm laughed hysterically until Amrod clapped a hand over his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Curufin asked as he walked up beside them with his plate.

“Shh, shh,” Celegorm hushed him. “Pretend you don’t notice.”

"Oh. I see," Curufin said.

So they retook their seats, keeping up the mundane chatter, each brother shushing the others as they entered. Huan gleefully made a heap of his carnage in the archway between foyer and living room.

Returning second-to-last, Fëanor immediately caught sight of the mountain of destroyed ornaments. There was a tense moment of silence; then he turned to Celegorm, grinning, and winked as he took his seat.

“You’re all being very quiet,” Nerdanel said, plopping herself down last. “Is something going on?” She scanned the room. “Oh my god! What happened to my—!” She set her plate down and burst into the foyer. “Huan! Huan, bad! Stop pissing on my tree!”

Following Fëanor’s cue, the others all broke into laughter.

“You’re all terrible,” Nerdanel said, standing in the door frame with her hands on her hips.

Then she too chuckled, then laughed, then howled. “No. No, you’re all perfectly right.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s hideous, isn’t it? I don’t know what I was thinking. What do you say we go pick up a proper tree after we’re eaten?”

“Yes, please!” everyone shouted in unison.

[atopvisenyashill]

I agree a lot with the anon talking about Dany and Viserys' death. I've always seen it as Dany's equivalent to Littlefinger's show trial (as a relative and abuser brought to a painful and unexpected end by someone else on their behalf), and she was decidedly less involved in it than Sansa. A good foreshadowing example instead is her reaction when Drogo talks about invading Westeros.

Still, I've also always felt that there's an indication for Dany's ending in there as well, though not how D&D intended.

They spent several seasons playing with the idea of Dark Sansa, but Littlefinger's execution is the absolute darkest she ever got. That's where her darkness ends; meanwhile, Dany's story started with it, and she just kept/will keep going down from there. The standards for Dany's MOs were never the same as the other main characters' (save Tyrion), which shows well how villainous she was meant to become when put side by side to the heroic characters.

wait because i JUST saw a tweet (one of my rhaenicent friends quote-tweeted to make fun lol) where someone was like "oh when dany tries to reclaim her seat it's all 'she must pay for the crimes of her family' but when the starks do it it's fine" and my friend was like "okay now talk about the crimes dany herself has committed!!" so i was just thinking about this lol.

because yeah like, a lot of the problem here is that so far as we are into the series, the only comparable crime any stark has committed to dany specifically was bran warging hodor and i dare say we are going to dig into the evil of that in his next chapters, the same way george took like, an entire book to delve into the moral and ethical ramifications of trying to rule over a city you just sacked in adwd. a lot of arya's kills are pretty cut and dry self defense with the exception of daeron the singer (icr how he spells his name it might not be that valyrian spelling), and she almost immediately loses her eyesight for that one, so it's sort of like, well, arya and bran are clearly on their way to Face Some Consequences, but their moral failings are also on a much more interpersonal level here than anything going on in dany's story (because.....that's the point imo, that dany affects so much without really thinking through what she's affecting; she is not the only character being used to make this point tho, just imo one of hte more prominent).

and beyond that, show wise, like you said, the most evil sansa gets is *checks notes* murdering the two men who have been regularly abusing her for years in a way that you could say was kinda overkill. is it great when you come at it from a political standpoint? no, it's not like, fantastic. and even though it is. just the dumbest shit especially because there are once again no repercussions for it, i DO very much dislike that arya was the one that did the Red Wedding 2.0/Rat Cook thing that Lady Stoneheart/Manderly are actually in charge for (which like, listen I love Manderly so so much but obviously murdering a couple of dudes and baking them into pies to feed to their family is not like, um, great from a moral or political standpoint). so while you could definitely argue that show arya is morally bankrupt on a similar level as dany - and you can do the same for jon snow too, because that absolute idiot just hands over the north to a lady he knows is a little fire and blood happy for what reason exactly?? - you can't argue sansa is, like point blank, or bran.

and ultimately, like, idc about the show lol when i'm discussing their actions i'm talking about the books and imo while everyone's story plays with morality and ethics and politics etc etc there are some characters who are pretty clearly sliding down morality wise early on - as you say, tyrion's mo is pretty regularly threatening to rape people, and then dany spends the last few chapters of her first book trying to rationalize war time slavery and rape, and then murders her slave to hatch some dragons. jaime throws a literal child out a window. cersei helps murder a bunch of other kids, gives innocent women over to be tortured to death, and doesn't even attempt to curb the abuses of sansa. and then you have sansa, who may or may not be knowingly poisoning sweetrobin - it's unclear but seems likely she just doesn't understand how dangerous the substances she's feeding sweetrobin are - and arya who commits a few murders in self defense, then kills one or two dudes in cold blood and faces immediate consequences. bran who is in the middle of an unresolved story arc where he's mind raping someone. arianne and asha both attempt to gain power and while there are some victims they're both taking pains to limit the amount of victims, and carry a lot of guilt for the damage they've done and are trying to atone for it, in their own ways. it's like...........idk feels like a slightly marked difference between some of these characters here. it's why i can't discount a bad ending for bran - obviously i want a happier ending for him, and i think it's foreshadowed to be likely but i'm not stupid, mind raping hodor is probably one of the worst things someone has done, morally, in this series on page, and I do think he's going to grapple with this substantially, in the same way that Dany will one day have to face the truth that she murdered MMD and Drogon harmed the little girl hazzea, and those deaths - and the deaths in Astapor, Meereen, and Yunkai - are something she needs to take into account as her war effort chugs along.

[scotianostra]

January 23rd is National Pie day.

Is it really a year since I last posted on this? Last year I took us on a journey of our Nations favourite, The Scotch Pie, everyone has their go to Butchers or even Bakers for theirs. The Killie Pie is legendary, The Macaroni Pie is another legend, you can still get this elsewhere, but Greggs discontinued their version in 2015. The  Mince Tattie and Baked Bean Pie was always a favourite of mine growing up, our local bakers did a great job of this, sadly the bakers is no more. And this time of year you can find Bells Steak and Haggis usually on offer at the supermarkets throughout Scotland, especially for Burns Night, which is only a couple days away.

Anyway this year I want to concentrate on the Steak Pie.

Us Scots love a steak pie to celebrate the New Year and cannot get enough of them, according to industry experts. But why has it become an annual tradition across the country?

One theory holds that steak pie became the national dish at New Years because January 1 wasn’t generally taken as a holiday so families were too busy to cook.

They would buy steak pies to feed their families instead, this continues to this day as people want a delicious meal after the previous night’s celebrations. So you could say it was essentially one of the first ready meals.

Or is it that the Steak pie is the nation’s hangover cure on what is often the roughest morning of the year for many, after a night of celebratory drinking?

Another theory is that because it is a big meal you can keep warm and serve to visitors throughout the day, as people come to the house. I don't buy into that one, we Scots always put on a spread on the table, Shortbread, Black Bun, even Dundee Cake was waiting for any first footers and others coming through the door in the wee sma' hours.

In days gone by oor mammies used to cook their own steak pies. so here's a recipe for a traditional Scottish steak pie, as seen in the main pic.

Things you’ll need to make a Scottish Steak Pie

Large Pot/Pan

Mixing Bowl

Pie Dish.

Ingredients

800g Diced Beef Stewing Steak (Approx 2lb)

2 tbsp Plain Flour

2 tbsp Olive Oil/Butter

2 Large Roughly Chopped Onions

500ml Beef Stock (Approx 2 cups)

35ml Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce, Pronounced – Wooster-sher ( Approx 0.14 cups)

1 tbsp Tomato Puree

1 tsp Dijon Mustard

Salt and Pepper to taste.

Now my mum always cheated buy buying ready made Puff Pastr, but you can make your own.

Add ons

Many Scots swear by a Steak and Sausage pie, rather than just steak alone. We don’t mind adding sausages also, but personally like to have just steak most of the time. However, this recipe is easy to adapt if you want to! We’ll share more in variations below, but you can add 4-6 sausages if you like as well.

ake your mixing bowl and toss the beef in the plain flour, this will help insulate the meat while browning as well as helping the sauce to thicken. You can season the flour to help add an extra depth of flavour if you’d like.

Heat your pan and oil/butter, once hot add the onions and cook until soft.

Once the onions are soft add the beef to brown it, this should only take a few minutes.

This process of browning simply means to lightly cook the surface of the steak to caramelize it and add a richer flavour to the meat.

Once browned add the stock, Worcester Sauce, Tomato puree, Dijon mustard and seasoning.

Bring the mixture slowly to the boil.

Once it begins to boil reduce the heat and allow to gently simmer for 2.5 hrs.

During this time stir occasionally and, if you have a gas stove that doesn’t have a low enough setting to simmer keep rotating the pan to avoid too much heat in one place.

If you’re adding sausages (see variations) then you can chop and add them about halfway through cooking. If they have a high fat content you may want to fry off in a separate pan or even boil for 10 minutes to remove some of the fat so that the pie won’t get too greasy.

Once the sauce is good and thick and the meat is breaking apart nicely tip the mixture into the pie dish, it should be roughly 3/4 full.

Preheat your oven to 180°C or 356°F, approx gas mark 4.

Cover the top of the pie dish with the rolled puff pastry, use your thumb or a fork to push down or crimp the edge of the pastry along the rim of the dish, helping to seal the mixture and the flavour in.

Make a hole in the centre of the pie to allow steam to exit during cooking.

Place your pie into the preheated oven for roughly 30 mins or until the pastry has risen and is golden brown.

You can find this recipe and more like it at https://scottishscran.com

[cssns]

CSSNS Get to Know Me!

Let’s say hello to @mie779​!

How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

4 or 5 years

When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

The first scene between Emma and Killian.

What drew you to this event?

I participated last year, and absolutely loved the whole concept and reading all the fantastic stories everyone came up with.

What inspired your topic?

The title "The Pirate Prince" popped into my mind last year, (It was just too much work for me to have two projects for the CSSNS even since I knew both would be multichapter.)  Then things rolled along the lines of coming up with a setting and for some reason I settled on something with dragons. So I ended up with a mix between the "How to train your Dragon" and "Treasure Planet" and my brain continued to suggest it be somewhat steampunk fantasy genre.

If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below.

Back story is: Killian is trying to save his brother's life, he needs a Phoenix flower plant (I KNOW i repurpose that totally made up plant from my "The Dark Elven" from last year. But yeah this works here too.) On his mission, he comes across the princess of Misthaven and her son, though he won't know she's the princess at first... somehow they end up on his ship and follow on the journey to the ends of the world for this special plant.... still a bit loose on the entire plot thing, but it worked out okay last year so why not also this year?

SNIPPET: (The first meeting between Emma and Hook)

Emma smiled and looked over at her son, who now had his back turned to them and her heart sank when she realized he was watching the pirate walk up to the bar.  “Hello, there lad.” The pirate said with a smile, “You were absolutely right, their pies here are the best I’ve ever tasted in all the realms.”  Emma gasped, when had Henry talked to this man? “Henry?” Her voice was sharp and she ignored the grin spreading over the pirate’s face.  “Yes Mom?” Henry turned around and gave her an innocent doe-eyed look.  “Did you speak with a stranger before I found you outside?”  “Perhaps.” Henry looked down at his fingers picking at the hemline of his jacket.  “Not to worry miss.” Even when Emma sent him a sharp look the pirate still continued, “I merely inquired about what happened to the Rabbit Hole.”  “Well this is clearly not the Rabbit Hole,” Emma said and gave him another glare, it didn’t bode well in her mind that Henry had been speaking with this man. “Come Henry we’re leaving.”  “But Moooom,” Henry wined as he jumped from the stool, “I wanted to go see his ship.”  The pirate chuckled and bowed, “You can’t miss her, she is the beauty with the magical sails. She’s the fastest in all the realms.”  “Really?” Henry stopped right in front of the pirate. “Henry!” Emma said between clenched teeth, this had to stop now.  “But mom please…”  “Absolutely not a chance in hell we’ll not go to the docks to see a pirate ship.”  “But it’s got magical sails.” Henry huffed and waved his hands aimlessly in the air. Emma knew her son was seconds away from rolling his eyes too.  “I don’t really care if the damn thing’s got dragon wings and unicorn horn at the bow. We’re not going.” Emma grabbed her son’s arm and tugged him towards the door.  “I actually have a dragon.” The pirate had the audacity to pipe up.  Emma ignored her son’s excited gasp at this revelation and reached for the door.

What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event?

Finishing the story that has been on the back burner for the past year now. AND reading all the wonderful stories everyone comes up with, AND seeing the fanart.

This story sounds very intriguing! Be sure to read it when @mie779​ posts on July 23rd!

[missathlete31]

Dead On Your Feet- Chapter 8

Link for Previous Chapters on my Masterlist Here

Chapter Summary: Maverick is a broken man after listening to Bradley and Jake’s planes go down, and he's not the only one.

This chapter takes a look at those left behind after Hangman and Roosters sacrifice, and how they are expected to go on.

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell has never been known for his patience.

Or his listening skills

Or his rule following

Or for obeying orders

Or really any trait that was actually worth a damn to getting promoted in the Navy. Hence why he was still only a Captain after all these years. In reality he should have been laid out to pasture decades ago, discharged after one too many buzzes around the tower or his stark refusal to accept any job that didn't involve flying. He assumes the list of men who have attempted to permanently ground him is long and distinguished but the ace Pete has had up his sleeve for so long has always managed to get him out of it. Iceman swooping in at the last second to remind the Top Brass why to keep a man like Pete Mitchell employed.

Because Maverick got results. He got successes. He got missions done.

That's what everyone was telling him today, with somber looks and half hearted handshakes. That the mission was complete despite the fact that two pilots never made it home. That the bitter pill of absolute and utter anguish Maverick was feeling should be looked beyond because four Americans did make it back and the Uranium plant was destroyed.

Take the win Maverick

As though Pete could ever think two empty caskets being prepped meant a win.

Especially his casket. Going into the ground under a tombstone labeled Bradshaw that was already more filled than it ever should be.

Pete was going to be sick. Again.

It had been over nine hours since the four Dagger Jets had flown from the carrier this morning. Eight and a half since only two returned. Maverick was stuck in Command during the mission, a fact he should have counted his blessings for according to Cyclone after the stunt he pulled stealing the plane, but it wasn't good enough for Pete, he longed to be in the air with the team.

But he was closing in on sixty years old now and he knew they were never going to let him fly; he was still surprised they even let him teach. Again he knew that was Ice's interference; meddling and hoping to kill two birds with one stone: give the pilots their best chance to make it back alive while simultaneously fix the rift between Mav and Bradley before the Admiral passed.

Ice's plan failed on both parts.

Bradley had tried to talk to him before he got into the plane, had stumbled over his words enough that Mav couldn't know if he was going to apologize or curse him out. Instead of listening Pete gave him a hearty shoulder pat and said later.

But now there would be no later.

Because Bradley didn’t make it home.

In a move that shocked the air from Maverick's lungs, Jake Seresin, aka Hangman of all people, took the missile meant for Rooster. The blonde pilot, notorious for leaving wingmen hanging in training, didn't even hesitate to fly himself over his teammate and take the shot that most likely would have killed the remaining living Bradshaw. Pete had had a split second of horrific relief when he heard on the radio what Seresin had done, had felt the stutter of his traitorous heart when he felt rejoiced that Bradley was still with him even though another pilot, another man, was most likely dead because of it. Fate whipped her cruel hand to repay him for it though as Bradley ignored Command's order to head back to the carrier and instead turned around to go back for his wingman. Then the calls that Dagger Two was down sounded.

Pete had lost it then.

Fritz had been the spare, sitting on the runway listening as his teammates were shot down and torn with indecision when he was ordered to stand down upon his request to provide backup. Maverick had come barreling out from the inside of the ship, screaming at the young pilot to do something despite Admiral Simpson’s consistent litany of no one else being put at risk. Pete was ashamed to remember when he cursed Lieutenant Avalone, telling him he was letting his friends die as Hondo all but carried him back inside and to his barracks. Mav would have to apologize eventually, when he was calmer, more professional. It wasn’t the kid’s fault.

No there was only one person to blame for what happened today and that was Pete. It was his team, his training, his responsibility to get the mission done and bring everyone home and he failed that objective, no matter what the Brass thought.

He sits in his room now, alone from the others, unable to face them and their grief while he himself is drowning in it. He can feel the ship moving once more, heading home, the search for what is left of Rooster and Hangman being left to an extraction team if approved from the higher ups. Maverick knows he won’t be allowed to partake in those discussions, he most likely lost his chance to even be in the Command room during it as well, but he doesn’t care; he won’t be able to stomach it anyway. This, losing Bradley, has finally broken him.

Pete has lost many people in his life: his father, his mother, Goose, Carole, Ice and after each one he has thought the world was over. He has thought he wasn’t strong enough to move on. Yet somehow, someway, Mav has looked at what he still has left and what he owes the people who have left him and he keeps going. He gets back up and he keeps being Maverick. But that can’t happen now. Losing Bradley is all he’s ever had left. Bradley was like a son to Pete in every way that has ever mattered. He has been the buoyancy that has kept Maverick afloat every time and now without him the waves have crashed and the older aviator is floundering. To be perfectly frank, he is finding it hard to come up with a reason to not fling himself into the Pacific right this second, joining all those he’s loved and who have left him.

"Mav” Hondo is knocking on his door, the only man brave enough to seek him out. “I brought you something to eat” the other man offers and if Maverick had any sort of manners left he would thank his long time friend. As it was he has nothing and he rebuffs Bernie with a coldness that the other man doesn't deserve. "I'm not hungry” Pete mutters, his body still slumped in the old mattress, his face buried. "Leave me alone."

"Mav-" with the patience of a saint, Hondo tries again, “open the door.”

"I said I'm not hungry."

The bespectacled man persists, his tone firmer, “open the door Mitchell” he orders, despite the fact that Maverick outranks him. Pete rolls over, ready to continue his game of paying Hondo no attention when he hears Bernie’s body smack the wood of the door frame. “Open it Captain Mitchell” the younger man warns, “before I break it down myself.”

Maverick groans but when another hit sounds, harder this time, he finally gets himself standing. “Alright” he hollers as what sounds like Hondo’s shoulder shudders into the wood, “I’m coming.”

He swings the door open, hoping to look pissed off or at least a little intimidating, but the way the younger man’s face falls, Mav has a feeling he just looks pitiful.

Hondo composes himself, giving his friend a look. “You need to eat something” Bernie explains, as he walks calmly into the room like he didn’t just threaten to beat the door down. He holds a tray, piled high with fruits and toast and other foods on the blander side. Considering Hondo had witness Pete throw up twice since Rooster was shot down (and there was an additional time he missed), it’s an incredibly touching gesture that reinforces the belief that Hondo is a better friend than Pete deserves.

“Thank you” Mav murmurs, softening from his annoyance at being bothered and leaving just the meekness of his grief, “you didn’t have to-“

“Of course I did” and Bernie moves to really look at the man, his gaze concerned. “I know you Maverick, and I know what’s in your head. You can’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what?” the shorter man asks flippantly, “I’m not doing anything” he shares, voice cracking ever so slightly, “I didn’t do anything for them.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

Maverick snorts “Then who’s is it Hondo?” he opens his arms as though waiting for the answers, “if it’s not mine than who’s-“

“No one’s” Bernie shares sadly, “it’s no one’s Pete, and that’s why it hurts the most.”

Pete shakes his head, turning away from Hondo and his levelheadedness. Maverick needs to feel this guilt, it’s the only feeling he has left anymore and he won’t let anyone take it from him. “I was in charge of training them, I was in charge of getting them all home and I failed!”

“You gave them their best chance” Hondo moves to the desk chair, taking a seat with a weary sigh as he watches Maverick begin to pace out his emotions. “That’s all anyone could ask of you.”

“It wasn’t good enough” Pete continues, moving to the plate of food that Bernie brought and slamming it down to the ground in anger, “I wasn’t good enough!”

Hondo doesn’t even blink as the shards from the plate nearly hit him, instead he keeps his voice calm as he addresses his friend, “You were the best choice for the job. You know that, I know that, Admiral Kazansky knew that. Warlock and Cyclone know it. The team knows it too. It’s how the miracles that did happen on this mission actually occurred. Because of your training Mav, no one else’s.”

“And it’s what ended up killing Hangman and R-Rooster” Pete’s green eyes are wet with tears but he makes no move to wipe them. “I laid into them every day about wingmen and not leaving each other behind and then look what happens. Look at what Bradley did-“ Maverick cuts himself off when the traitorous thought pops up once more in his mind; if only Rooster didn’t go back. The older aviator smacks himself hard in the head for even thinking it; for wishing that Bradley had been anything less than the man he was raised to be and left Hangman to die after Jake’s sacrifice. Pete smacks his hands into his face again, startling Bernie from his seat as the darker skinned man hurries forward to stop the older pilot’s attack on himself. “Pete stop!“

“NO!” Maverick shakes his friend’s hands off, pushing him back for good measure. Hondo stumbles back towards the desk chair, watching his friend with wide eyes and worry. “Don’t you see what I’ve done!” Maverick screams, “I taught Hangman to be a team leader and he took the hit for Bradley. He died for Bradley! And now I’m sitting here grieving and wishing in my goddamn black hole of a heart that Bradley had left him and listened to Cyclone and come home! That he didn’t die too! What kind of a monster am I?” Maverick cries, voice breaking loudly in the small room, “What kind of heartless bastard thinks this way!"

“You’re a grieving father Pete, you’re not a monster.”

“Bradley wasn’t-“ Mav manages to sniff back a sob, struggling to compose himself, “He wasn’t my son.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Pete doesn’t argue, instead taking a deep shuddering breath, “what will Carole and Goose think” he asks desperately, emotions returning, “After everything I promised Carole? She begged me not to let him follow in his father’s footsteps. She begged me not to let history repeat-“

"Bradley Bradshaw was destined to be in the sky from the moment he was born” Hondo explains calmly, “nothing you or Carole did was ever going to stop that trajectory. You saw him up there, you knew he belonged and how he performed today was just more evidence that proved it. You can’t change destiny Pete, no matter how hard you try.”

“But Carole… and Goose-“

“-Are hopefully with their son again” Hondo’s eyes look suspiciously moist from behind his glasses. “If there is any comfort to be found in all this, can we at least hope for that?”

“He was too young” Pete shakes his head desperately, his body constricting with his sobs, “they were both too damn young! They had their whole lives-“

“And they lived them how they wanted. Right until the end.” Hondo moves closer now, taking Maverick into his arms and allowing the older man to succumb to his grief, the wetness spreading along Bernie’s shirt, “They died for their wingman. They died for each other. A move you would have done for every single man and woman you served with Pete. I know it hurts, I know it’s going to hurt for a while but be proud of the pilots you put into the sky today. Be proud of what they accomplished and what they were willing to sacrifice. They were already the best of the best but you Maverick” he pulled the man in question away so Bernie could meet Pete’s green eyes, “you made them better men.”

“Don’t-“ Pete warns, “don’t try to make me feel better, don’t try to absolve me-“

Hondo shakes his head, “I’m not Mav because there is nothing to absolve. Hangman taking the hit for Rooster was his decision, not yours. Just like Bradley going back for Jake was what he wanted to do."

Maverick shudders tearfully, “I wish I could have been up there with them, I would have taken the hit for any of them, died for any of them.”

“I know” Hondo admits, “I know.” He pulls him in closer, keeping a steady hand on the back of the dark-haired man’s head as his own tears start to fall. “And I know it hurts right now. And I know you feel alone but you’re not. I’m here: to listen, to talk or even to get more plates for you to destroy” he moves to see the smallest huff of amusement on Pete’s face, “but you need to let me in okay Mav? You are not shouldering this all alone. I’m not letting you.”

“Thank you Bernie” the grieving man whispers as the two men stand, broken in their sorrow, but at least together.

About an hour later, once Hondo is called back to deck and Pete finally manages to get his emotions under control, the older aviator leaves his room. He heads outside, finding the runway of the carrier empty now that the mission is officially deemed complete. Most of the crew has headed inside, only a select few remain for emergency purposes. No one bothers him; too busy looking at the woman sitting silently next to the railing of the carrier, facing the water but with her eyes on the clouds. The setting sun bathes her in it's orange glow, washing over her shuddered form.

Natasha was always a front runner for the mission, from the moment Pete first saw her fly. Confident, talented, and intelligent, she was a natural behind the stick of a plane. Then the birdstrike happened and Mav assumed Trace would be out of the running. But just like her call-sign, Phoenix rose from the ashes of the ejection and settled right back into the cockpit of the next plane, not even fazed. She was remarkable, in every possible way and yet here she sat, shocked silent with her grief as she stared up at the sky that had finally betrayed her and killed two of her own.

“Natasha?” Maverick begins, hoping not to startle. It’s all for naught though as the young woman’s body jumps at the new sound around her. She turns, finding her captain and standing suddenly before staggering off at the rush of altitude. Pete moves to help her but Natasha rights herself in time. She looks up and struggles to meet Mav’s gaze. He tries to offer some sort of look of comfort but he can’t seem to manage it, not that it matters, Phoenix’s own face is crumbling in shame and torment. “Sir” she mumbles softly, her confidence as shattered as her voice.

“Are you alright?” Pete can’t help the wince at his stupid question, no one is alright anymore.

“Sir,” she swallows a sob, “I- I don’t know how I can ever apologize enough-“

“You don’t have to apologize-“

“I left them” she interrupts and it’s heartbreaking to see Phoenix reduced to this: broken, and guilt-ridden and so lost. “I should have gone back.”

Maverick takes a step closer, putting his hands on each of the woman’s quivering shoulders. Instead of melting into his touch she just seems more off-kilter, almost as though expecting him to take a shot at her at any moment. Pete curses himself for taking all this time to grieve himself when his team was so clearly struggling. Nat has been sitting here for hours blaming herself, and instead of helping her, Pete was spending the same time doing the same. He sighs softly, vowing to make this right and beginning with Phoenix, “there was nothing you could have done for them Natasha” he tells her honestly.

“If I had turned around-“

“You could have been shot down as well. You and Bob. Your responsibility was in getting the two of you home and that is what you did. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

She looks at him, uncertainty on her features, as though she is still expecting him to be angry, “But-“

“You did everything you could Natasha, you need to know that.” He offers his arms and the younger woman collapses into his embrace, “I miss them” she whispers devastatingly, “I miss them so much.”

“I know honey, I do too.” Pete turns tearfully to the skies, closing his eyes and wishing that Hondo’s words before were true, that Bradley was with his parents once more in heaven, safe, and in no pain, Jake with them too.

A throat clearing behind them startles both pilots, Mav whirling around to see Javy Machado heading over with two water bottles in his hands. “Coyote was sitting out here with me” Nat explains as she released herself from Mitchell's arms to take the drink from the new arrival. “We’ve been sharing stories-“

“About our idiot best friends” the younger man finishes, noticing the familiar haunted look on Maverick’s face and giving him a small nod in camaraderie.

“Embarrassing ones” They can all hear the effort Phoenix gives as she tries to let out a small chuckle, “I learned that during a prank war during one of his deployments, Jake’s shampoo got blue dye put in” her eyes brighten just the tiniest bit, “Coyote said he was livid.”

“He was” Javy shares, “He kept trying to hide under baseball hats or hoodies. He even debated shaving it since he couldn’t get any dye to change it back on the carrier. I swear” the man shakes his head fondly, “the only thing the man loves more than his hair is his skin care regime, he takes hours on it. It’s like an obsession at this point.“

Natasha nudges Machado softly, “all this blackmail material and you only tell me now, honestly Javy I’m disappointed in you-“ the minute the words leave her mouth the group sobers, the reminder of why Nat will never be able to use this information a punch in the gut. Maverick, desperate for the at least sad smiles from before, tries to push the two back into their good memories. “Any embarrassing stories about Rooster?” he asks.

“How much time do you have” Phoenix takes the bait, and the suffocating feeling of depression settles down a bit more once again. “Did you ever hear about the time he split his pants while performing?”

Despite all the turmoil of the day Maverick can’t help the surprise tittles of laughter that comes from his mouth at the image, “No way,” he argues good naturally, “how could he rip them?”

“Haven’t you noticed he never gets up from the piano bench now?” Phoenix’s tear-stained eyes are beginning to show some mirth as she gets into her story. “He used to always have little dances with his songs, really got into it. Then one night we are in some crowded open mic bar in the city and Bradley decides to perform. He’s moving and shaking and putting on this whole show” she smirks at the memory, “and then he tries to do some half split move and we all hear a tear.”

“God I wish I was there, must have been hilarious” Coyote jokes. Maverick nods next to him, “what did Bradley do?”

“He rushes off the stage in a huff, demands someone gives him a jacket or shirt to tie around and cover it and all but begs to head home” Phoenix laughs wetly, tears mixing down her face, “but the idiot ends up winning the contest anyway. The crowd loved it!” She gasps down a sob, “Bradley refused to take the trophy on principle but I took it for him. Still have it too.” Her face falls, “I’m going to miss his performances.”

“Me too” Javy shares, “I don’t think I can ever look at a piano without thinking of Rooster.”

“Or a dart board without thinking of Hangman.”

Maverick listens to the two and sighs, reaching for them both and placing comforting hands on their arms, “you both are good friends, they were lucky to have you.”

Natasha grimaces, emotions overwhelming her small frame, “no Sir, we were lucky to have them. Bradley, he- he was the best man I ever knew.”

“And Jake” Coyote's voice wobbles ever so slightly, his eyes brimming with tears, “I know what he came across like” the man turns from Phoenix back to Pete, “but you have to understand he just- he was always so afraid of being hurt by people close to him, he was afraid to let them in. But he wasn’t a bad guy” Javy’s body rocks with sobs, “he really wasn’t and he loved this team, even if he didn’t show it-“

“Didn’t show it?” Pete repeats, “Javy, Jake showed it by saving Bradley, by risking his life for this team. We all saw that today, the man Hangman truly was.” He watches Coyote give a tearful nod, “I’m so proud of Jake and Bradley for the way they flew today and you both should be too. They were heroes out there.” He’s about to say more when he notices a bang from the outside door, Hondo rushing towards them, out of breath and laboring “Maverick!” he hollers, and Pete feels something stirring in his gut, ”Mav we got something” the man continues.

“Got what?” his nerves are frayed enough already but he walks forward, yearning to catch the other man even quicker, “Bernie what is it?”

“It’s Rooster’s E-Sat.”

Ice floods Maverick’s veins, his breath leaving in such a rush he barely manages to get words out. “What- what about it?” he gasps.

Hondo’s face breaks out into a grin, “It’s live and showing he’s supersonic.”

Mav blinks once in confusion, but both Phoenix and Coyote seem to be ready to jump for joy at the news. “But how-” Pete swallows, throat achingly dry, “that would mean-“

“There’s an F-14 in the air” the bespectacled man explains, “We think he might have hijacked it.”

“Yes!” Natasha cheers behind them. Her entire body showing signs of life once more. “we need to get planes in the air” she all but demands turning to her two superiors but never cowering. The Phoenix reborn again, “We have to help him!”

“Wait” Pete’s mind is still struggling, almost as though afraid to get his hopes up all for it to come crashing down again. “An F-14? I didn’t even know Bradley could fly an F-14.”

“He can’t” Javy speaks up, wiping at the tears that are still rolling down his cheeks, “but Hangman can.”

”Hangman but he-“

”Trust me Sir” and it’s Coyote’s turn to brighten as Nat crashes into his chest with the powerful combination of happiness and hope, “if that plane is in the air, Jake’s at the stick.”

The group collectively heightens at the declaration, the words spurring them all. Mav turns back to his friend, his heart lighter than it’s been in decades, his mind clear. “Bernie” he all but begs, “get me into a Goddamn plane.”

“Admiral Simpson has ordered no launches until they get more information” but the other man is smiling slyly, “but I do know Lieutenant Avalone’s plane is still in the ready slot.”

“Convince the grounds crew to help me launch while I get suited up?”

“Done” and Hondo immediately goes to follow Mav’s directions. Pete goes as well, trying to think of where he could get a flight suit without Cyclone getting wind, when Machado steps forward. “Sir” the man begins cautiously, afraid to overstep, “Can I- can I join you?”

“Me too Sir” Phoenix is stepping up as well.

Pete smiles at both of them, their bravery and their love for their friends making them willing to risk it all. He admires them both for it but he can’t put anyone else in danger today. “I’m sorry” he watches as both of their smiles turn to frowns, “but you could both lose your wings going out there, especially against orders. Or your lives if this plane doesn’t end up being Rooster and Hangman.”

“I don’t care” Javy argues and besides him Nat nods in agreement, “it’s my brother out there, I have to go-“

“I know what you’re feeling” Maverick explains, his heart breaking to disappoint these two grief-stricken pilots once more, “believe me, but I can’t let you go up there.”

Natasha shakes her head, “but Sir-“

“I promise you” Pete interrupts, making sure they both hear him, “I will not come home without them. I promise you both that.” It’s not exactly what either of the younger Daggers want to hear but it’s the best Maverick can give them. He doesn’t wait for their response or even their acknowledgments, instead rushing back inside the carrier and getting ready. He doesn’t care what obstacles stand in his way, Maverick is getting into the skies and bringing those boys home, even if it’s the last thing he does.

[heavencasteel420]

I probably won't finish the fifth chapter of Tonight, Tonight, the Highway's Bright until Tuesday or so, but in honor of the We Love Jancy Fanfic Event, I'm posting the first bit (Nancy's letter to Jonathan) right here:

Dear Jonathan,

Guess who’s grounded for a week because she disappeared for almost three hours on Thanksgiving Day? That’s right—it’s me! Mom was frantic when I came home, with Dad and all the relatives tiptoeing around her, nibbling on hors d’ouvres. Apparently she’d called Steve (even though he was in Virginia with his grandparents for Thanksgiving) and Tommy (as though I’d spend any time with Tommy on my own) and Carol (which at least makes sense—she was in town and we do hang out a lot, unfortunately). Plus half a dozen other people from school, so everybody’s whispering about how I’ve gone crazy again. I guess I’m lucky, because if I hadn’t broken my hand and screamed at my mom in front of everyone last winter, they’d be gossiping about how I must have been cheating on Steve, or doing drugs in the woods, or going to the Planned Parenthood in Bloomington for a VD test. I’m insane enough that nobody has a problem believing that I’d skip out on Thanksgiving just to smoke cigarettes and listen to The Lexicon of Love in my car by myself.

(Do you like ABC? I bet not. I bet they’re too goofy for you.)

That’s what I told everyone, by the way. I figured you wouldn’t want everyone in your business, even though you don’t live here anymore. I thought about telling Mom, because she always liked you and she’d be glad to hear you were doing all right. She’d probably say something to Dad, though, and he’d let it slip to people at his job. I thought about telling Steve, too, because he’s maybe the only person who seems to think I was acting weird (for me, I mean). He keeps asking why I didn’t just fake sick or go to Carol’s if I needed a break from my family. That’s what he does when things are tense at home, basically: pretend to be too tired from basketball practice and hole up in his bedroom, or visit me or Tommy. Sometimes I worry that he has the idea that I’m cheating, like maybe Billy Hargrove said something to him, but I don’t really think that’s it. He’d be mad at me and Billy, and he’d be hurt, and he’d have every right to feel that way, but he wouldn’t be too scared to ask me if it was true. Because that would be a shitty thing to do—it was shitty to let Billy feel me up that one time—but sometimes normal girls cheat on their boyfriends. He’d know what to do with that—dump me or forgive me or get back at me with some other girl. But I don’t think he even knows what he’s afraid I’m doing.

Speaking of being afraid to ask things, Mom hasn’t said one word about the cobbler. At first I assumed she’d forgotten—there were two pies and cookies and ice cream for the dessert already—but then Dad asked if there were any leftovers of the cobbler on Sunday, and she told him it’d all been eaten up. Maybe it was. It’d be a lot for one person, but probably your roommate ate some of it. What’s he like, anyway? I don’t think I even asked whether you met him through school or work or what. I guess I talk a lot about myself. Did you like the cobbler?

Well, I get out of prison on Saturday. I’m going shopping for winter formal dresses with Carol. I am not looking forward to it. All the girls have been bringing catalogs and magazines to school this week so they can show each other their favorites, but it just makes me sad. Barb and I used to look over Seventeen for hours and talk about what we’d wear to high school dances, when that was still years away. We used to wear matching outfits. Do you remember that? The same styles, but different colors, because I was a brunette and she was a redhead. Like Betsy-Tacy. But you’ve probably never heard of Betsy-Tacy.

Anyway, Carol’s a redhead, too, and she’s mad because pink dresses are so “in” this year. It’s hard to find one that’s any other color. She thinks it’s some kind of fashion law that you can’t wear pink if you’re a redhead, even though all the magazines say that you just need to pick a shade that complements your hair color. She told me that’s just a lie advertisers made up to sell lipsticks. (There’s no way you’re interested in this debate, but you’re going to hear all about it, anyway.) She’s been pissing off all the other girls by criticizing their dress choices. Chrissy Cunningham, one of the cheerleaders, almost cried because Carol said her carnation-pink Gunne Sax gown would made her complexion “look like ass.” And Nicole Evans isn’t speaking to her because she said Nicole could wear anything she wanted, because she “has a face like an angry hardboiled egg no matter what she does.”

(I feel bad for Nicole—her face doesn’t actually look like an egg—but I’d feel worse for her if she wasn’t always talking behind my back about how sad and boring and not-that-cute I am, and how she can’t believe Steve ever looked at me twice. She’s not totally off-base, but I don’t think she should blame me for Steve’s bad taste, ha ha.)

About the only girls who are still talking to Carol are me and Heather Holloway. Heather has black hair and looks gorgeous in pink, so Carol couldn’t really insult her. (She couldn’t insult me because I didn’t tell her my dress idea—I want one like Ariel wears in Footloose, pink and off the shoulder—but I’m sure she’ll do it on Saturday.) But Heather’s mother is taking her shopping in Indianapolis, so it’s just me and Carol at the downtown J.C. Penney’s…and Mike. I don’t know if Mom’s still punishing me by making me chauffeur him—he shot up a few inches over the summer and seriously needs new pants—or if she’s just desperate to get him out of the house. Honestly, though, he’s not going to make the trip worse. Carol will be annoying about it, but she’s always kind of annoying. Plus she’ll talk the whole time, so I won’t have to figure out what to say to Mike. He’s so quiet nowadays. I worry about him sometimes.

By the way, don’t think that you’re getting out of meeting me at the mall in Indianapolis. Your time is coming, because the selection at the J.C. Penney’s downtown is never good, and I still want my dish back.

Love,

Nancy

[mad4turtles]

Okay, okay, I had to calm down after reading that last request you answered cause WHOOO- 😅

But for another idea, how about one with Casey ii and Leo? We didn't get too much of them interacting other than a tense moment or when a argument takes place and since you did marvelously with the other brothers.....

I cant think of a scenario for them but I know to definitely not doubt that magic writing you currently pocess ✨️

First of all, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE with me XD

Second of all, I'm sorry this took so long, but I really enjoyed the challenge! Here ya go!

---

It's April's idea to drive the whole clan up to her old family home in Southampton for the summer. The turtles were beside themselves with excitement, and with no leg to stand on, Splinter had agreed.

Plans were made, an ex-warring warrior scientist was kidnapped, a caravan was 'acquired' (and modified by their resident genius to fit Raph and Draxum), and they were off. Crammed in what had become a tiny house on wheels, drivers switched between pit stops. All nine of them.

Casey remembers hearing of April's old farmhouse in the rare moments of quiet in the main base. She'd sit down with him after a nightmare or a failed mission—there was plenty of both—and talk about the early days before the war, before the Krang, before mutants or Yokai had been more than a myth or a story in what she called a 'comic book.' She'd get a look on her face, worn with wrinkles and hardened by years of conflict that was softened by the stories of her early youth. Of her parents and the time they had before work took over. Streams and forests unspoiled by pollution (or blood or Krang fluids), singing birds, blue skies and trees that changed with the seasons. It sounded like a dream, a fantasy, and he'd said so aloud.

Commander O'Neil had smirked, a sad thing she rarely allowed, and threw an arm around his shoulders to bring him close. “One day, baby,” she'd said, kissing his cheek, “it won't be.”

As they pull up in the dirt driveway, Casey wishes she was here now to rub it in his face how she was right.

(Technically, she is here, whooping and hollering with the rest of the family as they pile out of the van with their luggage in tow. But it's not her at the same time, and now it never will be. 

He ignores the pang in his chest.)

The farmland itself is beautiful. Wide, spacious, green and free of prying eyes that would have the mutants and Yokai in hiding. The air and the skies are clear, the sun beaming down on them in glares of warm, unspoiled midday gold. He can hear the stream nearby over birdsong and Mikey's laughter as he and Donnie persuade Raph to spin them dizzy on the tire swing they discovered hanging on the branch of a sturdy tree.

Casey drops his bag on the grass. He shuts his eyes, breathes in deep and sighs.

He loves it.

(It terrifies him.)

Once they're settled in their rooms, April gathers everyone in the front yard to pick berries in the brush so Mikey can make pies for dessert tonight. Casey and Leo make up one team, leaving Mikey with a mildly reluctant Draxum as he tugs their stepfather by the hand. April steers Donnie away from poisonous berries, and Raph wrangles a dangerously competitive Cassandra—

“Come, Raphael! We shall acquire the ULTIMATE AMOUNT OF BERRIES! We will be the reigning champions of Berry Pickers in the history of the Hamato Clan!” 

“Cass, yer gonna rip off my arm!”

Splinter hurries to supervise and ensure the safety of the forest under Cassandra's... eagerness.

“God,” Leo says with feeling, watching them go. “I'm still not over her being your mom.”

Casey gulps. “How do you think I feel?”

Berry picking goes about as well as Casey expects. He and Leo fill their baskets, casual conversation flowing naturally—about Casey's online classes, adjusting to big city life, his new favourite food joints with the greasiest hot dogs known to man that he adores—and it's fun. Foraging for food isn't new to him, but the berries look delicious, far more than rats or leaves that reeked of rot and mould. Plus, the routine is comforting. A good distraction from—

From what? How good things are? How much fun you're having while everyone from your timeline is dead?

If Leo notices anything off once they rejoin the others, he says nothing. He gives Casey a searching look, but it's gone after the boy smiles and urges him along, losing themselves amid Cass and Raph's victory screeching, having 'bested' Donnie's team in berry picking with their baskets overflowing. Donnie quietly seethes.

Dinner is more the same—loud, chaotic, messy and everything that comes with the Hamato family. Casey remembers moments like this when he was small; back when the Resistance was stronger, more than just the fractions of the family left in the aftermath of hell unleashed. Master Michelangelo would gather them once a week for a meal between raids, missions and rescues, sit them down in a quiet corner of the base and just—be together.

In those small moments, Casey saw a glimpse of who the Hamato's used to be. Seeing them now, whole and everything they are, and will be, as this timeline thrives, Casey's chest aches with a whirlwind of emotions he can't pin down long enough to name.

That's not true. One is grief. 

He excuses himself after several helpings of Mikey and April's delicious pies, shutting himself in the room he's sharing with Raph and Leo. He flops onto his sleeping bag and stares at the ceiling fan. The sunset filters through the window in shades of vibrant red and gold, bathing the room in its warmth and Casey with it.

He's too angry to enjoy it, and that only pisses him off more.

Damn it, why can't he stop thinking? His future (past? Present? Freaking time travel) is gone. The Krang are gone, defeated, and the Key is safely hidden. Everything Casey had feared and despised is gone, replaced with the warmth, love and care of everyone he knew and everyone he never had the chance to meet. He has a family, a life, a second chance.

But he had a family before, too.

The future he came from may not exist now, but the people he'd known since birth were real. His memories, the scars from training accidents, missions and close calls, are real. His Master's dying words were real. 

And he misses them.

He adores his new family, these mismatched outsiders who have given him everything he never had and more. But he misses Master Michelangelo and Commander O'Neil. He misses the mother he barely knew but loved anyway. He misses—

“When you're done saving the world, do me a favour... grab a slice!”

He misses his dad.

The door creaks on rusty hinges as it swings open, Leo strutting inside like he owns the place (technically, he does, but only for a few weeks, and he has to share). Casey startles, wiping tears off his cheeks with a half-baked excuse on his lips as to why he's crying on the floor, but Leo doesn't give him a chance. The slider is on the floor with him, pulling Casey into a hug. One arm curls around his shoulders, the other cradling the back of his head and pushing his face into Leo's solid plastron. Casey lets him, confused, blinking hard—

“Breathe, Casey,” Leo says. “It's okay. You're okay.”

That's when Casey realizes he's hyperventilating. Crying and hyperventilating. Leo must have heard and come running.

Great.

But he breathes in time with Leo, the turtle's heartbeat strong and steady under his ear, and it helps. 

Just like always.

Because Sensei used to hold me just like this when I was little.

The floodgates burst, and Casey's sobbing in Leo's chest, clutching him for all he's worth, weeks and months and years of grief, fear, loss and guilt pouring out in heaving cries. 

Leo doesn't say a word. All he does is hold him tighter, both curled up on the withered floorboards of an old family home Casey had dreamed of seeing with the aunt who'd spun its tales, with the father and teacher he'd adored, now years younger. History repeats itself in the strangest ways.

(It's as he's calming down, feeling Leo's fingers card through his hair, that he realizes he's seen Leo do this with Mikey not long after the invasion when they were all still healing. He'd done it with all his brothers, with April, and he'd seen Splinter do it in the rare moments of vulnerability that Leo lets himself have.

It's a family thing, familiar and loving in every way Casey remembers. It's different. But it's not bad, doesn't invoke the same guilt that's been following Casey like a shadow since the night he arrived in this timeline.

They're still family. Casey's family.

This Leo isn't his sensei, his father, and he never will be. He's gone forever. But Casey has gained a brother in his younger self—four amazing big and little brothers, a sister in April, fathers in Splinter and Draxum, and... well, they'll talk about Cassandra.

It's a strange feeling. But a good one. A really good one.)

Even once he's cried himself out, Leo doesn't let go until after he uses his mask tails to dry Casey's cheeks—which nearly sets him off again, but now he's too tired to cry. Then they sit up, and Leo smiles at him. 

“I may not get what you're going through,” he says, bracing a hand on Casey's shoulder, “but I know what it's like to feel like you've lost everything while trying to save it. And no matter how good things are here and now, what you lived through won't go away. The memories of the people you left behind will still hurt. And that's okay. As long as you remember that you did everything you could.”

He lifts a hand to cradle the back of Casey's head in his palm, smiling bright and wide. “You saved us. You saved me. And no matter what, you're not alone. You'll never be alone.”

Casey's chin wobbles with his grin. “Right. Anata wa hitori janai.”

Leo's eyes go wide with surprise. Then his smile, touched, awed and proud, returns. “... yeah. You're Hamato, alright,” he says, bringing their foreheads together. 

Casey shuts his eyes and smiles through the last few tears.

Then when they part, Leo is grinning. 

Uh oh.

“Hey,” he says, and Casey feels fear. “Y'know what's a surefire way to cheer yourself up after a moment of emotional vulnerability?”

Casey blinks. “... that's very specific, but, no, what?”

Leo jumps to his feet, hands on his hips. “Help me grab all the pillows from the bedrooms, Jr. We're gonna start something.”

~0o0~

When they return downstairs, precariously balancing the biggest, softest pillows Casey has ever seen or felt in his life, the others are gathered in the comfortably cramped living room. They're settled on the couch, both armchairs and the floor, watching a movie with a dinosaur chasing a jeep full of people. It looks interesting--even Draxum seems invested--but then Leo grabs one pillow and taps Raph on the shoulder. 

The snapper turns, smiling automatically at his little brother. “Hey, Leo—”

WHAP!

Leo slaps Raph full in the face with the pillow, Raph's head snapping to the side. All heads whirl to stare as feathers burst from the case and drift lazily down.

Raph blinks into space, stunned. Leo bites his lip hard against laughter.

On the floor, Mikey giggles madly. Donnie's face flattens as he stands and grabs a pillow from where Casey had dropped them. Draxum pinches his brow. Splinter hurries the cutlery and china back into the kitchen. April scrambles for her phone.

Then Raph shakes with a dangerous chuckle. “Ohohoho, little brother,” he says lowly as he stands. Leo's giggling hard now as Raph makes a show of cracking his neck and rolling his enormous shoulders. “You wanna be startin' somethin'?”

Casey grabs one pillow and throws it to Mikey's grabby hands, holding another up to his chest as a shield.

Raph grins sharply, yanking the pillow from Leo's laugh-weakened grip. “Cos you know,” he says idly, “if you're gonna start somethin'. I'm gonna finish it. How am I gonna finish it, Leo?”

Draxum accepts the pillow April throws at him and holds it over his head, hunching low on the couch with a groan.

“I dunno,” Leo giggles. It's infectious as Casey snorts behind his pillow. Cassandra is standing on the arm of the couch with two pillows at the ready, grinning like a shark.

“Ask me, Leo. Ask me how I'm gonna finish it.”

Leo doubles over with breathless laughter. “How—snrk!—h-how're you gonna finish it—?”

“LIKE A BOSS!”

Raph charges, Mikey hollers “Pillow fight!” at the top of his lungs, and all hell breaks loose. Pillowy, feathery hell.

And Leo was right. It's freaking amazing.

It escalates until they're taking the fight outside, the sun fully set behind the trees and the stars glittering in the night sky as their laughter and shrieks fill the air.

In the middle of the chaos, Casey is laughing. Tears prick his eyes again from the ache in his gut (and face from April's eager swings) rather than his chest, where a new (old) warmth sits comfortably.

He leaps from the trees to ambush Raph with a bellowing cry—

“GOONGALAAAA!”

—and Raph catches him against his plastron, falling back to the grass and laughing his heart out as Casey pummels him with his pillow. “Okay, okay, I'm dead, I'm dead, staph, mercy little brother—!”

“Turtle pile on Raph!” Leo shouts, and that's how Casey ends up crushed between four turtles, April, Splinter and Draxum when Mikey yanks him by the arm to land on top of Cass, who wheezes under his weight.

(Casey understands, now, why Commander April had loved this place.

The clean streams, flowers, untouched grass and acres of unspoiled land are beautiful, Casey's dreams made real. But it's laying in the grass, sweating in the muggy summer heat with dirt and feathers on his face and hair, crushed under his brothers and sister(s?) and wheezing through heaving laughter...

That's what made it magical to her. It's magical to Casey.

He loves it.)

He meets Leo's eye in the tangle of bodies, and the slider winks at him. His heart swelling fit to burst, Casey winks back and says, “thanks, brother.”

Leo stares at him.

You're not my Sensei, but that's okay. You don't have to be. You can be someone just as inspiring, just as amazing. 

His crooked smile wobbles slightly even as he shoves Casey in the shoulder. “Anytime, bro.”

And just like that, Casey finally feels at home.

I'm home.

---

(Please send more rottmnt requests, I love writing these dudes!

Also reblogs are very much appreciated <3)