#A Proposal Gone Awry

[so-scarlett-maroon]

Hermione Granger and The Pub Quiz That Changed Her Life

Words: 5,602 Rated: Teen and Up No Archive Warnings Apply Ship: Dramione Tags: Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, But Hermione Likes it Grand Gestures, Fluff, Humor, Plans Gone Awry, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Hermione Granger, Marriage Proposal, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love Tooth-Rotting, Fluff On AO3

Summary: When Harry invites Draco to their weekly Pub Quiz, Hermione is sure she's never going to be able to enjoy the event again. And her life is changed forever...but just not how she thought it would be.

Excerpt:

The Beginning:

The first time Hermione and Draco were at the same pub quiz night, it felt electric. She’d been purposely avoiding him. She was well aware he and Harry were Auror partners and had become friends. But, the first few times Harry mentioned he’d be joining, she’d found excuses not to go. She hated missing the weekly pub quiz, but the idea of seeing him in a social setting felt strange, wrong. She knew he wouldn’t call her a slur and he probably wouldn't insult her hair, but she just didn’t know what their new dynamic would be. Eventually, though, she gave in, she wouldn’t let him keep her from seeing her friends.

She walked into the Leaky Cauldron and found Harry, Ginny, and Neville at their team’s usual booth. She waved to them as she walked over and settled next to Harry at the wooden table.

“Thanks for the drinks mate,” Harry called out. Hermione followed his eyeline and spotted the poncy git himself walking over with the first round for the table. She wasn’t sure how she’d missed the shock of blond hair when she’d first walked in. Malfoy got to work handing out the drinks, Butterbeers for her and Ginny, Gin and Tonic for Harry, Fire whiskey for himself and Neville, and an ale for Ron, who seemed to be running late, as usual.

Draco shrugged, responding to Harry’s thanks. “It was my turn to buy, but you are up next,” he said looking at Hermione.

Draco’s eyes met hers now. She’d never noticed just how strikingly gray they were before. If he were any other man, she’d even say they were attractive. But he was him, so they weren't. “Why is it my turn to buy?” she asked incredulously.

He looked at her his eyes pitying, “She’s lost her brains since graduation then?” he asked the table.

Harry laughed openly, Ginny tried to hide her giggles and Neville just glanced away, trying to avoid conflict.

“I haven’t ‘lost my brains’ as you put it, I just don’t see why I should get moved up in the rotation when I haven't been here. I always buy after Ginny.”

“Yes and as you missed the last three weeks, you’ve not bought after anyone in far too long so you are up.” He sat down across from her. His long legs barely managed to fit under the table and his knees bumped up against hers. She waited for him to apologize or pull his legs back, but instead, he just smirked and bumped her knee again, on purpose. She was just about to pull out her wand and hex his knees off his stupid body when the quiz host walked to the front of the pub with an announcement.

“Hello, I am Chester Borgin, and welcome witches and wizards to the Thursday night Pub Quiz!” He’d cast a Sonorous on himself to amplify his voice over the crowd gathered for the quiz. “We have answer sheets and self-inking quills up at the front table. Send up the team captain to collect the materials and we will begin shortly!”

Draco stood at the same time as Hermione. Ginny looked at them, laughing as they both froze. She sighed, wiping her tears of laughter aside, and explained to Draco, “Normally Hermione is our team captain, and she gets the material and writes the answers,”. She turned to Hermione. “But in your absence, Draco had taken over,”

Hermione frowned.

Draco did not sit or retreat. “I’m closer to the host’s table,” he pointed out. “How about I just go and collect the materials then?” He had a fake smile plastered on his face.

Hermione sprung into action, scooting out from her side of the booth, her skirt annoyingly riding up her legs as she tried to squeeze past. “No, thank you,” she said in her most sickly sweet voice, walking towards the front. She could feel him racing right behind her, trying to beat her. But Hermione was small, she was able to slip through the crowd more easily. She reached the table just a moment before he did and felt his body crush against hers as the momentum carrying him forward propelled him into her. She ignored the slight pain from their collision and called to the host.

“Team We’re not Lion. There are six of us.”

“Actually, since I joined we go by team Dirty Lion Snakes,” Draco corrected from just behind her, his body still pressing against hers from chest to hips. “It’s the same pun, just more fun,” he explained, his breath fanning over her ear.

“Yes, I understood the wordplay, thank you,” she said, rolling her eyes, despite Draco being behind her and unable to see the gesture. She pushed forward trying to get him off of her back, but it just pushed her further into the table, her hips pressing into the wood, as she felt his strong chest warm and solid behind her.

Continued on AO3

#Draco Malfoy is a Little #Grand Gestures #Fluff #Humor #humorandfluff #hermionegranger #dracomalfoy #booktok #dramione #ficrecs #ao3fanfiction #books #reading #plans gone awry #Pining Draco Malfoy #Pining Hermione #Proposal #marriage #marriage proposal #Developing Relationship #Falling In love #longing #Tooth-Rotting Fluff #Draco malfoy is hot #Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship #draco and hermione #draco x hermione

[35c4p15t]

Perfect Husband (Yandere!Nanami Kento x Reader)

CW: yandere, mentioned murder, implied stalking and manipulation

---

Nanami Kento is the perfect husband. Respectful, considerate, doting- you struggled to even recall him arguing with you. After meeting him at the bakery you worked at, you had slowly become friends. When your boyfriend at the time had been murdered- a mugging gone awry the police told you, but they never found the perpetrator- Kento visited you with flowers and condolences to comfort, support, and listen to you. Consequently, you became much closer.

Gradually over the next few months, your other friends drifted away from you. Even your family had withdrawn from you without explanation. Eventually- despite all your efforts to reach out to them- only Kento remained in your life. At first, you were concerned; nervous you would drive him away, too, or annoy him as he was now your sole friend. However, he reassured you he would stay by you, and even seemed content with your undivided attention.

Inevitably, you developed strong feelings for him. So, about a year after your boyfriend's death, when Kento took you to an elegant, romantic restaurant to ask you if you would consider having him as your boyfriend, you almost immediately accepted.

Frequently, although head over heels for him, you worried if you deserved him; he lavished you with gifts and attention, provided for you, always seemed to know what you thought or wanted and delivered as best he could either ever expecting anything in return, or if he felt trapped with you; staying out of pity, as you would be alone without him- surely that was unfair for him, and unhealthy for your relationship. However, Kento, able to deduce your thoughts as usual, alleviated your doubts- he loved you, he loved treating you, he loved being with you.

On the anniversary of your first date, Kento took you to the same restaurant and proposed- ring gleaming in the atmospheric lighting, on one knee, fondly staring up at you, as if you were his universe. Overjoyed, you enthusiastically agreed. You loved Kento.

Marriage with Kento was bliss; domesticity warmed your heart beyond expectations- waking up to see him sleepily, lovingly gazing at you, cooking together, sharing food, kissing him goodbye when he left for work. Despite your initial reservations, he insisted you left you job, assuring you it wasn't necessary, and that he would always take care of you. Once, while he was at work, you had tripped, causing you to fall down the stairs. Next you were aware, Kento was holding you- distressed expression easing after noticing your eyes open- and a splitting pain in your right forearm. He drove you to the hospital, even took a few days off to ensure you were okay.

At night, as you're both in bed, curled in his arms, he whispers: how he will always behold you, understand you, and protect you from others. Kill for you. A single tear forms, before he wipes it away. Nanami Kento is the perfect husband.

#x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere #yandere male #male yandere #jjk x reader #yandere nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jjk kento #kento x reader

[wheels-of-despair]

The First Lazy Thanksgiving Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie comes to stay with Evil Woman during Thanksgiving Break '85 for a lazy and turkey-filled few days... but do holiday plans ever actually turn out the way they're supposed to? Contains: Lazy plans gone awry, unscheduled visits from unwanted family, food prep, stolen moments, fast-forwarding through stressful things because it's my story and I can, cunty relatives, smokin' the reefer, a proposal, leftovers, lots of time spent with Team Evil Woman. (If you're not into the family fics, I won't hold it against you.) Words: 7.8k

Note: This one goes out to everyone who'd rather be spending today with Eddie.

"What's your favorite Thanksgiving food?"

Eddie looks over at you without missing a note in the song he's practicing in his chair. You're lying on your side on his bed, one hand propping up your head and the other still on the book you've abandoned in favor of watching him play Other Sweetheart.

He shrugs and looks back down at his flying fingers. "All tastes the same to me."

"What." It doesn't come out as a question, because it is an outrage. You know that Wayne works so much overtime during the holidays, he doesn't even bother coming home, and that the Munsons aren't big on family meals… but has no one ever invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner? Even for a round of leftovers? Or sent him a plate?!

"We usually grab a few Thanksgiving-y TV dinners for when he gets off work." Eddie holds his guitar upright and plays a more complicated tune to downplay his explanation.

You feel guilty for leaving him alone last year. You'd only been with him for a few months, but you'd gone back to the place you'd just escaped from to spend another stuffy Thanksgiving with your family. That's what he did while you were away? Ate a tasteless TV dinner?

"No, wait," he says quickly, "Jeff's mom made him bring me a plate last year. Stuffing was the best."

You try to mask the pity on your face, but he notices. His eyes turn to steel.

"I'm not a charity case. The Munsons don't need to celebrate meaningless shit whenever The Man tells them to." This sounds a little rehearsed. He holds your gaze, but his face soon softens. "Don't go gettin' all mushy on me, woman."

"How dare you. This cold black heart does not get mushy," you insist. He raises an eyebrow. He knows better. "Unless there are pictures of really cute baby animals," you continue. "But you tell anybody that, and this'll be your last Thanksgiving, Munson." You point a finger at him in warning.

He snorts and looks back to his guitar, starting a new song.

"I was merely doing as my mother instructed," you explain, rolling onto your back and looking up at his ceiling. "Because you're coming to Lazy Thanksgiving, and she wanted to make sure we had plenty of your favorite." You pause, waiting for his curiosity to get the better of him. He stops playing. You've got him.

"…what's Lazy Thanksgiving?"

You smirk. "It's is our first Thanksgiving without all of my annoying-ass relatives, so we're doing it OUR way, all week long. Which means food we actually like, people we actually like, and pajamas all damn day. Just like we've always dreamed of. So pack your best sweats, Munson, 'cause you're staying with us 'til Wayne's off doubles."

You glance over to check for a response.

"Is that an invitation or an order?" He's fighting a smile. He's coming.

"That's up to you, babe." You bat your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, sets his guitar aside, and crosses the room to crawl on top of you. His chin rests in the valley between your breasts, and you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

"You really want me?"

"Like right now, or over Thanksgiving break?" you tease. Before his lips can even form a pout, you continue, "'Cause the answer to both is a definite yes."

There was only half a day of school on Tuesday, but it felt like longer than usual. You wanted to be OUT of there.

The groceries were bought, the turkey was thawing, your family was hours away, and Eddie was coming to stay for several days. It really was the Thanksgiving you'd always dreamed of. There would be no awkward catch-ups, no uncomfortable clothes, no arguments or hostility, and no weird dishes with undesirable or un-pronounceable ingredients. You couldn't wait.

You and Eddie were out of your seats and on the way to your shared locker before the final bell of the day finished ringing. You shoved all the crap you wouldn't need into the metal prison - rescuing Eddie's discarded history notebook with the intention of making him study, which earned you a whine - and slammed the door shut.

He hooked his arm around your neck and marched you through the hall and out the doors, where you took your first breath of free air.

No school for a week. Just what the doctor ordered.

You climbed into the van's passenger seat and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. On today's menu was band practice - in lieu of their usual Hideout gig, which had been called on account of the owner not wanting to scare off the home-for-the-holidays crowd with teenage metal - then breaking for family stuff 'til a special Hellfire session on Saturday. Other than that, everybody was on their own.

The boys chattered about their plans for the week until the van jerked to a stop in your driveway, and everyone piled out and headed into the garage. You went into the kitchen, to see what kind of snacks you could dig out. Nevermind that they'd just eaten lunch half an hour ago; you cannot practice metal without fuel. It's against the law. (According to Gareth, anyway, who would make a terrible lawyer.)

The look on your mother's face stopped you in your tracks.

She was holding the phone in a white-knuckle grip. Eyes narrowed. You could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

What have you done? You quickly scan a week's worth of Hawkins High shenanigans, but can't think of any mischief that would warrant a call home for you. Your brother, either. What the fuck?

She gestures for you to close the door, and you do… definitely not thinking about stepping on the other side of it before you do so.

"Alright. See you soon," she says through gritted teeth. She stands to hang up the phone on the kitchen wall, then knocks her head against it. You're still frozen to the spot.

Finally, she removes her head from the wall and turns to you. "Get your brother in here."

You reach for the door handle, point to Gareth, and crook your finger in a 'come here' motion. He comes in, stands next to you, and waits.

"Your grandparents have decided to grace us with their presence."

You both groan.

"They'll be here by dinnertime."

"Tonight?!" you both shriek.

"It's only for a day. They want to be back home in time for the real family Thanksgiving."

"So we're upending everything we've planned to accommodate them?" You can feel the rage swirling inside you.

She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've gotta make a new grocery list, if there's even anything left at the store, find the recipe for that stupid pie, make something for dinner tonight, get that turkey thawed a day early, clean, drive my car into the quarry…"

"We can handle dinner and cleaning," you say at the same time Gareth asks, "Why do you need a new grocery list?"

"Can you imagine your grandmother's face if she found out I served her a dinner roll I didn't make from scratch?"

"She'll live." You roll your eyes.

"And she doesn't, that's one less thing we have to wor…" Gareth clears his throat, and you try not to smirk.

"Go practice, it's the last fun you'll have 'til they're gone."

He turns on his heel at her suggestion and disappears into the garage.

"Where do you want me, Coach?"

"Help me with this damn grocery list."

You made a list of all the foods you thought you were leaving behind, flipped through recipe cards until you found the things your grandparents expected, and checked the cabinets to see what you already had. So long, Lazy Thanksgiving. You were a nice thought.

When the page-long list was complete, your mother set off to the grocery store. Again.

You hid all the food your grandparents would disapprove of, then dug through the freezer and found pizza rolls for the boys and a forgotten lasagna for dinner. You popped the pizza rolls in the oven and tidied the kitchen to the sounds of Corroded Coffin. Possibly the last decent music you'd hear for the next 24 hours. Your grandparents would probably call for an exorcist if they saw your tape collection.

Your head was buried in a bottom cabinet when the oven timer dinged, catching you by surprise and making you bump your head. You back out on your hands and knees and grumble, rubbing your sore spot, when you feel a burst of hot air.

"Watch it, hot stuff." Eddie grins, pulling the pan of pizza rolls from the oven with a potholder shaped like a turkey.

You stand and lean against the counter, exhausted already.

"Told the jackals they couldn't eat 'til they cleaned the garage," he grins proudly.

"Thank you." You hadn't even thought about having to clean the garage.

"You want me to stick around, or just get lost 'til the coast is clear?"

"What?" You look up in confusion.

"I mean…" he gestures to his clothes and flips the end of his hair. He's a little sweaty and his hair's a little tangled, but you don't know what he's getting at… oh.

"You think we're uninviting you?"

"I'm not exactly grandparent material." He forces out an awkward chuckle that makes your heart sink. You step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him close.

"You're not going anywhere unless you take me with you." You nuzzle your face into his chest, and he gives you a squeeze. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go anywhere unless I take Mom with me. Wait." You pull back, wide-eyed, and ask, "Can we all just hide out at your place until the old people give up and go away?"

"I wish," your mother grumbles, back from her grocery run. She drops a load of bags on the table, and the boys follow with more.

"Okay," she says, scanning the room. "Kitchen looks good. Garage looks good. Did you find something for dinner?"

"A frozen lasagna from your meal prep era."

"Okay. We have three hours to clean. Then I need you in a dress."

You groan, and Gareth snickers.

"And YOU," she turns to him, "in khakis." That wipes the grin off his face.

"Eddie?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You are absolutely still invited. But if you want to run and hide, we will not think less of you." He smiles. "Do you own a pair of pants without holes in them?" He nods. "Okay." And then she starts putting groceries away, and that was that.

You catch Eddie's eye, then nod to the pan of now-edible pizza rolls. He picks it up and leads the boys back outside, where they descend on it like locusts, while you tackle the mountain of groceries.

When Eddie returns with the empty pan, he addresses your mother.

"I'm gonna go drop Jeff and Grant off. Are you sure you…" he trails off nervously, hovering near the door.

"Honey." Your mom places her hands on the table, leans forward, and stares into his soul. "I want you here more than I want them here."

He chuckles. " I'll go home and grab some clothes. Do you need me to pick up anything else?"

"Nope, I think we've got everything," she answers. "But I appreciate the offer."

He nods, gives you wink, and leaves to take the nerds home.

Your family whirls through the house like cyclones, dusting and scrubbing and straightening everything in view. Eddie joins in when he returns, which makes things move even faster.

The house is deemed acceptable with an hour to spare. You pop the lasagna into the oven, take rushed showers, and change into clothing acceptable to grandparents.

"Woah," Eddie says when he steps back into your room with dripping hair and a towel around his waist, seeing you in your modest (hideous) dress.

"Shut up."

"You never wear pretty things like that for me," he teases.

"Keep it up, Munson, and you're gonna be feasting on one of these stupid fucking shoulder pads."

He cackles and throws his towel at you. You catch it, and get a delightful idea when he turns around to get dressed.

You wind up the damp towel, and when he bends over to pull his boxers on… SNAP.

He yelps, jumps a foot in the air, and grabs his ass with both hands.

"YOU'RE THE DEVIL!"

You howl with laughter. Was it mean? Yes. Was it funny? Yes. Did he deserve it? Also yes.

"Look what you did to me!" he shrieks, rubbing at a red welt rising on his pale ass.

Your jaw drops.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you THAT bad." All traces of amusement are gone as you go to him and trace the mark.

"Guess you could always kiss it and make it better," he pouts, sticking his lip out and activating the dreaded Puppy Eyes.

You fall to your knees and plant a trail of light kisses around the raised mark on Eddie Munson's ass. When you look up, he's staring at you with wide eyes, like he hadn't really expected you to do it.

"What? Never had a girl kiss your ass before?"

You both dissolve into a fit of giggles until a knock interrupts.

"Are you decent?"

"Never," you answer together, grinning at each other.

You can hear your mother sigh through the door. You stand, and Eddie hastily continues getting dressed.

"Eddie, I need you to sleep in Gareth's room tonight. He's setting up his sleeping bag for you."

"Okay," he agrees.

"Best behavior."

"Yes, ma'am," Eddie says.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Eddie snorts.

"Yes, Mother," you call, giving him a shove. He loses his balance and falls onto your bed with a grin.

"Alright." She raps her knuckles against the door once more and walks away.

Eddie's lying back on your bed, feet on the floor and hands laced behind his head. He's in a plain white t-shirt and dark, unbuttoned jeans that reveal his plaid boxers… and just a liiittle bit of his happy trail. He smirks when he sees you looking.

"Quit dripping on my bed." You pick up his discarded towel and throw it at him, letting it hit him in the face. He sits up, unbothered, to rub his wet hair with it. At least he didn't shake it out like a dog. (Although you have seen him do that before.)

You give your room a once-over, straightening a few books and smoothing out the blankets on your bed. Eddie stuffs his things into a duffel bag and drops it on the floor of your brother's room, where he'll be sleeping tonight.

The plan had actually been for the three of you to camp out in the living room and watch movies all night, but that would have to wait. Your grandmother would probably pitch a fit about Eddie being allowed to sleep under the same roof as you. You'd love to see her face if she found out you'd slept in the same bed before.

You hear the oven timer ding again; dinner is ready. They'll be here soon. You get up to go set the table, but decide you want just one more minute alone with Eddie before the invasion. You go in for a hug and stand still in the middle of your bedroom, just enjoying the quiet.

"Should I button this?" he mumbles when you pull away, looking down at his flannel shirt and then back at you.

"Up to you. You'll look nice either way."

He bites his lip and pulls his shirt together, fingers fumbling. He gets three buttons done before realizing it's crooked. His face starts to turn red from frustration.

You put your hands on his, then move them to his sides. You calmly unbutton, and then re-button his shirt, straightening out his collar when you finish for good measure.

"Should I tuck it in?"

"Edward." You take his face in your hands. "You look perfect. Stop worrying. It's gonna be fine." You kiss the tip of his nose.

"What if they hate me?" he asks, his big brown eyes boring into your soul.

"Babe…" you begin gently, brushing his hair out of his face. "They will. But that's okay. Because I think they kinda hate me too. Smile, nod, don't mention anything fun or cool, and you'll survive. And next time I get you to myself, I will make this worth your while."

"Really?" he grins.

"Really." You lean in for a kiss… which is interrupted by the sound of a car horn honking twice. You groan. Gareth walks by your door, in his khakis and button-down, and announces: "They're heeere."

You peel yourselves apart. You straighten your stupid dress in the mirror, and Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Promise you won't stop loving me after you endure this torture?" you ask, reaching for his hand.

"Could it be any worse than the time you made me watch Grease?"

"Are you still pretending you didn't love that movie?"

"I absolutely did not," he lies.

"C'mon, stud, let's get this over with."

The reunion with your grandparents went about as expected. Thankfully, your mother took the brunt of their displeasure.

"Is this a store-bought lasagna?" "No, Mother, I made it from scratch."

"Are you seeing anyone?" "No, Dad." "That's the price of being a working girl, I suppose. Women these days think they can have it all!"

"When's the last time you had this carpet professionally cleaned?" "Last month, Mother."

And then, when your mom was properly worn down, they turned their focus to you.

"What grade are you in now, dear?" "12th." "Oh, you'll graduate this year! Where are you going to college?" "I don't know." "You really should be focusing on that. Can't have any… distractions."

And Gareth.

"I heard you're playing the drums now!" "…yeah." "Are you in a band?" "…yeah." "Well, what kind? Jazz? Symphony?" "…marching?" "That's exciting! And good exercise!"

And Eddie.

"What do your parents do, Edward?" "They're… gone." "What do you mean gone?" "Eddie lives with his uncle," your mother supplied. "He works at the power plant. He's the reason we're not eating in the dark." Your grandmother pursed her lips, but your grandfather nodded his head in approval.

Finally, after the longest dinner in the history of the world, your grandparents decided to turn in.

They retreated to the basement, where the pull-out couch had been made for them - and was probably re-made before they got into it - and you had the upstairs to yourselves again.

Which is when the real work began for everyone else.

Leftovers were put away, dishes were washed, potatoes and carrots were peeled, ingredients were measured, and everything that could be prepped for Wednesday's pre-Thanksgiving meal was prepped. You finished around midnight. Your mother would get up in a few hours to put the turkey in the oven, but the rest of you were off the hook until breakfast.

You kissed Eddie goodnight and went to bed alone.

At nearly five in the morning, the door creaked open and someone entered your bedroom. You cracked an eye open, hoping it was Eddie coming to crawl under the covers with you and steal a snuggle before everyone else woke up. But it was your grandmother, checking to make sure you were alone in your bed. Bitch.

She crept back out, and you glared at the door for half an hour before finally going back to sleep.

The next time you woke, it was because two bodies dropped on either side of you. You kept your eyes closed.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." That one's Eddie.

"Please. Have you ever tried waking her up? She's more like the dragon." Shut up, Gareth.

"Right. Good thing we've got pinned under the covers. She'd probably claw us to shreds."

"Dragon breath is probably the bigger concern right now." You can hear the smirk in Gareth's voice.

"Fuck you both," you grumble. They laugh. "What time is it?"

Eddie looks at his watch. "Almost eight."

"How long you think we can stall before they come get us and drag us into the kitchen for another thrilling conversation over breakfast?"

The three of you sigh, just before your mother peeks her head in.

"Why are you in here? Whatever, I don't care. Get dressed and come eat before she starts in on the 'young people sleeping all day' crap again." She closes the door without waiting for a response.

"Alright, you heard the lady, be gone." You try to stretch, but you don't have much room to move, being pinned beneath your own blankets and all. You lay there, defenseless, until Eddie kisses your cheek and rolls off the bed. Gareth follows.

You grumble your way into another dress you hate, fix your face, and wait in the hallway for them. No way you're going in there alone.

The three of you appear in the kitchen doorway together.

"There they are! I thought they were going to sleep all day!" It's 7:58 on a day when there's no school, you old bat.

"When I was your age, I was awake at 4:30 every morning!" Good for you, gramps.

"Why don't you grab plates and eat in the living room?" Finally, someone speaking sense. Thanks, Mom.

The three of you grab plates and start filling them with sausage, eggs, and silver dollar pancakes.

You look down at the silverware drawer while you retrieve a trio of forks, and when you look up again, your grandmother is staring at you. And then at your plate.

"Remember, dearie: A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!"

Your face flushes. Your blood boils.

"Perhaps you'd like a piece of fruit instead?"

As soon as you're able to move again, you're going to stab her.

"Mother, does this say teaspoon or tablespoon?" your mom asks, holding out a hand-written recipe on an index card. "Go," she mouths when your grandmother turns her attention to the card.

You hurry into the living room and sit on the couch with the boys, staring down at the plate in front of you, still shaking with rage.

Eddie takes the forks and rests his chin on your shoulder. Did he hear it? Oh god, you're going to burst into flames right here.

"Hate to tell you this, but uh…" his voice drops to a whisper. "Your grandma's a real bitch."

You snort. He kisses your cheek and straightens.

"I'll drink to that," Gareth raises his orange juice and takes a swig. He puts his glass down and digs into his breakfast, but you hesitate.

"Stop."

You glance at Eddie. He stabs a piece of his scrambled egg and lifts his fork to your mouth. "You're fucking perfect. And you need fuel to survive today. C'mon. Eat up. Can't have you snapping any little old ladies in half 'cause you're hungry."

You laugh and lean forward to take his offering, then dig into your own plate. Just a few more hours. You can do this.

You let your empty plates sit on the coffee table as you stall, not wanting to go back into the kitchen and remind your grandparents that you're here. You rest your head on Eddie's shoulder, wishing your Lazy Thanksgiving hadn't been derailed.

"What are you just sitting around for when there's work to be done?" Your head snaps up off of Eddie's shoulder when your grandfather enters the room. Busted. The three of you begrudgingly pick up your plates while he settles into an armchair.

"Boys! Tell me about the local team!" he booms.

Oh. Cool. It's just you who needs to be working. You collect the plates without a word and leave the room with mouthed "I'm sorry" to Eddie. He and Gareth look at each other in panic; like they know anything about ANY local team.

"There you are! Did you think this cranberry sauce was going to make itself?"

You think the only person invited to this dinner who actually likes cranberry sauce bought a can of it that's been pushed to the back of the cabinet, but you don't say a word as you drop your breakfast dishes in the sink and fetch the bag of cranberries.

"How long have you been seeing that boy?"

The way she says "that boy" makes you bristle.

"It was a year in September."

"Oh, he didn't waste any time, did he?" You rip open the bag with a little more force than necessary, sending a few berries flying. She tuts from her place at the table, mixing something you wouldn't be eating, as you pick them up.

You take the bag of cranberries to the sink and dump them into a bowl.

"You should be using a strainer for that," she says, after you've already stuck the bowl beneath the faucet. You clench your jaw and start digging for the fucking strainer.

"Do you really think he's the kind of boy you want to be spending so much time with? I'd be ashamed to be seen with him in public. You know, dear," she turns her attention to your mother. "Gareth's getting a little shaggy too. Aren't there any barbers in town?"

This is it. Your last Thanksgiving. You're going to spend the next one in jail. You turn slowly, but before you can face her…

"Don't you have to be at church soon?" You whip your head toward your mother in confusion. Church? You? Has her own mother officially driven her insane?

Her eyes widen and say "get with the program, dummy."

"Oh! Right!" You say cluelessly.

"The kids volunteered to help with the church's Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless," your mother explains to both your grandmother and you. "The youth group is supposed to be at church in a little bit to start cleaning and setting up tables for tomorrow."

"I can't believe I almost forgot," you say, putting the cranberries aside and drying your hands on a towel. "I better go get the boys."

"Yes, you better," your mother nods knowingly. Whatever you were planning to get her for Christmas is no longer enough.

You dart past your grandmother's narrowed eyes and enter the living room. Your grandfather is droning on about defense, and the boys' eyes have glazed over.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," no you're not, "but we better get going soon, if we're going to get to church on time."

Both boys raise an eyebrow, and you mimic your mother's "get with the program" look.

"Church? Today? While your grandparents are in town?"

He doesn't bother to turn, so you're able to smirk at the back of his head as you remind him, "Well, Grandpa, we didn't know you were coming until the last minute, or else we would've made time for you."

He grunts, not daring to argue further about commitments to a church, and you all disappear to "get ready." AKA reconvene in your bedroom to explain how your heroic mother is allowing you to escape, grab your jackets, and flee.

Two minutes later, Eddie's van leaves your driveway, and you all heave a sigh of relief.

"Where to?" Eddie asks.

"Literally anywhere but here," you answer.

"Think anything's open?"

You run through a list of options in your head before your brother chimes in, "I'm not going out in public dressed like this."

Right. Grandparent Clothes.

"My place?"

Eddie's place.

It's chilly when you walk in. "Sorry," Eddie mumbles, turning the heat on. "Set the heat back before I left."

"It's fine," you smile, pulling him close. "Body heat is better anyway."

"Why's it so cold if I'm in Hell?" Gareth grumbles.

"Would you like to go back home and talk sports with gramps?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

Eddie grabs a stack of blankets, and you all pile onto the couch and cover up. The next several hours are spent watching re-runs of game shows and shouting at contestants on the tiny TV.

This is the kind of Thanksgiving break you'd planned on.

When it begins to approach the two o'clock dinner-time your mom had shouted at your backs as you fled, you turn off the TV and fold the blankets and Eddie turns the heat back down.

Your spirits begin to dampen again as you pull back into your driveway.

"Two hours, tops," you remind them. "They'll be outta here before we know it. Then we can get back to Lazy Thanksgiving."

"Just like the pilgrims intended," Eddie jokes. You grin.

You drag yourselves back into the house. Your grandfather looks like he's spent most of the morning napping, your grandmother looks smug, and your mother looks like she's about to snap.

Your very early Thanksgiving dinner went by without major incident. Forced conversation, food you didn't really like, and your grandma complaining that she could've made it better. Things to be expected.

The food was the same kind of food you'd always had on Thanksgiving, and exactly what you were hoping to avoid this year. The dressing with mysterious chunks in it. Greasy gravy. The controversial casserole that once caused a screaming match between your parents. The pie that two competing aunts once brought on the same year, which made them stop speaking to each other until Easter. The made-from-scratch rolls that your cousins used to mash into little balls and throw at you when the grown-ups weren't looking. The fancy dishes that only came out on special occasions; God help the fool who scraped a metal utensil across it. Police interrogations were less brutal than the year your aunt noticed a crack in her best gravy boat.

And then, the happiest part of the day: their departure. You gave them awkward hugs, wished them a safe trip, and watched them pull out of the driveway. All four people standing in the garage held their breaths until the car was out of sight, and let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Thank GOD!" your mother exclaims. You and Gareth scrub the greasy lipstick marks off your cheeks. Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.

"Gimme one," your mom insists. You haven't seen her smoke since the divorce. But seconds later, she's blowing a puff of smoke and looking more relaxed than she has in the last 24 hours.

You stand in the garage in silence, enjoying being back to a foursome, and thinking about all the leftovers you didn't want.

"Eddie?" your mother asks, slowly blowing out her smoke and gazing into the distance.

"Yeah?" he answers, stubbing out the cigarette he'd burned through at twice her speed.

"If I were to leave a crisp $20 bill on the kitchen table and go take a nap, is there any chance it could turn into something greener by the time I wake up?"

He looks at you. You look at him. All of your eyes eventually land on her.

She glances toward you and scoffs. "Children, please. I went to college in the '60s. Can you make it happen or not?"

"Uh…" he chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah?"

"Good."

"You uh… you want anything specific?"

"I would like to be calm and happy for the rest of the week."

"Okay."

Your eyes dart between them during the strangest conversation you've ever witnessed.

"Okay," she repeats, flicking her cigarette like an expert and walking into the house.

After a moment of silence, you have to ask: "What the fuck just happened?"

"Our mother just bought weed from your boyfriend."

The three of you laugh in disbelief. This is officially the weirdest Thanksgiving ever.

"I gotta cruise by Rick's real quick, wanna ride?"

"Sure… you think he'd want a plate?"

Eddie gives you a strange look.

"We've got plenty of leftovers. And we're making the good shit tomorrow, so there'll be even more. Wayne's getting a heap too."

"Kay."

You're piling food onto a styrofoam plate - well, two, for reinforcement - when the phone rings. Gareth answers, rolls his eyes, and mouths "Dad."

You cover Rick's plate with aluminum foil and hand it to Eddie. "Go on, tell Rick I said hi and Happy Thanksgiving. When you get back, all of the annoying relative shit should be over."

You send him away with a peck and pick up the phone in the hallway to join the conversation with yet another relative you didn't want to talk to. How thoughtful of him, to call the day before Thanksgiving so he could spend the real holiday with his new family.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, looking through Black Friday ads from the newspaper when Eddie returned. He quietly closes the door and plops into the seat across from you.

"Rick's in love with you now."

"Oh yeah?" you grin.

In a pretty decent imitation of his reefer-loving friend, Eddie drawls, "Thanksgiving food on a Wednesday? It's like Christmas came early, man… except it's Thanksgiving. Are those real mashed potatoes? And pie too?! You tell your girl and her mama that I really appreciate this."

You try to muffle your laughter as he plops the requested bag of green on the table, exactly where the $20 had been an hour before.

"Think I should roll those for her?"

You shrug. "I just found out she smokes like an hour ago, don't ask me about her drug preferences."

He contemplates for a second, then pulls the bag toward him and reaches into his pocket for rolling papers.

"You wanna hit the mall Friday morning?" you ask, flipping the brightly colored pages. "Ought to be some decent sales."

"Mhm," he hums, tongue poking out of his mouth, trying not to break his concentration.

"Are you trying to impress my mother with your joint-rolling abilities?"

"Maybe," he grins, finishing another.

Gareth wanders in the kitchen and sits at the table hesitantly, watching Eddie work. He's smoked with you a few times - better to keep an eye on him that let him go off with people you don't trust, you figure - but he's never rolled on his own before.

"You wanna try one?" Eddie asks. Gareth looks to you nervously. He's still not entirely convinced the DEA isn't going to bust down the door every time he touches the stuff. You crook half a smile, and he gets up to sit next to Eddie.

He's more patient here than he is at school. No jocks to unsettle. No reputation to maintain. No need to rule with an iron fist. He wasn't Eddie the Freak or Eddie the DM or Eddie the third-time senior here. His guard was down, and he was just Eddie. You love all the Eddies, but this one's your favorite.

You watch him teach proper rolling techniques out of the corner of your eye while you pretend to browse ads. They'd finished almost half the bag when you hear your mother coming. Eddie slides the rolled joints into the bag and puts it back where he was supposed to.

Gareth grabs the ad on top of the stack of papers and opens it to a random page, blushing crimson when he's greeted by Sears lingerie models. Flip, flip, flip. He becomes very interested in power tools, and you and Eddie try not to make eye contact, because you know you'll laugh.

Your mother enters the kitchen with a yawn and a stretch and spots her loot.

"Well, what do you know, looks like the Cannabis Fairy paid me a visit."

You snort. Eddie tries to hide a smile.

She looks down at the bag, and then at him.

"What, you think an old lady can't roll her own joints?"

"Just trying to save you some time." He smiles and bats his eyelashes. Moron.

"Riiiight," she says, pulling on her coat and picking up the bag. She steps into the garage… and leaves the door open. You look from it to Eddie, until she pokes her head back in. "Are you coming, or are you still pretending to be good kids?"

The three of you exchange glances, rooted in place until finally you shrug and get up. The boys follow. You grab jackets and step down into the garage.

She's sitting in a lawn chair, arms crossed like she's waiting to bust you for breaking curfew… with a lit joint in her hand.

"Et tu, Gareth?" she sighs when he steps down and closes the door.

"Uh… peer pressure?"

Everyone laughs.

You and Eddie drag the battered loveseat that the previous owners abandoned closer, and drop into it. Gareth unfolds another lawn chair and sits uneasily.

And that was how you found yourself passing around illegal substances in your garage, on the eve of Thanksgiving, with your boyfriend, little brother… and your mother.

You melt into Eddie once you begin to feel the effects. You lean your head on his shoulder and wish you'd thought to bring blankets out. His hand rests on your leg, radiating warmth into your skin, and you wish you were small enough so that you could fit your whole body in his hand. He could just carry you around and keep you in his pocket and let you attack people who irritated him. They'd never know what bit them. (You. You'd be what bit them.)

"Alright, what'd we miss?" Gareth asks.

"Let's see…" your mother ponders. "I'm a terrible mother who's raising disrespectful delinquents. My marriage failed because I emasculated my perfect bread-winning husband by insisting on working outside the home. He is blameless. The new church I selected must not be much of a church, to let in such shaggy youths. My son will become a devil-worshipping drug addict. My daughter will become impregnated before she graduates because I let that boy sleep in my house. Good news though: If you get knocked up, they probably won't come down for graduation, because they'll die of shame. Oh, and my turkey was dry."

You take a moment to process all this. Where do you even start?

"Dude…" Gareth begins. "Grandma's a cunt."

After a moment of stunned silence, your mother starts to laugh. And then you all join in. Minutes later, tears are streaming down your face, and you still can't stop laughing. You're clinging to Eddie, shaking together, finally feeling warm and happy and comfortable after a day of hell.

"Oh, man," your mom finally gets out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What do you say we go finish up their leftovers so we can start over tomorrow?"

"That is the best idea in the history of Earth," Gareth says with genuine awe. Which sets you and Eddie off again. Your mom and Gareth go inside, and you and Eddie eventually pull yourselves together and off the loveseat.

Your mom has decided not to bother with individual plates; she's thrown all the grandparent-specific leftovers onto a glass pan and stuck it in the oven to reheat. You gather around the table and wait. When it comes out, you each grab a fork and go to town.

That's one way to get rid of leftovers you don't want.

"I'm going to bed," your mother finally says, getting up with a stretch. "I cooked all day today. Tomorrow's your problem. Wake me up when dinner's ready."

"Kay," you mumble through the last mouthful of the casserole you weren't generally fond of, but tonight found pretty good.

You left the dish in the sink and retreated to the living room to finish off the night with a movie.

"Ugh," Eddie groans, leaning back into the couch and sticking out his belly. "Why did you make me eat so much?"

"Yeah, that was definitely my doing," you laugh, pulling a blanket across your lap. Gareth puts in a tape and settles into his favorite spot on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon.

"I can't even breathe," Eddie whines.

You roll your eyes, reach over, and pop the button on his jeans. He falls silent as the previews begin, but you can feel him staring at you.

"What?" you finally ask, turning your head when you can't stand it anymore.

"Will you marry me?"

"What?"

"That was like the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me."

A laugh escapes you. "You are such a dweeb."

"But you love me," he grins.

"…yeah, I guess," you sigh, pretending to be defeated.

His jaw drops in mock offense.

"You two are gonna make me puke up all that old person food if you keep on," Gareth chimes in from across the room.

You laugh and snuggle into Eddie's side, pulling the blanket over both of you.

"Love you," you whisper.

"Lots?"

"Lots and lots," you confirm, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder.

You woke when the screen turned to static, shook the boys awake, and dragged your corpses to bed.

"Best Thanksgiving ever," Eddie mumbled when you crawled under the covers beside him.

"Babe?"

"Hm?"

"That was Grandparent Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Lazy Thanksgiving. It ain't over 'til the last piece of turkey's gone."

He chuckles. "So what exactly are we doing tomorrow?"

"We'll make the food, since Mom did everything yesterday. Turkey's done, so we just need sides. It'll be easy, pretty much everything has instructions on the box. There's rolls and a pie hiding in a cooler in the garage. So we'll make food, eat food, lay in front of the TV and watch old Thanksgiving specials I recorded and whine about how much food we ate… until it's time to eat more food."

"I think Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday."

"Mine too, now." You smile a sleepy smile, not wanting to say goodnight and go to sleep just yet. "Still wanna hit Starcourt Friday morning? Lots of stuff on sale. If we strike out, we can always go back to your place… if you don't mind being alone with me for a little while… I'm sure we could find something to do…"

"You know, Black Friday's sounding pretty good too."

You chuckle and lean in for a kiss.

"I'm so happy you're here with me," you breathe.

"I'm happy you wanted me here," he says, giving you another kiss.

"Sorry about the grandparents," you wince.

"It's alright… we'll have it at our place next year." Your heart soars at the thought of getting to be like this with him every night. "And we won't tell them where we live."

You laugh and snuggle closer. "Sounds good to me, Eds."

He sighs happily and kisses your forehead, and you both drift to sleep in a comfortable silence.

You woke up so warm and comfortable, you almost didn't want to get out of bed, even though it's nearly eleven.

But today is Lazy Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you've always dreamed of. No unwanted guests. No hard labor. No stuffy clothes. You turn over to look at the clock, and Eddie pounces.

"Where you think you're goin'?" he mumbles into the back of your neck, holding you in place with an arm around your waist.

"Food," you yawn.

"This is all I wanna eat." He nibbles at the back of your neck, and you shrink away from him with a laugh.

"Not on the menu today, I'm afraid."

"Hmph." He lets you go and flops onto his back. You turn to look at him. Arms crossed. Pouty. Hair a mess. Perfect.

You slide closer and sling a leg over his. You put your arm across his middle and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He doesn't budge.

"Tomorrow, however…" you whisper with a soft kiss to his neck. He finally uncrosses his arms to run a hand up your thigh.

"Tell me more."

"Hmmm…" you hum, nuzzling into him. You can feel him melt. "Nope." You nip at his neck and haul yourself out of bed. He growls, but you're already out of the room before he makes a move.

Your mom is drinking coffee and watching the parade in the living room. "You sure you've got this?" she asks.

"We got this," you confirm. "We'll wake you up when it's ready."

"Like anyone could sleep through this thrilling display!" she says with mock-offense, gesturing to a high school marching band. You smile and return to the kitchen, hoping she enjoys her first uninterrupted parade in years.

Both boys wander into the kitchen a few minutes later, while you're pulling things from the cabinets and moving them to the table.

"Eddie, you're on stuffing. Gareth, you've got mashed potatoes."

"And what about you, Your Highness?" Gareth grumbles.

"Everything else, Prince Ass."

Eddie snorts and picks up one of the four boxes of Stove Top to read the instructions. He looks at you apprehensively.

"I have faith in you." He smirks and reads the box again.

"How many potatoes?" Gareth asks, skimming the instructions. Potato flakes from a flimsy cardboard box. If that didn't finish your grandmother off, the packets of gravy mix would.

"A buttload."

"That's not on the box."

"Then whatever the biggest batch is."

"Kay," he shrugs, reaching for the measuring cup you've left in the middle of the table.

The three of you work together in a shockingly harmonious manner. Pots on the stove, dishes in the oven, bowls in and out of the microwave, and nearly an hour later, the table is as set as it's gonna be. No serving dishes saved for special occasions; everything remains on the stove and counter, in whatever vessel it was cooked in. You were all fully capable of getting up and fixing your own plates.

And that's exactly what you did.

"Are we gonna hold hands and say what we're thankful for?" your mom teases.

"I'm thankful that Grandma and Grandpa are gone," Gareth says quickly, causing a laugh to spread around the table.

Screw it. "I'm thankful that all my favorite people are here."

"Awww," Gareth mocks, causing you and Eddie to both kick him under the table. You smirk at each other when he hisses.

"I'm thankful for the invite," Eddie smiles, making your heart soften.

"And I'm thankful for brown-and-serve rolls," your mom says, ripping hers open and slathering it with butter. "Okay, you little dorks, raise a roll."

You each pick up your roll and raise it, as instructed.

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!"

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!" you all echo, then take a bite out of your perfectly adequate rolls that took 8 minutes to prepare. (A great improvement from the traditional 4-hour ordeal.)

Lazy Thanksgiving really was the holiday you'd always dreamed of.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman #thanksgiving fic

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

You And I Were Fireworks [Proposal Gone Wrong Trope]

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Female Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Proposal Gone Wrong situation 1. Character wants to propose. Something goes awry and ruins their plan "AJ is determined to make you his Aunt, without giving Sam a say in the matter."

Warnings: Fluff. Reader is fem identifying (references to she/her pronouns and being Cass and AJ’s Aunt.) No use of y/n. Established relationship. 

WC: 1,100

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

Spending the Fourth of July with Sam’s family in Louisiana had become one of your favorite traditions of your relationship in the few years since you and Sam had started dating. It was only fitting that Sam's hometown threw a true American neighborhood cookout on the pier, proud of the local-bred boy who had taken up the mantle of Captain America.

You had just finished helping Sarah and a few of the other neighbors set up the tents on the dock, when you noticed Sam’s youngest nephew sitting alone on the edge of the pier. You wandered over and plopped down beside him.

“What’s up AJ? You look upset. Did Bucky and Cass not let you play corn hole with them?”

“No…” the boy said, dejected.

“Okay, so what’s up?”

“Leon asked who I was here with and I said my Aunt and Uncle, but he said you’re not really my Aunt cause you and Uncle Sam aren’t married.” he gestured to the man named Leon a few feet away, putting beer and soda into a cooler.

“Well, I mean he’s not wrong. But don’t worry AJ, I love you like you already are my nephew. Your mom and brother have been nothing but welcoming since Sam and I started dating and I really do feel like family.”

“But why aren’t you and Uncle Sam married yet?”

“Because he hasn’t asked me yet! He’s gotta propose first. Quit dragging his feet, you know?” you joked and it made AJ chuckle “And besides, we’re both pretty busy and weddings take time to plan. But, hey you’re gonna look great in a suit when you’re a groomsman.”

“You really think Uncle Sam is gonna make me a groomsman?”

“I know he will. Now come on, quit worrying about what Leon has to say and go enjoy the party.”

The conversation left your mind until a few hours later when you were all sitting around a picnic table enjoying your cookout food. Sarah and Sam were discussing upgrades they wanted to make to the boat when fall rolled around, and Cass and Bucky were in heated competition to see who could make the Ketchup containers make the loudest fart noise.

AJ slid onto the bench beside you as you ate.

“Hey AJ, you doing better?”

“Yes. But I have a question.” he cleared his throat, getting the attention of everyone at the table.

AJ dropped to one knee beside you and held out a makeshift ring he clearly had just fashioned from some straw wrappers.

“Will you marry my Uncle Sam?”

“AJ!” Sarah exclaimed

“Oh god no.” Sam buried his head in his hands

“Oh god yes.” Bucky said, fully invested

“AJ, is this you asking because you want me to be your Aunt or did your Uncle put you up to this?” you asked

“No! It's me trying to make this happen! What you said was right. Uncle Sam needs to stop dragging his feet and make you part of the family. So I figured I’d make him do it!” AJ said triumphant in his plan

“Wait what?!” Sam’s head shot up

“AJ that was… I meant that as a joke.” you stuttered

Sarah clapped her hands together and stood.

“Okay kiddo, let’s quit interfering in Uncle Sam’s personal life. C’mon you can help me get the snow cone station set up.”

“But mom, she didn’t answer!” he said as Sarah tugged him away from the table

“Wow that was…” Bucky began to chuckle

“So when did you tell him I'm dragging my feet?” Sam turned to you and asked

“I did not… I meant it as a joke okay?!”

“Uh huh, sure…” he joked, putting his arm around you and kissing your temple

It felt like that was all you saw of Sam the rest of the day, he kept busy socializing with his old neighbors and friends. You knew Sam was always the life of the party, but a small part of you worried he was just avoiding you because of what happened earlier.

Finally, the sun finally set and the fireworks started. You sat on the edge of the pier, feet dangling in the warm summer water as streaks of red and blue exploded above you.

You felt a presence near you, as Sam sat behind you to enjoy the show as well, legs bracketed on either side of you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back to his chest, planting a kiss on your neck once he was situated.

“Hey beautiful.” he greeted you

“Hey Sammy.”

The two of you sat in silence as the show continued, until Sam finally spoke up.

“What was your answer by the way?”

“What?”

“To AJ’s question. What was your answer?”

“Sam, you know it would be a yes if you asked. Why? Is AJ giving you ideas?”

“No, I can do ideas myself, problem is he beat me to it.”

“Wait, what?”

Sam removed one hand from around your waist and held it in front of you, a beautiful diamond ring in his palm.

“Little trickster ruined my big moment. But the question’s still the same. Marry me?”

“Sam…” you craned your neck to look at him, the smile splashed across his face showing he was being serious

The emotion hit you in a wave and all you could do was nod yes, not able to verbally answer or else you were sure the tears of joy would never stop. Sam leaned in and kissed you deeply, untwisting his arms from around your middle to help you put the ring on your finger.

“It’s perfect by the way.” You commented, admiring the way the ring sparkled under the colorful display in the sky

“If the kid just had an ounce of patience, I could have actually surprised you.” Sam laughed

“Consider me surprised. I love you Sam.”

“I love you too baby. Hey just think of how excited AJ’s gonna be, getting his 4th of July wish to make you his Aunt.”

“Is that a thing? Does Captain America grant Independence Day wishes now? Like Santa for summer?” you joked

“Just for my nephews. And for you.” he kissed you again

“You know if you tell him that, next year he’s gonna ask for a puppy.”

“Ha! and I’ll do it. And Sarah will kill me.”

“Puppy would make a cute ring bearer in our wedding.”

“Now who’s the one with ideas?”

"Just saying, a Fourth of July wedding with a puppy would be amazing."

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson #falcon #captain america #anthony mackie #marvel fic #mcu #trope #trope de sept #x reader fic #fatws #falcon and the winter soldier

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Seventeen

Something in the Night

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @legolasbadass @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @night-ace

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Spring in Erebor was only discernible if one was out in the courtyard just off the infirmary, where wild roses of all shades grew along the walled off courtyard. Thorin smiled down at the pretty dwarf maid on his arm. He’d forgotten just how pretty Elisin was, with her wide dark eyes and lustrous nearly-black hair. Like Dís, she’d woven beads into her equally dark beard, tiger’s eye mostly, interspersed with silver runes. No braids adorned her hair, however. That would be left to him, when he proposed to her, which he thought he might do at Midsummer. 

He didn't love her, but she would make a fine queen and a good mother and maybe—just maybe—she would help him forget Nina Carren ever existed. 

He tried to ignore the thoughts of the red-headed temptress that continually crept into his mind, tried to dredge up that same anger he’d felt upon learning of her betrayal. 

He tried.

And failed each blasted time. 

Nina haunted him far more than any other ghost could. So perhaps marriage, and its permanence, would put an end to the torture. Perhaps knowing he belonged to another would finally make him forget Nina ever existed.

Or so he hoped.

“You seem far away today,” Elisin said, peering up at him, her head pressed now against his arm.

Fortunately, he did not jump despite the jolt from his thoughts. “I am a bit tired. We were up far too late last eve.”

She smiled. “A party is always worth being a bit tired the next day.”

“This is true, but I’m not so young a dwarf any longer.”

“You are young enough, Your Majesty.”

He bit back the sigh bubbling to his lips. No matter how many times he told her it was quite all right for her to address him by his given name, Elisin insisted it would not be proper, and so would not do so.

“Thank you for that.” He smiled down at her. “So, where would you like to go on this glorious day?”

“What is that up there?”

He turned in the direction she pointed, his stomach knotting as he found himself peering up at the gray and black stone tower of Ravenhill. His mouth went dry, his tongue feeling fused to the roof of his mouth. The sight of the tower unnerved him, although the orcs who had befouled it were long since dead or dispersed. 

“Ravenhill,” he said. 

“Where the last battle of the five armies was fought, wasn't it?” Her dark eyes went wide, sympathy flooding them. “You fought up there, didn't you?”

“Aye. And nearly died there.”

“Oh, how awful.” She release his arm to move to stand before him, then to his surprise, slid her arms about his waist to embrace him. “I am so sorry you went through that.”

“Thank you. I think. I’m afraid I rarely know how to reply to that,” he told her, glancing down as her head came to rest against his chest. A hint of lavender rose from her hair to tease his nose.

“You need not reply at all.” She lifted her head to gaze up at him. “I only wish I had been here when you were brought in. I would have taken wonderful care of you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Still…” She turned her head toward Ravenhill once more, “I would be lying if I said I was not curious about seeing it. Would it trouble you to take me up there?”

He hesitated, looking at the gray stone once more that blended so perfectly with the mountains around them. He had not been up there since the day of the battle. The thought had crossed his mind, but he could never quite get his legs to obey his mind’s order to bring him there.

But even at this distance, his gut burned, the memory of being run through by not one, but two blades, as fresh now as it was the day it happened. Freezing cold at first, but then scorchingly hot as his blood spilled from the jagged wounds. 

He swallowed hard as his free hand went of its own to his lower belly, his fingers damp as that blood soaked into his henley, then bubbled over his fingertips, the spattered against the ice. Drip. Drip. Drip.

At Ravenhill, the spatters were spaced apart when he’d pushed up and away from Azog after dispatching him on the ice floe. He’d staggered back, his knees threatening to go to sponge, and the spatters became actual puddles as the blood poured from his wounds, spilled over his hand. None of it mattered. He’d redeemed himself for his people, he had avenged his nephews’ murders. His life was a price he’d been willing to pay.

He would never forget the feel of his life slipping away, droplet by droplet, until the droplets became a stream and the stream a puddle. The cold of winter at Ravenhill was nothing compared to the cold of death as it crept slowly along his legs, up along his belly, his chest, until his eyelids grew too heavy to remain open and a tiredness unlike any he’d ever felt sank into him.

“Thorin?”

He glanced down, almost surprised to see no blood spattered at his feet, and the frozen creep of death receded as the sun warmed him again.

“Would—would you be terribly disappointed,” he swallowed hard against the nausea, “if I would rather not go back there?”

“No, of—of course not,” she assured him, her hand coming flat against his chest, heat from her palm sinking into him. “I would never wish you to relive something if you’d rather forget it.”

“I would much rather forget that.”

“Then why don’t we go into Dale and have a nice, romantic supper away from everyone?” 

“That sounds far preferable.”

“Good.” Her eyes sparkled like onyxes as she smiled up at him. A hint of a blush crept across her cheeks. “Would I be terribly wanton if I admitted how much I wish to kiss you right now?”

“No,” he shook his head, “you would not.”

With that, he bent to her and when his lips met hers, another face slid into his mind. Green eyes sparkling up at him in a semi-dark room, a hint of jasmine clinging to her glorious, fiery red hair, her body engulfing his to introduce him to a pleasure he’d never known existed before, but beyond that, Nina introduced him to an intimacy he’d never known before and with her, he’d discovered a closeness he didn't know could exist, one he wasn't at all certain he would ever find with another woman.

One he was certain he didn't want to find with any other woman.

He pulled back then, more sharply than he’d intended. “I beg your pardon.”

“There is no need,” she assured him. “I find no fault with your kiss, Your Majesty.”

There was simply no way for him to explain why he’d broken away from her with as much force as he had. At least, no way that wouldn’t end with him being slapped for his effort. It would be a slap he’d deserve, but if he could avoid it, even better.

“I’ll meet you by half-five at the main gate,” she told him softly. 

“Half-five it is.” 

They parted then, with Elisin making her way back into Erebor, while he sank on top the edge of the low stone wall ringing the courtyard. 

More than anything, he wanted Nina to stop haunting him. He wanted to transfer that yearning he felt for her to Elisin, wanted to desire Elisin the way he had Nina. He wanted to love her the way he loved—

Don’t.

How could he possibly love Nina, after what she’d done, after she’d betrayed him the way she had? No, it couldn't be love. Lust, yes. Love? Not possible.

Or so he tried to tell himself. 

He turned back to Ravenhill. That filth Azog was dead and yet he still had the power to make Thorin’s life miserable. And for what? He never did learn just why the Defiler was so determined to end the line of Durin.

“Uncle? What are you doing out here?”

He blinked back into the present and turned to see Kíli, Dís’ younger son, limping toward him. “Why are you limping? What happened?”

“I’m fine.” Kíli waved off his concern. “I took a spill from my pony this morning. Although,” he gimped over to sit beside Thorin, “don’t tell ’Amad. She doesn’t think I should be doing things like riding just yet.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “I won’t say a word, although I agree with her to certain extent.”

“Uncle, it was a year ago. I’m well beyond needing to be coddled. Even Narnerra tried to tell ’Amad it was perfectly safe for me to ride.”

“And what did your ’Amad say to that?”

“She told Narnerra to mind her own matters. Which,” Kíli shrugged, “is how I know she agrees with Narnerra in spirit if not in practice.”

Thorin sighed. Kíli had been run through, just as he and Fíli had, and had come a long way since that terrible day. But unlike him or Fíli, Kíli was ready to settle down and planned to do so with Tauriel. They’d not set a wedding date yet, but when Thorin was in Mirkwood, he’d overheard her talking to Legolas about Kíli and she mentioned wanting an autumn wedding, but when he’d broached the subject with Kíli, his nephew said they were still discussing it. 

“She worries for you.”

“She doesn’t wish me to marry Tauriel,” Kíli replied, his voice flat. “And I’m not giving in to her wishes, so you can imagine how that conversation goes each time.”

“I can, indeed. But, your mother’s heart is in the right place and she has not quite forgotten how close she’d come to losing you.”

Kíli shook his long dark hair away from his face. “She is smothering me. She smothers Fíli as well. Doesn’t like to let us from her sight. And before you say it, I understand why, but that doesn’t make it any less suffocating.”

“No, I don't imagine it does. But, the only advice I can offer is to be patient.”

“Which is not my strong suit.”

“It is not the strong suit of any of us.” 

“Ah, there you are!”

Both he and Kíli groaned softly as Dís strode toward them. Rising from the wall, Thorin said, “Which of us did you seek?”

“My son.” She smiled. “I understand you and Elisin are going into Dale this evening?”

He nodded. “A night away from here would do us both some good.”

“Should we expect you back?” A cheeky smile accompanied her words.

“Mind yourself, little sister.” He patted Kíli’s shoulder, adding, “Patience.”

“Easier said than done, Uncle.”

“I know.” He patted his shoulder once more, then stepped about Dís. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my chambers for the next hour or so, then it will have to wait.”

“We will be fine. Go and enjoy your evening out, Thorin. Anything that might come up, unless it is of utmost urgency, will certainly keep until tomorrow.”

For Nina, the worst part about working at The Black Swan were the hands. It seemed that no matter how many warnings a body received, their hands still found their way to her backside. Fortunately, Harald, the owner, wasn't at all shy about tossing the bodies from his tavern if they became too handsy. 

Other than that, she didn't mind the job at all. Harald, for all of his show some skin nonsense was a fairly decent man, she got on well with Margrete, and she was very happy working alongside Sigrid, who showed her the perfect way to deal with the owners of wandering hands. A good, solid cuff to the ear usually did the trick.

A month had passed since she’d left Mirkwood and at first, Nina was certain she’d have forgotten all about Thorin Oakenshield by then. But, it seemed to her that the more time that passed, the more she found herself missing him. It made no sense. Why should she miss someone she hated? Someone who hated her in return?

Because you don't hate him, you fool. That’s why.

“Nina, can you take the table in the corner?” Margaret asked as she bustled by with a tray laden with empty tankards and goblets. “Harald’s put me in the back room and they are driving me mad with their requests.”

“I can, of course.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

Nina smiled as she made her way to the table in question, but then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Thorin Oakenshield at said table.

And he was not alone.

Her mouth went dry, her heart plummeting into her stomach at the sight of him and the dark-haired dwarf woman smiling at one another across a table softly lit with flickering candles. She didn't know what they were saying to one another, but judging by the slow smile Thorin offered up his companion, he wasn't miserable.

Her eyes stung, which was stupid, really. He’d moved on. Of course he had. She’d betrayed him. And it wasn't as if they’d had a relationship, even. It was one night.

One amazing night.

Stop it.

With that, she cleared her throat and approached them. “Good evening. What can I get for you this evening?”

Thorin visible stiffened with her first word and she wondered if his companion noticed. Nina didn't think so, as the woman smiled up at her and said, “What is the special this evening?”

“Venison with whipped potatoes and glazed carrots.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I’d like that.”

“Very well.” Nina wrote the note into her pad and then, heart hammering her ribs, turned to Thorin. “And you, sir?”

He looked up and as their eyes met, Nina almost stepped back from the crackle of electricity that snapped the air between them. “I think that sounds good, actually. I’ll have the same. And a bottle of wine as well.”

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

“Of course.” 

She couldn't get away from the table quickly enough, taking their order into the kitchen, and then promptly avoided that section of the restaurant until their order was ready. And when their food was up, she grabbed the tray, steeled herself to approach them, and then did so as if she had no idea who either of them was.

“There you go,” she said, setting each plate on the table. “Might I get you anything else?”

Thorin looked up and her heart skipped a beat. She’d somehow forgotten how beautifully blue his eyes were. She pasted her smile on, waiting for him to speak, and when he did, it was to say, “Thank you, but no. We are fine.”

“Very well. Enjoy.”

She managed to keep her smile in place and her step light as she moved away from them and to her next table, but from the corner of her eye, she saw him look back to the woman sitting across from him. He smiled at whatever she said, and that sank Nina’s spirits like a stone. 

“Are you all right?”

She looked over at Sigrid, who’d come into the galley where the prepared meals awaiting pickup were kept, and nodded. “I think so. Why?”

“I saw who you had to serve. I’d heard he’d died in the Battle of the Five Armies last year.” Sigrid’s gray eyes narrowed as she looked in Thorin’s direction. “I’d spit in his food if I had to serve him.”

Nina bit back a sigh. “At one time, I’d have agreed with you, but… well… much has changed. Unleashing Smaug was not his intention.”

“Intention or not, he did so. And look where we are as a result.”

“Again, a year ago, I’d have agreed wholeheartedly with you. But now…” She peered around the corner into the dining room. “I don't have it in me to hate him any longer.”

How could she, when she knew the side of him he did not present to the world? When she knew the man he was under that rough, somewhat fierce façade. She’d known him to be fierce and violent, but also to be kind and gentle, even when he thought her no more than a wayward boy. “He’s actually quite spec… decent.”

Sigrid offered up a queer look. “I didn't think you knew him.”

Nina smiled. “I traveled with him for a bit… met up with him outside Rivendell and we parted ways at Mirkwood.”

“You did this of your own free will?” 

She nodded. “I did, yes. He really is not so terrible. And he is making good on his promise to share Erebor’s wealth. I hope I’ll be able to move back to Esgaroth in the coming year.”

Sigrid shook her head. “Don’t be so certain. I’ve heard the houses are going to cost three times what they had. Only the wealthy Men will be able to afford them. At least, that’s what Da told me.”

“Isn’t he one of the wealthy ones, though?”

“He is, but I’m not and I won’t ask him to pay my rents for me. Not when I’m trying to prove I need no husband to support me, since I’m capable of supporting myself.” She smiled and draped an arm about Nina’s shoulders. “But, I’ll wager that with a roommate… we could afford something nice and not too shabby.”

Nina smiled. “You’ve a deal, Miss Sigrid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Table Three looks as if they could use more drinks.”

“Thorin?”

He jumped as Elisin waved a hand before his eyes. “Yes? Sorry, I… my mind wandered off for a moment, I’m afraid.”

“I was asking if you were ready to go? I’m afraid I’m growing terribly tired.”

“Oh, of course.” He wiped his mouth and then rose from his chair, coming around to off her his arm as she also stood. Another server had brought them their bill, but he hadn’t missed how Nina cornered the woman across the dining room to whisper something to her.

In fact, he knew where Nina had been all through supper and once he’d gotten over the shock at seeing her, he couldn't help but keep an eye out for her. 

He thought he’d been surreptitious about it, that Elisin hadn’t noticed, but now he wondered if he was wrong, as she offered up a look that wasn't quite a glare, but was damn close to it. 

“Do you know her?” She asked this as he let his hand come to rest at the small of her back to guide her toward the front doors.

“Know who?”’

“Our serving girl. Do you know her? I caught you watching her more than once.”

They stepped out into the cool evening air and he nodded slowly. “I know her, yes. But it was a while ago. I had no idea she was here in Dale.”

Elisin looked up at him. “How do you know her?”

“She lived in Esgaroth. I met her the last time I was there,” he offered up a pointed look, “before I set an angry dragon upon the town.”

“Oh. I see.” Elisin tucked her arm through his. “I thought perhaps you had a relationship with her at one point. I didn't know she was of Esgaroth.”

He didn't miss the sneer in her voice and his gut kinked. “You say that as if it was something unacceptable.”

“Well, of course I don't mean it that way,” she told him as they made their way along the wide, rock-strewn road leading out of Dale and across the plains between it and Erebor. “But they are mostly fishermen.”

“They lived on a lake,” he pointed out, “and people need to eat.”

“I’m not judging them, mind you. I’m simply surprised, is all.”

“Well, I know a few of them. Bard is now the Master of Dale. And Nina is apparently working at The Black Swan and that is all we need discuss about it.” He glanced up at the Lonely Mountain, which was a bit too far away for his liking, as the rumors of orcs moving closer to Ravenhill had begun to swirl about Erebor. 

“Very well.” She tucked her arm through his, leaned her head against his shoulder, and made nothing but small talk as they made their way back toward Erebor. 

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here? #Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Ready To Run

Author: Inkblooded Witch

Artist: CrzyDemona

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Jimmy/Balthazar, Benny/Meg, Bobby/Ellen, Sam/Eileen, Ishim/Naomi, mentioned past Dean/Others.

Length: 114500

Warnings: Cannon-grade violence, dub-con.

Tags: Western AU, Omegaverse, Set Primarily in 1875, Angst with Happy Ending, Dean Has Anger Issues, Slow Burn, Fluff, Smut, Collar AU, Alcohol Consumption.

Posting Date: October 27, 2023

Summary:   Castiel and Jimmy have always been close, on opposite sides of a single coin. While Jimmy’s rebellions have been loud, blatantly throwing every indiscretion in their father’s face, Castiel’s have been quiet, easier to hide, less publicly embarrassing. For this reason it’s no surprise when he is slated to be married off first. Something they’re informed of right as Jimmy has decided he wants to marry Balthazar, an Alpha he’s been courting on the sly for some time.    Neither of them have been optimistic about their fates should they be left to their father’s tender mercies. Castiel knows that once Jimmy is gone, he will be next. He likes Balthazar, and sees no reason why they should both be condemned, so they hatch a plan. While Jimmy elopes and boards a steamer to Europe, Castiel boards a train to Nebraska as his twin.    Knowing your life will never be the same is one thing, but Castiel never could have predicted what chaos would come of him getting on that train. Starting when plans to slip away before he reaches his intended destination quickly go awry.

Excerpt:   “I’m marrying Balthazar.”    His brother’s teacup froze halfway to his lips. “You’re what?”    “We’ve been planning it for weeks anyway, we’ll just have to hurry things along. I won’t stay here, brother, I can’t. You know that as well as I do.”    “Why didn’t you tell me Balthazar asked you to marry him?” Castiel protested, setting his cup down.    “Actually, I asked him,” Jimmy admitted, smiling sheepishly. “Bal took it rather well. He did ask that he be allowed to propose with a ring he gets to surprise me with.”    Castiel beamed, rising to come around and embrace his brother. Despite their mutual turmoil, Jimmy cracked a smile of his own, rising to return the hug. When they parted, he smacked Jimmy in the arm, hard.    “Ow! Hey, why- ”    “That is for not telling me,” Castiel informed him, retaking his seat. “Some brother you are. Now, how do you expect to get away with that. You’ve pulled some impressive stunts before, but this will be a true trick.”    “Bal knows where we can get a quick wedding, all we have to do is tell them I’m pregnant.”    “Are you?”    Jimmy gave him an insulted look. “I’m brazen, not foolish, brother. No, we just have to tell the priest that and he will get us married very quickly, complete with legal documentation. Which we will then take on a steamer to London.”    Castiel considered that. “I suppose you have always wanted to travel.”    “Yes, and Bal intends to show me Europe, maybe Asia. But he did promise to introduce me to his family first.”    Balthazar Grace was British by birth, the son of a rich family that allowed him to indulge in a lifestyle Jimmy also participated in. He had been seeing the Alpha for nearly a year now. Castiel had met him, and while he found the man to be…much, he clearly adored Jimmy, would give him the world if he asked. For that alone Castiel approved.    “I am happy for you, truly. But how do you expect to get away for this? You know father, he won’t trust you, he will put you on that train personally.”    “I don’t know, I just found out about all this.” Jimmy gestured vaguely with his liquor bottle, still gripped by the neck, which he began drinking out of directly. “What if he puts me on lockdown? How will I tell Bal about this?”    Castiel stared into his own cup, worrying his lip. “Father never cares what I do. I can liaison with him for you if need be.”    Jimmy paused mid-gulp, cobalt eyes sliding over to him. Slowly lowering the bottle’s mouth from his lips, tone thoughtful, he said, “You.”    “Me?”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

[ghelgheli]

As a leading light in the constellation of “terrorism experts,” Jerrold Post has proposed that terrorists suffer from pathological personalities that emerge from negative childhood experiences and a damaged sense of self. Post argues for two terrorist personality types, depending on the specific quality of those childhood experiences. First, Post suggests, there is the “anarchic-ideologue.” This is the terrorist who has experienced serious family dysfunction and maladjustment, which lead to rebellion against parents, especially against the father. Anarchic-ideologues fight “against the society of their parents . . . an act of dissent against parents loyal to the regime.” Second, there is the terrorist personality type known as the “nationalist-secessionist”—apparently the name indicates “a sense of loyalty to authority and rebellion against external enemies.” During childhood, a terrorist of this personality type experienced a sense of compassion or loyalty toward his or her parents. According to Post, nationalist-secessionists have pathologically failed to differentiate between themselves and the other (parental object). Consequently, they rebel “against society for the hurt done to their parents . . . an act of loyalty to parents damaged by the regime.” Both the anarchic-ideologue and nationalist-secessionist find “comfort in joining a terrorist group of rebels with similar experiences.” The personality defect model views terrorists as suffering from personality defects that result from excessively negative childhood experiences, giving the individual a poor sense of self and a resentment of authority. As Ruby notes, “Its supporters differ in whether they propose one (Kaplan), two (Post and Jones & Fong), or three (Strentz) personality types.”

What all these models and theories aim to show is how an otherwise normal individual becomes a murderous terrorist, and that process time and again is tied to the failure of the normal(ized) psyche. Indeed, an implicit but foundational supposition structures this entire discourse: the very notion of the normal psyche, which is in fact part of the West’s own heterosexual family romance—a narrative space that relies on the normalized, even if perverse, domestic space of desire supposedly common in the West. Terrorism, in this discourse, is a symptom of the deviant psyche, the psyche gone awry, or the failed psyche; the terrorist enters this discourse as an absolute violation. So when Billy Collins (the 2001 poet laureate) asserted on National Public Radio immediately after September 11: “Now the U.S. has lost its virginity,” he was underscoring this fraught relationship between (hetero)sexuality, normality, the nation, and the violations of terrorism.

Not surprisingly, then, coming out of this discourse, we find that another very common way of trying to psychologize the monster-terrorist is by positing a kind of failed heterosexuality. So we hear often the idea that sexually frustrated Muslim men are promised the heavenly reward of sixty, sixty-seven, or sometimes even seventy virgins if they are martyred in jihad. But As‘ad Abu Khalil has argued, “In reality, political—not sexual—frustration constitutes the most important factor in motivating young men, or women, to engage in suicidal violence. The tendency to dwell on the sexual motives of the suicide bombers belittles these sociopolitical causes.” Now of course, that is precisely what terrorism studies intends to do: to reduce complex social, historical, and political dynamics to various psychic causes rooted in childhood family dynamics. As if the Palestinian Intifada or the long, brutal war in Afghanistan can be simply boiled down to bad mothering or sexual frustration! In short, these explanatory models and frameworks function to (1) reduce complex histories of struggle, intervention, and (non)development to Western psychic models rooted in the bourgeois heterosexual family and its dynamics; (2) systematically exclude questions of political economy and the problems of cultural translation; and (3) attempt to master the fear, anxiety, and uncertainty of a form of political dissent by resorting to the banality of a taxonomy.

Monster, Terrorist, Fag: The War on Terrorism and the Production of Docile Patriots, Jasbir K. Puar & Amit Rai, 2002 [muse]

#reading

[moon-andstardust]

A fic rec list for comic Goldenheart(Ballister Blackheart x Ambrosius Goldenloin) as requested by @thatmaladaptivedaydreamer

putting it under read-more cause this got way too long way too fast :,)

1) Take a Step Back and Start Again by lc2l

A story about two partially broken, mostly fixed men; a small child and a cat.

2) Black Flag by wakeupnew

Ballister finds himself thinking of life two ways: Before Nimona and After Nimona.

After Nimona, he has an injured former knight for a houseguest, an alarming amount of goodwill from the general population, and a life to try to put back together.

3) Once bitten, twice spy by bewickedandlovely

Even now with his face covered in claw marks, Goldilocks' smiles did funny things to Ballister. Nimona hadn’t decided if Ballister was still a friend, but she knew for sure that she didn't trust Goldilocks. She had to make sure he didn’t use his weird smiles to hurt Ballister, because Ballister would be too much of an idiot to make sure of that himself.

4) Two Nights in Knights in Knight School by tehta

So, how did the teenage Ambrosius and Ballister get together, anyway? I suspect that, in canon, it was the simplest and most natural process in the world. In this comedy of misunderstandings, it is... not.

5) When There's Nothing Left To Burn (End Racism in the OTW) by strix_alba

Sir Blackheart could really use some down time to process recent events, but the kingdom (and a few people in particular) have other plans for him. Plan A involves adoring fans and discounts at the open-air market. Plan B involves hospital visits to make sure he won't need another metal arm. Plan C includes a mysterious treatise tacked onto the Institution doors, and posters with his name on them appearing across the city.

6) Lost in Translation by InfiniteCalm

Three months later and things aren't as simple as they could have been. You could talk complicated feelings through, but why put yourself through that? After all, Ballister is excellent at steadfastly ignoring both crushing loneliness and any sort of non-violent tension with erstwhile enemy, current friend, Ambrosius Goldenloin.

7) [a short pause] by nushkush

Goldenloin remembers the past, but not his part in it.

8) A Business Proposal by PlethoraofSweaters

Ambrosius chose success over love. That kind of decision always has its drawbacks.

9) you better watch out, you better not cry by meguri_aite

“If our Santa says she isn’t Nimona, we have to believe her,” Ballister says calmly. “Ginger biscuits, anyone?”

10) The Spirit of Christmas Past by tehta

Arch-nemeses Blackheart and Goldenloin are haunted by the spirits of Christmas past. Actual drinkable spirits play a significant role, as well.

(Basically, Ambrosius gets wasted and tries to call Ballister)

11) Death Will Be My Wedding to Eternity (and I Hope to See You There) by WizardoftheRainbow

A chronicle of the incredibly arduous emotional journey undertaken by one Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin, from his childhood to the end of Nimona.

12) Decision/Mistake by YellowFlannelFrog

After a scheme gone awry, Ballister takes an injured Ambrosius back to his secret lair (house) to recover. It's still early on in his villain days, and there are a lot of emotions Ballister keeps inside. And when dealing with Ambrosius Goldenloin, some of them are definitely going to come to the surface.

13) (Stuffed) Sharks Have No Bones by oflightningandstars

Ballister comes home with a surprise for baby Nimona. Baby Nimona likes pranks. Ambrosius is not thrilled. (Nimona Gay Dads AU)

#nimona #nimona comic #ballister blackheart #ambrosius goldenloin #goldenheart #ballister blackheart x ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #comic ballister #comic ambrosius #fic rec #fic rec list

[ikeromantic]

Obey Me Masterlist

7 Brothers Stories

7 Deadly Kisses - All 7 brothers

7 Deadly Dates -All 7 brothers

7+ Sinful Snuggles - all featured angels/devils/humans

Movie Night - features Beel and Belphie (polyam, g/n MC)

Piano Lessons - features Lucifer (g/n MC)

Diavolo - Fire, Hawthorn - protection, Urania - fortune teller

Satan - Soul, Willow - safety, and Polyhymnia - sacred and divine

Angels and Others Stories

My Heaven - features Simeon

OC Commission Stories

Luscious - Barbatos goes out with his new love, Kara, and uses his devilish charm to make sure she knows she is beautiful

A Particular Encounter - Lucifer has an awkward meeting with Diavolo as he tries to hide evidence of his evening with Jenn

A Devilish Proposal - Lucifer’s planned proposal to Jenn goes awry

Bedeviled Feelings - Pride and Jealousy do mix as Jenn takes a weekend with Mephisto and leaves Lucifer all alone.

Dancing with the Devil - Lucifer takes Jenn on a date in the mortal realm.

The Devil’s Own - Lucifer and Jenn argue, and Jennifer leaves. Luci realizes she might be gone for good and follows after her.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #om #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #organizing

[starboyshoyo]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕦𝕝 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

Ace Trappola

Cat Got Your Tongue?

↳ A study date with your crush gone awry

Crush Headcanons

↳ How they act with a crush!

Love You

↳ They moment they knew they loved you

Courting, Pining, or Flirting?

↳ Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you?

Departure

↳ What happens after you depart from Twisted Wonderland, and the hole you leave behind.

Tropes-to-Lovers

↳ the NRC boys as 'to-lovers' tropes

Unspoken Words

↳ Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you.

Deuce Spade

Love You

↳ They moment they knew they loved you

Courting, Pining, or Flirting?

↳ Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you?

The Summer After Graduation

↳ Domestic life with NRC boys, starting with the summer after graduation...

Departure

↳ What happens after you depart from Twisted Wonderland, and the hole you leave behind.

Hold Me Close

↳ Physical affection with your beloved

Wedding Bells

↳ Proposals and weddings with your beloved!

Indulgence

↳ showering them with affection!

Tropes-to-Lovers

↳ the NRC boys as 'to-lovers' tropes

Unspoken Words

↳ Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you.

Riddle Rosehearts

Kiss the Girl ft. Floyd Leech (oneshot)

↳ Riddle’s date is crashed by a certain slippery Leech.

Crush Headcanons

↳ How they act with a crush!

A Long-Awaited Return

↳ An encounter with an old childhood love leads to possibility.

Love You

↳ They moment they knew they loved you

Courting, Pining, or Flirting?

↳ Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you?

Departure

↳ What happens after you depart from Twisted Wonderland, and the hole you leave behind.

Hold Me Close

↳ Physical affection with your beloved

Wedding Bells

↳ proposals and weddings with your beloved!

Indulgence

↳ showering them with affection!

Tropes-to-Lovers

↳ the NRC boys as 'to-lovers' tropes

Unspoken Words

↳ Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you.

Trey Clover

Hello There, Handsome Stranger

↳ A meet-cute at the Mystery Shop, with… flour?

Love You

↳ They moment they knew they loved you

Courting, Pining, or Flirting?

↳ Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you?

The Summer After Graduation

↳ Domestic life with NRC boys, starting with the summer after graduation...

Departure

↳ What happens after you depart from Twisted Wonderland, and the hole you leave behind.

Tropes-to-Lovers

↳ the NRC boys as 'to-lovers' tropes

Unspoken Words

↳ Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you.

Sweet…?

↳ Kitchen fun with Trey gets interrupted...

Cater Diamond

Love You

↳ They moment they knew they loved you

Courting, Pining, or Flirting?

↳ Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you?

Departure

↳ What happens after you depart from Twisted Wonderland, and the hole you leave behind.

Tropes-to-Lovers

↳ the NRC boys as 'to-lovers' tropes

Dark Academia

↳ Cater with a dark academia-esque s/o

Unspoken Words

↳ Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you.

#birdie.masterlist #heartslabyul #heartslaybul x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #trey clover x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond

[llondonfog]

@llondonfog & @bluelightning16 's very self-indulgent and WILD twst wonderland ch 7 theory —buckle up

The child hadn't perished after all.

Failure— she had forgotten in her long, long reign its bitter taste as she stares at the thinly veiled concern building in her once-hardened General's crimson eyes, tapered fingers tightening imperceptibly along the arm of her throne as he explains in a strained voice that the palace healers had discovered his adopted human son was somehow cursed with a sleeping spell.

How? What had gone awry?

Everything had been so intricately planned, the silken seduction of a spider's web laid in place to ensnare all those fools who thought to challenge their very existence, to challenge her. The war had been in their favor from the very beginning, the measly human kingdoms no match for fae power, majesty, and might. It would have been all too easy to subdue those that remained, to let them remember the cost of what it meant to incur the wrath of those far superior to them. An all but assured victory would have been in their grasp, the opportunity to finally smite the greedy who had dared for so long to ravage their lands and seize the power within, had it not been for one rebellious kingdom that thought it had the right to sue for peace.

And then, her idiotic son had somehow gone soft, had actually proposed that they bend a knee to the humans and listen to their compromise! As if none of their suffering had mattered, as if the despair of their people who had been persecuted by humankind meant nothing to him! If he had been a changeling, she might have laughed— for he surely could not have been any blood of hers. It was unfortunate, for even she could be sorrowful, that he and his wife mysteriously perished in an apparent human ambush, leaving behind their only son now hers to claim.

It was also unfortunate that there needed to be arrangements for an old court ally to purr promises of wealth and power to a greedy mage privileged enough to serve as a confidant to the human royals, in exchange for a very simple task indeed. A fae curse of sleeping death, a painless end (and far more than they deserved) that would eradicate the royal family and incite the people into a frenzy that somehow they had been betrayed. It had only been too easy for her esteemed General to overpower the now leaderless kingdom, satisfied with the reports of the royal family's elimination.

Yet, those reports hadn't been accurate.

She knows that now, staring at the silver-haired child clinging to Vanrouge's leg, auroral eyes so much like that of his mother. The sleeping curse had somehow failed on the child, and fickle, gleeful fate had delivered him straight into the arms of the very fae who had led the assault to decimate what would have been his own kingdom.

But this child in complete ignorance of his inheritance, this little, precious, gleaming tool yet to be molded— Silver, was it?

Vanrouge had always been so quaint with his names.

Perhaps all was not yet lost. She had seen the way those opalescent eyes stare with utter adoration at Vanrouge, and watch Malleus perform his magic with wonder and awe. There was promise there, formation of vulnerable bonds that could set the course of the next century in motion.

The human would die for her grandson.

She'd ensure it.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #malleus draconia #twst malleus #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twisted wonderland theory #twst theory #diasomnia #twisted wonderland maleficent #WILD I TELL YOU WILD #THERE'S EVEN MORE THAT WE PLOTTED THAT WILL HAVE TO BE A PART 2 #lettie writes

[ouat-in-spare-oom-of-rivendell]

Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist

Captain Jack Sparrow

Sunsets and Black Sails series, x OC

Summary: Aria Swann fell in love too soon. Before they even have a chance to be married, her young fiancee, a captain for the East India Trading Company, is killed by pirates.

Or so she is told.Ten years later, she still refuses to even consider any other man. However, at her father’s insistence, a marriage seems to be inevitable. Commodore Norrington is kind enough, but he isn’t who she loves. A proposal gone awry leaves Aria staring into some very familiar eyes, but this scoundrel of a pirate can’t possibly be her dear captain… Could it?

Series Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Magic, Major Character Death, Miscarriage

Read on Ao3

Read on Quotev

Series Incomplete

Lazy mornings with Jack Sparrow headcanons

#pirates of the caribbean fic #pirates of the caribbean imagine #pirates of the caribbean fanfiction #jack sparrow imagine #jack sparrow x reader #captain jack sparrow imagine #jack sparrow x oc #captain jack sparrow x oc #captain jack sparrow x reader #jack sparrow x original character

[houseofsnarry]

💚 HoS Mods’ Recs: Holidays Edition ❤️

'Tis the seasons for merry and joy! Us mods over at the House of Snarry Discord server wanted to do something for the holidays. So, please, grab your hot cocoa, curl up next to a fireplace, and enjoy some holiday recs below. Happy Holidays, everyone!

Art — All is Well - Mathia Arkoniel (Dreamwidth)

Merry Christmas - phoeny_shever (Twitter)

The Nutcracker and the Prince (AO3, Tumblr) - @sherrasama

Snarry 5 - Ma-kosh (Deviantart) The Unfreezing Kiss - venturous (Dreamwidth)

Podfics —

Foreplay - amanitamuscaria (podficcer), RaeWhit Podfic ~ 1 hour 5 mins (LiveJournal)

Miles to Go Before I Sleep - JocundaSkyes (podficcer), pluperfectsunrise (author) Podfic - 1 hour 5 mins (AO3) Story Link (AO3) Wish List - teas_me (podficcer), Sansa (author) Podfic ~ 10 mins (AO3) Story Link (author's website) Fics —

Addition Alley Christmas - oliversnape Rated Explicit, Word Count 15.8k AO3

A senile shop visitor sets Harry up with her reclusive son as a shop competition between Harry and the Weasleys rages, and love blossoms around. Postwar, ignores HP7, SSHP. Inspired by too many Love Actually viewings.

Best Laid Plans - @writcraft (AO3) Rated R, Word Count 5.5k Dreamwidth

It’s coming up to Christmas. Harry is free from work commitments and he and Severus have decided to spend their first Christmas Day together, without anybody else around. Harry is determined to make everything perfect, but as is often the case, things don’t quite go according to plan.

A Bit of Christmas Cheer - suitesamba Rated E, Word Count 7.6k AO3

Retired Harry and Severus try to keep their age-induced missteps under wraps so the children leave them be. But a special Christmas potion gone awry threatens to upset the apple cart.

Christmas Present - cruisedirector, Dementordelta Rated E, Word Count 22.4k AO3

Snape had hoped to be alone at Hogwarts for Christmas, but Potter had other ideas.

Five Steps to Surviving Cabin Fever - @hippocrates460 (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 6.5k AO3

Harry's worst nightmare comes true, instead of spending his days off lounging around his apartment he's been called in for a case. It all gets worse when the case drags on for longer than expected and Robards decides he'll need help.

The Ghost of Christmas Past - suitesamba Rated G, Word Count 2.8k AO3

Six Christmases, five Weasley jumpers, two accidents, a wedding, a kiss in the snow and a round-about proposal.

Journey to the North Pole - emynn Rated E, Word Count 32.7k AO3

All Harry wants is for his children to have a wonderful Christmas. All Severus wants is to get through the holiday without too much damage. With the help of some matchmaking children, a snow globe, and some Christmas magic, they will all experience a Christmas they will never forget.

A Nick in Time - tiranog Rated Teen, Word Count 52.1k AO3

After a strange dream on Christmas night, Harry Potter awakes to find his world strangely altered.

Of Curse Scars and Christmastime - avioleta Rated E, Word Count 10.1k AO3

Nineteen years later, Potter’s scar is acting up again.

Prince's Potions - Alisanne Rated Explicit, Word Count 7.8k AO3

Severus watches with growing anger as an aggressive suitor tries to bed a clueless!Harry, figuring he needs to save the idiot from himself and sees Harry experience a proper Christmas for the first time.

Snark, How the Bells - @evenmyzefronposter (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 22.6k AO3

Severus Snape did not do Christmas. He ran a grotty little pub on Diagon Alley and he kept largely to himself. When Harry Potter stumbled into his pub, he began to realize that Christmas held a kind of magic all its own. or A Hall-snark Christmas story

Snowed in with Severus - @maraudersaffair (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 32.5k AO3

In eighth year, Harry decides to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He sets out to spend the time with Professor Snape, but after a magical accident, they find themselves stranded alone in a snowy cabin with no way out and only one bed.

The Stations of the Nights - Lomonaaeren Rated M, Word Count 4.9k AO3

Severus teaches Harry a wizarding-adapted Twelve Days of Christmas; Harry goes searching for the real story.

Stargazing - NestingHedwig_aka_LinW Rated G, Word Count 10.1k AO3

When a potions accident de-ages Severus days before the Christmas holiday, Harry tries to make the time special for him.

Discord || Recs Lists

#house of snarry #snarry #snarry fanfiction #severus x harry #harry x severus #snarry fanfic #snarry fanart #pro snape #snarry rec list #snarry recs #snarry podfic #house of snarry rec lists #happy holidays everyone!

[usafphantom2]

How U.S. Navy Pilots Really Get Their Callsigns

A Super Hornet pilot gives us an inside look at how Naval Aviators get their often colorful but unflattering callsigns.

Ben KohlmannView ben kohlmann's Articles

PUBLISHED Aug 23, 2023 1:26 PM EDT

Navy callsigns pilots

U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate 2nd Class Felix Garza Jr.

Let’s reminisce about fighter pilot callsigns and how they come about.

I’ll start with mine: 'The Professor,' eventually shortened to 'Prof.'

How I got it: First port call as a new guy in the squadron, we pull into Hong Kong. Everybody always chipped into buying the fanciest penthouse in a big name hotel - think 30 guys and gals crashing on the floor.

(Courtesy of the author)

Someone was always tagged as the 'admin queen.' This individual was required to stay sober and be the adult in the room in case anything went awry and had to talk to the hotel staff.

I pulled Admin Queen duty the second night.

2am, all my compatriots are out on the town. Looking around, I noticed everybody was gone.

So, like anyone would, I change the music from rap to Beethoven and pull out my American History of Law book to pass the time.

Bad move.

An older squadronmate bursts in, tipsy, and sees me.

"What do we have here? It's the Professor at work!"

It was the leading contender at the callsign review board the next week that took place aboard ship.

Let's pause a bit and talk about the 'rules' for callsigns.

It's rumored that Air Force fighter jocks get to pick their own callsigns... which is where you get things like 'Ripper' and 'Ace' and 'Thor.'

Not in the Navy.

"Professor" and his wife Jamie in front of an F/A-18. (Courtesy of the author)

Callsigns are bequeathed for doing something stupid or memorable. The more you fight the more it sticks.

Usually a new guy in a squadron is given something like 'FNG' (Fucking New Guy) or 'New Jack' or 'Don't Speak.'

Eventually, someone does something noteworthy, and the King (or Queen) of the JOPA [Junior Officer Protection Agency] calls a kangaroo court known as a 'callsign review board.'

Everybody can propose a name. There are lots of nominations. Many are absurd and vile.

Eventually, a few finalists are named. They're voted on and by acclimation a callsign is bestowed.

The commanding officer then gets veto authority - and sometimes exercises it. In which case you go back to the white board.

I also had another callsign before my 'official' one.

Before going to the carrier for the first time before we qualify for our wings of gold, we'd all get a temporary callsign through a similar, abridged process.

Mine was 'Stink.' Let's just say I wouldn't always wash my flight suits after a flight in the middle of a Meridian Mississippi summer.

They were pungent.

That one stuck until I got to my first fleet squadron, which is when I got Professor.

(Courtesy of the author)

Now the fun part... other call signs that were part of the 2008-2013 era of Naval Aviation.

'LOTHAR' - Loser Of The American Revolution

I'm pretty sure the guy is still in the Royal Navy and probably a squadron commander by now.

When he was a new pilot, he was the first Brit to get assigned to a front line, American F/A-18 squadron.

He took it well as only a Brit would.

'Chaser'

This was my first fleet commanding officer. He was a grizzled old dude who originally started his aviation days as an F-14 backseater.

But before that, he was an enlisted sailor with the 'HT' rate... Hull Tech. He was one of the guys who would make sure the plumbing worked.

They were known as "shit chasers" aboard ship.

It stuck when he became an officer.

'SLUGZ'

Short Little Ugly Guy.

He actually wasn't all that short. SLUGZ was one of my first mentors in the squadron who saw me through tough first days trying to figure out carrier landings.

But the name fit the personality.

'PETA'

He was department head when I joined my first squadron.

Rumor was that on one of his first flights in the F-14, on the landing rollout he hit a deer!

Deer died.

Plane was fine.

Callsign was obvious.

Mouth, Tiny, Powder and Probes adorn VFA-102 Super Hornets on deck. (U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate Airman Stephen W. Rowe)

'Soccer Mom'

This was my brother's first call sign.

In flight school he had this old green station wagon while his brethren were rolling around in their fancy sports cars.

'Amtrak'

Member of our squadron was an absolute train wreck when drunk.

'Bar Code'

Literally, we painted a barcode on the side of the jet.

Verbally we called him 'R2' since he behaved like a robot. But we thought the barcode was too good to pass up.

'TAKAN'

Talks A Lot, Knows Absolutely Nothing.

This was a play on the navigational aids military aviators used to use when flying across the country.

'Wiki'

The source of all dubious knowledge.

Dude would have an answer for everything... in detail. But he was the father of misinformation before it was cool.

'Delilah'

This is one of my favorite callsign stories because I'm a total nerd.

After pulling into port in Singapore, we were out at the bar.

The commanding officer of the USS Sampson, a battle group destroyer, happened to wander in.

He starts hitting on a squadron mate of mine - a very outgoing woman who was also very junior to him.

Fortunately we were able to extricate her from the situation with nothing lost but pride on the part of Sampson's CO, but she was tagged with "Delilah" after almost bringing down the skipper of the Sampson.

'SANDY'

Skipper And Nasty Did it Yesterday.

Remember Chaser? Well, whenever the commanding officer of the USS Nimitz, callsign 'Nasty,' wanted to go flying, Chaser would fly in his backseat. We were the only two seat squadron on the boat.

Nasty would do ridiculous flybys. I'm talking high speed (near supersonic), barely above the height of the flight deck, feel the shockwave of the jet on the flight deck flybys. He was the master of the ship.

My buddy SANDY was a brand new pilot and thought it would be cool if he tried the same thing.

Not a good idea.

His excuse was literally "But Skipper and Nasty did it yesterday!"

He was grounded for a few days... and got a callsign.

'Steamer'

Buddy's last name was Cleveland.

Best part about this story is that as we were pulling into port to San Diego after a month at sea, the local news station wanted to do a story about us.

I was dual-hatting as the squadron public affairs officer at the time, so they tell me to do the interview.

The camera crew sets up in hangar with some jets behind me... and the one they ask me to stand in front of has 'LT XYZ "Steamer" Cleveland' written in big bold letters in clear view of the camera shot.

They rolled with it and broadcasted it out to SoCal.

Gonzo and Buff on this F/A-18F. (U.S. Navy photo by Photographer's Mate Airman Nicholas B. Morton)

'Tweek'

Dude would go high and right over the smallest thing. He was the target of a lot of ribbing just to see how angry we could get him.

'Farva'

Had a number of guys with this one - especially around the time Super Troopers came out.

'Boom Boom'

My brother had this one temporarily - in C-2 training, he landed and blew BOTH tires on the rollout.

'Jerry'

Marine fighter pilot - and one of the most impressive aviation leaders I've ever met - had a proclivity for older ladies ("geriatric") in his formative days.

'Tofu'

Pudgy, white guy. He owned it.

'Sweet P'

One of our missions in the Super Hornet was to be the on-demand, airborne tanker for the air wing.

You'd launch off the ship then rendezvous with the offgoing tanker to do a "package check" of the refueling tank and hose.

If there was good gas flow, it was a "sweet" tanker, and if there was a problem, it was a "sour" tanker.

On one of his first flights, this gentleman reported back on the open ship frequency "Sweet package, sweet package."

With our minds always in the gutter, 'Sweet P' was the obvious choice.

'Radio'

Guy got to the fleet around the time the movie Radio came out. Not exactly sure what he did... but it wasn't smart.

He became a test pilot and is now in the Astronaut program.

'Shortney'

Callsign for the four-star admiral I worked for - last name was Gortney and he stood no more than 5' 6" tall.

At least when I worked for him he was a great sport about it

'Satan'

One of my air wing commander had this callsign for the longest time. I think people were scared to tell the story. He was an intense dude, but took a quiet liking to me.

The reason I knew he liked me was whenever he saw me, he would body-check me into the walls of the carrier as we passed.

Apparently he only did that to folks that were on his good side.

I think he's a three-star admiral now.

'Don't Ask' & 'Don't Tell'

We had a pair of new squadronmates come aboard - one was a pilot, the other a weapons systems officer. When the callsign crackdown happened in 2011, we thought we could slip one past the goalie by giving those two guys matching call signs that would be painted next to each other on the jet.

Those were quickly vetoed.

(Courtesy of the author)

Lots of other good ones:

'Rabbit,' 'Heed,' 'Mouth,' 'Gimp,' 'Waldo,' 'Cholula,' 'Sasha'... and some others I'm too timid to share in public.

Never had a Maverick though...

This piece was adapted from a Twitter thread by Ben Kohlmann. Ben flew F/A-18s with VFA-41 and VMFAT-101, serving on active duty as a Naval officer from 2004-2015. He currently serves in the USNR and spends his professional time in Venture Capital as an early-stage defense tech investor.

[reilliane]

Imagine if vigil!mc also did something similar to what Ayato did to protect their younger sibling. Since Kazuha lost his parents in a young age (I think), and adding to that the Kaedehara clan is already falling, would make mc handling all of the burdens of the clan, and being a target. So mc will probably do a similar thing like Ayato to prevent harm to come to Kazuha, and to at least to make his childhood somewhat good. Ayato, already created the Shuumatsuban, would probably hear from one of the Shuumatsuban that mc has also taken a similar route like him, so they can protect their younger sibling. So Ayato propose that they work together (maybe mc is a spy or something similar) . The benefit for Ayato, is that he will have one more reliable and loyal person that is willing to help him to a certain extent. While for mc, she will probably get more help to protect little Kazuha.

-🌿

This hit the nail, 🌿 dear.

ThIs topic is actually tied to Ayato's part with MC (AND SAYU-) in the next Irodori short but history can get quite long, so why not brief you dears already about some background?

The falling slope began when Vigil!MC was fourteen, when she slowly eased herself in the work to help her parents.

She took over the clan household immediately following their passing (she was eighteen then) and worked incredibly hard to keep her and her only kin left afloat.

There's definitely more to MC's gentle nature. She may be pretty and pretty dense but she's not all face!

(I'll publish more about Vigil!MC's title as 'Kaedehime' in a different post- ALSO THIS IS LONG- as in really long-)

Now I wouldn't say that MC delved into the creation of a privy organization, but she can be linked to the Shuumatsuban. Courtesy of Ayato.

No one expects it to be all rays of sunshine and rainbows from an heiress that's about to take over a declining clan. Even if that is what MC shows.

Not to mention there's some heat in the family (remember that father and grandfather business in the irodori festival? mhuh) that just worsens things up. And thE PRESSURE of being an older sister no less-

She's gone all past that, MC really stronk! ᕙ(`▽´)ᕗ

From the tons of assets coming from the Kaedehara (again revealed in Irodori), they're still relatively wealthy enough to not go bankrupt.

It's the name, honor, and the art of swordcraft that's lost and couldn't be salvaged.

MC was fine that, though she did admit in Resolve that she sometimes thought of marrying into a clan (it's so obvious as to which) if it means resurfacing the name Kaedehara again. But she held against it.

That... was not her priority ;)

Kamisato Ayato definitely did not overlook the troubles his friend was facing, no, no, how could he?

It wasn't that he's underestimating MC's secretly sharp tongue and intimidating nature when pressed, nor Kazuha who was proficient with the sword, but danger can go so far.

And who's to say it wouldn't befall upon the two Kaedeharas who's left with wealth?

They were still young (granted even he is young, but his situation's different). Eighteen? Fifteen?

He absolutely approached MC and offered her proper security. You know, just in things go awry. It would be abolished when Kazuha comes of age and the clan's decline isn't the heated topic of interest in Inazuma any longer.

Of course, MC agreed. Aha, in comes the Shuumatsuban.

In light of providing security, it comes without a doubt that Ayato would inform MC how exactly they'd be protected. The Shuumatsuban's all about espionage, but that doesn't mean they can't work as security.

I like to figure that the organization was still in its early stages at that time, so although it can work, they still lack the preferred population.

Ayato asked one thing in return, MC's aid. She doesn't have to do anything rash, but her darling presence is sought after. What's she to do?

She's a scout, a recruiter.

The shuumatsuban is said to be comprised majorly of orphans, MC's task was to scout for such children and care for them as they adjust in the organization.

A perfect job, a splenDID JOB!

Of course, others can perfectly look after the children but MC just has just the touch-✨THE SWEET TOUCH OF NEE-SAN✨

Does Kazuha know, you dears ask? No, no he doesn't.

It's not like MC's hiding it, per se. She doesn't need to. Do you all remember how Kazuha's pretty evasive of MC after their parents' passing? He's barely home since he wanders around with Tomo-chan.

Naturally, MC goes to the organization in her free time and helps out with the children.

Also I lowkey like to imagine that she's incredibly good at hiding (do you recall how Kazuha can't win a single game of hide and seek when he's the seeker in that one headcanon) so she could've taught them about 'camouflaging' under the pretense of it being a hide and seek game.

Sayu was the last orphan MC took to the organization before the elders took over, Kazuha grew of age, and the contract was abolished.

Ayato was incredibly thankful for MC's efforts.

BONUS ANGST - Vigil Setting:

Ayato heard of the Shogun's order a little too late. When he dispatched the closest known ninjas to go to the Kaedehara Estate, with him close behind, [Name] has already passed on.

#moonlitchat #🌿 anon #m-vigil #queuing my asks for now since i have been abducted by life conflicts #I HAVEN'T DONE SO MANY STORY QUESTS LIKE- #Starting from Hu Tao's adsdasdhas #that said//more background about the kaedehara's low profile after the decline of the clan will be explained #in the succeeding parts of the irodori short!

[youshotfirst]

Chapter 19: The Proposal

“You go first,” he insists.

“OK,” I take a deep breath again and hope he doesn’t notice how I have to take a deep breath. “Something like that, between us,” I shake my head, “that can’t ever happen ever again.”

A knot forms between Ben’s brows. Not the immediate and adamant agreement I’d been banking on. He just gives a little huh, like that was not what he had been expecting from me either.

“What?” I ask, my hands in fists at my sides now, my voice half-crazed with nerves.

“Nothing,” Ben pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth again, like he’s holding back that grin. It’s another second, and I think I’m about to snap when he finally relents. “OK so maybe I should have gone first.”

“Why? What were you going to say?”

Without warning, without preamble, and without another fucking thought as if what he’s about to say is the most obvious thing in the world, he answers.

Or start from the beginning…

Synopsis: Rey has lived in Jakku, a small shore town known for its quiet beaches and even quieter winters, for her entire life. After a seemingly harmless date with a stranger goes terribly awry, Rey will learn they have a lot more in common than their undeniable attraction to one another. A month later, a twist in fate, a winter rental and a rescue dog will bring them closer together than ever.

#the indecent kind #we love a cliffhanger #reylo #ben solo #rey #kylo ren #reylo fan fic #reylo fanfiction #reylo fan fiction #reylo fic rec #reylo fics #reylo fic #reylo fanfic #modern reylo #reylo modern au #winter rental