#Visitors of Hitching-Post

[mokulule]

Take Out for Dummies - Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main Previous | Masterpost Note: So I was planning on sitting on this until I was about done with part 3, but then @yeetyeetedyote, who tumblr doesn't allow me to tag, did a meme for part 1 and I couldn't help but post it. So hope you enjoy. Jason did not know what to wear. It was Red Hood who had a date, but going in his full uniform seemed very excessive somehow. But there was also no way he was going unarmed. He pondered his closet with a frown. What clothing did he even own that were suitable for a date? He’d never had to ponder this before. What level of formality was expected? Probably not formal, considering there would be no dinner. Also he was Red Hood, there was no way he’d do formal, he had an aesthetic.

He finally settled on jeans, a red henley and the brown leather jacket he used as Red Hood. He held up the jacket and inspected it critically for blood spatters, that at least he felt certain wasn’t appropriate.

One hour later saw Red Hood rolling up to the curb in front of the building. Only one person was leaning against the brick wall there, absorbed in their phone; it had to be Danny. The rest of the people there were just walking past. It was Crime Alley, Red Hood barely got a glance of interest. Gotta love Gothamites.

Jason had not been able to really get good visual on Danny in the dark, aside from the fact that he was rather short and had dark hair, the night vision in his helmet could only do so much. He had not been prepared for how he looked up and the wide blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. Nor the way the button down shirt and the jeans hugged close to broad shoulders and slim waist in a way the hoodie he’d worn previously had clearly not.

Somehow in all his musings about how this would go Jason had never considered the possibility that Danny would be hot.

“Hi,” Danny said still smiling as he came up to him. He raised his arms out from his sides a bit helplessly before letting them fall back. “So how do you want me?”

Jason’s brain screeched to a halt as those words brought a decidedly not appropriate image to his head. He was so glad he was wearing his helmet right now. Jason must have stiffened or given away his embarrassment some other way, because Danny’s cheeks flushed as he too realized how his question could have been understood.

“I meant on your bike.”Jason hunched over, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Because that was not helping at all.

Wordlessly Jason held out the extra helmet. Danny took it gratefully and stuffed it over his red face.

“Front.” Jason said over the radio connection between the helmets.

Jason had to give Danny a hand to get him situated in front. He had to hold on near the center of handlebars and he didn’t really have good place to place his feet and had to hold them curled up.

It was neither safe nor legal, but Jason was not about to have a potential assassin at his back and besides who was gonna arrest Red Hood for traffic violations? The small hitched gasp when Jason curled around Danny’s back to reach the handlebars had his lips quirking up, and he might have pressed him just a bit further forward just for that.

“Where to?”

“Sommerset.”Jason raised an eyebrow at that as he kicked off the curb. Carefully, as he got a feeling for the different weight distribution, he drove them in the direction of the Trigate Bridge.

“If a tour of Old Arkham is your idea of a date, I think I’m gonna have to shoot you.”

Danny scoffed.

“I promised you fun, didn’t I?”

At Jason’s lack of response, he slumped further.

“There’s a traveling carnival on the fair grounds at the edge of town.”

“Huh.” Jason was trying to think of a time he’d actually visited a carnival as a visitor and not a vigilante to stop some villain plot. He was coming up short. There was a feeling in his chest he had a hard time identifying, an uncertain thing, but it wasn’t bad. If nothing else he was gonna have an experience? Oo o oO

They parked the bike in the attached gravel parking lot near the fair grounds. Jason had to step off the bike first and then promptly had to catch Danny as his legs refused to carry him when he stepped off the bike.

“Oh wow, my legs fell asleep there.” He laughed and stepped away on wobbly legs as he pulled the helmet off. He handed it to Jason who put it into its compartment.

He took another wobbly step forward and Jason couldn’t help the way he reached for him to steady him. Instead Danny grabbed his hand firmly. Jason was baffled at the action looking from Danny to their hands, uncertain how to react, but Danny just smiled and changed his hold so their fingers were twined together.

He looked mightily satisfied about it too as he tugged Jason forward toward the fair grounds. A fair bit of the rides were visible because of their heights and Jason could easily imagine how the place would light up with multicolored lights once evening came.

Once they entered the fair grounds they drew quite a lot of attention. Lots of people stopped and pointed at Red Hood and his companion. Phones were pointed in their direction and Jason found himself tensing.

Danny leaned closer and spoke lowly, “Don’t worry, nobody will believe them. Regular digital cameras are odd around me, so they won’t get usable footage.”

Jason’s mind raced, what did that mean? Did he have some sort of jammer? Was it a meta ability? Was it related to his ability to sneak up on vigilantes on Gotham rooftops?

“And,” Danny continued, “if anyone asks, we can always say you’re a cosplayer.”

Jason grimaced. Danny slapped his chest as if he could see right through the mask.

“Hey! Cosplay is a great creative hobby.”

“That’s not- I’m a former crime lord. I don’t understand why anyone would dress up as me.”

“Pffft, don’t sell yourself short. Also you have a cool recognizable thing going on with the helmet. It will be especially funny if someone critiques it for not being accurate.”

Jason couldn’t help his chuckle at how gleeful Danny looked at the prospect.

“This is the real reason you want me to claim I’m cosplaying?”

“It would be so funny, admit it!”

Jason huffed. It would be pretty funny.

“Ha! I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, time to show off some of those shooting skills and win me a plushie.” With that statement Danny pointed towards a game booth with truly ridiculously large unicorn plushies hanging from it and tugged Jason forward. It was only at that moment he remembered they were still holding hands. It was…

It was nice.

Danny glanced back at him and he was smiling, warm and excited. Jason didn’t remember the last time someone had smiled that much at him. Jason found himself smiling back, and he was suddenly grateful he couldn’t be seen behind the helmet.

The shooting booth operator eyed Red Hood warily until Danny broke the tension in a voice that carried, “my friend’s cosplay is pretty awesome right?”

The operator’s shoulders fell and he chuckled, “pretty brave of him to wear that this close to Gotham proper.”

“Sure is! But not to worry if there’s any trouble I will protect him,” Danny said seriously, with a glance and a wink at Jason.

The man took in Danny’s skinny and less than imposing appearance and burst out laughing, and just like that any remaining tension was gone.

The operator explained the game. There were different tiers with bottles lined up on shelves and flat rings of different widths balancing on top. You got points if you knocked the ring down over the bottle neck. The slimmer rings offered more points.

It was a pretty simple game.

Danny put down cash for the game and looked at Jason expectantly. “Show us some of that Red Hood skill.”

The operator chuckled. Jason rolled his eyes and stepped up.

Immediately, as he picked up the air gun it felt clunky in his hand. It was sharp-edged where it should be smooth and was weighted all wrong especially with the pressure cable attached to it, but that was not going to stop him. He loaded it with one of the five cork stoppers the operator handed him. He seemed to be enjoying Danny’s teasing as much as Danny himself.

Out the corner of his vision he saw Danny lean forward expectantly as he took aim.

He pulled the trigger.

The cork stopper was ejected with a loud pop and promptly hit the edge of a shelf bouncing backwards to land on the floor where it rolled around three times before stopping.

Danny looked at him wide eyed before bursting out in helpless snickers. Jason shoved him in revenge, but he couldn’t help smiling. There was just something refreshing about how despite knowing he was the real Red Hood he was so completely unafraid of him. Not even his family was that relaxed around him.

He didn’t want to bring his mood down contemplating that, so he reloaded the clunky gun and took aim again. He considered the points on the rings and the available prize tiers. Four shots left, with a bit of luck he could still do decently.

Aiming higher and slightly more to the right of how he would aim a real gun he shot the first maximum point ring down around the bottle neck. Three more fell in rapid succession.

Danny cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

“That’s four hundred points, that gives you the choice of a large prize,” the operator said impressed.

He pointed at a large unicorn plush, it wasn’t quite the extra large ones that hung on the outside of the stall, those required cumulative points from at least two games, but it was still a very decent size.

Danny was the very opposite of disappointed when Jason handed it over. He squished it in his arms and absolutely beamed up at Jason. Jason looked away, embarrassed for feeling so satisfied and warm just for winning a silly game.

The operator snorted giving them a knowing look. “Have a nice evening boys.”

“You too,” Danny replied, sidling up close and entwining their fingers again as he pulled them away and off towards the various rides.

Jason eyed their once more joined hands in bemusement, not really sure what to think, but he’d already allowed it once. It sold the appearance of a date, made it all the more likely to the bystanders that Jason was just some cosplayer with a death wish, so it was smart to keep holding hands. And Jason found himself reluctant to give it up.

It was an easy illusion to give into.

He squeezed Danny’s hands and he turned his head to look at him, smiling like this was a real date and not one of his odd jobs. Jason nodded towards the bumper cars and Danny’s grin turned into feral delight as he dragged him in the new direction. It was so easy to pretend Jason was just here to have fun with a friend who was maybe just a bit more.

That was something he could have had maybe. If he hadn’t been Robin. If he hadn’t died and come back wrong. If he wasn’t a former crime lord just trying to find his footing with a family he wasn’t sure wanted him and not just the dead boy he’d been.

But for just a little while he could pretend.

Until Danny turned out to actually know he was supposed to kill him, until everything crashed and burned like usual, he could allow himself a little fun.

Like ignoring every sign saying the bumper cars were not meant for driving into each other. The bored teen operator certainly didn’t care to uphold that rule. The bumper car ride was a war zone, a giant free for all and yet Jason managed to have only eyes for Danny. He was a tricky driver to catch. Jason had no idea how he managed to maneuver the car like that, it was verging on supernatural.

They were both laughing when they exited their cars after Jason had finally managed to bump into him proper instead of the earlier glancing blows.

“Remind me to call you if I ever need a getaway driver.”

Danny snorted knocking their shoulders together. “Only if I get part of the cut.”

I’ll give you more than a cut, Jason was about to say, but thankfully didn’t. Because what did that even mean? Instead he knocked his shoulder back.

They continued on towards another ride, a small rollercoaster, and as they queued Danny started telling him about how his dad’s driving was so infamous in his hometown that the local news included a segment to warn for it when he was on the roads. Because of that nobody had wanted to give Danny driving lessons and that’s why technically he didn’t have a license, but he’d once landed a space shuttle, so that should count for something. The story verged on so impossible it had to be true, but Jason was sure if a civilian had actually landed a space shuttle it would have been all over the news or at least known among superheroes - it was entertaining nonetheless.

Jason wasn’t sure when they’d started holding hands again only noted the absence when Danny left him by a bench several rides later with stern instructions to protect the princess with his life, aka the unicorn plushie.

The lights had flickered on a while ago and bathed the darkening grounds in multicolored lights. Jason leaned back relaxing against the bench. Taking in the lights and the happy atmosphere as people passed him by. There were a few people who pointed and snickered as they walked by, but clearly the unicorn plushie was just as good as Danny to convince people he was just a guy in a costume.

“It’s a pretty good costume.”

Jason turned his head to find a man with a superman shirt had stopped. He stayed silent waiting for him to elaborate. He obviously wanted to, there was something in his drawl.

“The casual look is pretty well put together while remaining recognizably Red Hood.”

“But-“ somehow there was a but- “if you were actually from Gotham you’d know that the real helmet is matte and the brow section is more slanted giving it an angrier expression.”

Jason stared incredulously at the man in the Superman shirt accusing him of not being a Gothamite. Never mind the helmet thing, that was just ridiculous but accusing him of not being a Gothamite, now that was an insult he wouldn’t be taking. Jason stood up to his full six feet and saw the way the man shrunk as he realized he might have made a mistake.

“There you are, babe,” Danny inserted himself smoothly into the situation snaking an arm around his waist and pressing close. It was distracting. “Come on let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Jason snorted as he let Danny move them forward. He didn’t need the intervention, he wouldn’t have attacked the man or anything.

He couldn’t help but pull them to a stop however as they passed him.

“Your information is outdated, this is the current helmet.” He spoke lowly and ominously only made more ominous by the voice modulation.

The man eep’ed and scrambled to get away.

They watched him go with no small bit of amusement.

“I thought we agreed to keep it on the down low.”

Jason shrugged, “he asked for it, besides you said it yourself, nobody will believe him.”

“Alright then.” Danny left the place beneath Jason’s arm, he had only a moment to feel bereft however until his hand was grabbed again and pulled in the direction of the parking lot. “Speaking of proof, do you mind me taking a selfie of us so I can prove I took you out?”

Jason frowned. “I thought you said cameras didn’t work around you.” “They don’t, I’ve had to modify it to be able to take any pictures.”

“You gonna tell me what kind of meta ability you have?”

Danny chuckled. He pulled their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to Jason’s scarred knuckles. Jason was so distracted by the action he almost didn’t hear the, “I like you Hood, but that isn’t a first date conversation.”

There was a pause in their conversation as Jason contemplated the absurd idea of there ever being a second date, the fact that this one was nearly over and how he’d actually had a lot of fun.

“So, selfie?”

“Uh sure.”

Danny juggled the white plastic bag that Jason only noticed now onehanded as he pulled out his phone. It was a broad phone with actual buttons and Jason would believe it was modified alright. Danny smiled and leaned close as he raised his hand, a small flash went off and Danny looked the picture over in satisfaction.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Huh, oh this is food. Our next stop, if you’re still willing, is the ice rink, but I figured we could take a break on the roof and eat back to back or something, what with the whole-” he indicated the helmet by waving a hand in front of his face.

So it wasn’t over yet. Not if Jason wanted to continue. It was an easy out, Jason could just chose to drive Danny to wherever he wanted to be dropped off and he could go home and still make it easily in time for patrol - or he could prolong the evening.

Jason popped open the compartment under the seat of his bike and took the warm bag of food from Danny to put in as he considered. Danny had already put on the extra helmet.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Jason could practically hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn’t see it through the opaque helmet.

“Okay,” he confirmed.

The small fist pump was kinda adorable. So first part of the date, it was getting a bit long so I cut it in two, but hey that's the only reason I could even upload it. Jason is in trouble, he's just not quite realizing it yet XD I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story, so please continue to share <3

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#take out for dummies #dead on main #dp x dc

[lacontroller1991]

A Chance to Start Over (Obi-Wan Kenobi x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Star Wars Master List

Author’s Note: back again with another angsty Obi-Wan fic. Poor mans just really needs to be taken care of and loved on I stg

Warnings: 18+ Post Order 66, Post Obi-Wan “killing” Anakin, male nudity (nothing explict), slight PTSD if you squint, sad sad Obi, crying Obi, Obi just needs some loving

Word Count: 1.2k

----------

It’s near midnight in Coruscant but you’re not asleep. How could you when you don’t know where he is or if he is even alive. It’s been about three days since the attack on the temple happened and you haven’t slept since. Realistically, you know that Obi-Wan was offworld and not at the temple, but after what Bail had told you about the clones turning on the Jedi, you could only pray that Obi-Wan made it out alive and unharmed.

A soft knock startles you as you whip your head to the door. To your knowledge you weren’t expecting any visitors, and even if you were, it definitely wouldn’t be this late at night, which gives you foolish hope. Creeping toward the door, you hesitantly open it only to let out a sigh of relief. “Obi-Wan.”

“I lost.”

He doesn’t say anything else before he’s pushing past you through the barrier into your haven as you shut the door making sure to lock it before you look the Jedi over; soot covering his skin, sweat matting his once soft hair and various burn marks on his robes. “I couldn’t save them.” He collapses on your couch, not moving an inch as you take a seat next to him, grabbing a hold of his dirty hand.

“Couldn’t save who?”

“Padme. Anakin.” His voice is somber as you hitch your breath. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you thread your pristine fingers through his rough ones as you inhale his scent, grounding you to him.

“What happened?”

“Anakin, he, turned to the dark side and Padme died during childbirth. I had no choice but to kill Anakin.” Your eyes widen at his confession as you turn to him, looking him over with pity as you grab his chin between your fingers.

“Obi… I don’t know what to say.” Softly, you press your lips to his forehead, not really caring that there’s layers of grime on it.

At the softness of your touch Obi-Wan loses control of his emotions as tears fall freely, leaving trails down his cheeks as he sobs into you and all you can do is to hold him tight. After a couple of minutes not separating, Obi-Wan finally pulls away and looks down at himself sheepishly. “I’m sorry darling, I didn’t realize how dirty I am. How dirty I made you.”

Shaking your head softly, you move to stand up and press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Just wait here.” Moving quickly, you enter your bathroom and turn on the faucet to your bath, letting the tub fill with warm water while you grab some dark towels and some spare clothes that Obi-Wan keeps here in case of emergency. Walking back into the living room, you find Obi-Wan slightly dozing off, exhaustion taking over his body. With a soft smile, you make your way over to the Jedi and shake him awake, him immediately shooting up off the couch and in a defensive position only to calm down when he sees you. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He lets out a huff of frustration before you lean up and press a kiss on his lips.

“It’s okay, Obi. How about I get you cleaned up?” He wordlessly nods as you lead him to the bathroom before stripping him of his clothes and leaving him in the nude in front of you, but if he cared, he made no notion of it. Gesturing to the tub, Obi-Wan gives you a tired smile as he steps into the warm water, letting out a groan as the hot water combats against his worn muscles. Given any other circumstance, you would find that groan to be rather enticing and it wouldn’t take you long to hop in the tub with him, but now is not one of those times.

Grabbing a washcloth, you dip it into the water and later some soap onto his body as you gently scrub away the layers of dirt on his skin while he lets his blue eyes close. “What happened to the baby Padme was carrying?”

Cracking open an eye, Obi-Wan watches you in the reflection of the mirror scrub away on his shoulder, the water slowly turning darker and darker as he turns to look at you. Oh how he missed your face. From the moment he met you, he knew he was done for. Jedi Code aside, he knew that if it came down to you or the Order, he would choose you in a heartbeat, which is about to make what he has to say so hard for you and him.

“She was carrying twins. Luke and Leia. Bail took Leia to Alderaan and I took Luke to Tatooine. Master Yoda and I decided that it would be the best if they were split up.” Nodding your head, you can’t help but to feel a pang of pity for the twins. They’ll probably never get to meet their other half and the thought saddens you. Sensing Obi-Wan is holding something back, you set down the wash cloth and lightly kiss his freckled shoulder.

“Is there something else?”

“I can’t stay on Coruscant. The Empire… they’re going to be looking for me. I need to go into hiding.” His words feel like a knife plunging into your heart. Surely he isn’t suggesting that you and him leave each other? Right? “I’m afraid that we’ll have to say our goodbyes.”

“No.”

“No?” With both hands, you grasp onto his face and make eye contact with the one that you love.

“No. You are not doing this to me. To us. I’ll go with you. I’ll start over with you.”

Removing your hands from his face, Obi-Wan shakes his head in remorse. “You know I can’t ask that of you. I can’t ask you to leave your work, your home.”

“I don’t care about any of that, Kenobi. The senate is gone anyways. It’s not the republic that we both knew. I’ll take a trip to Vidia. I’ll move to elect another representative for my spot. I’ll run away with you. Please, let me.”

“I won’t be able to give you a home that you deserve. We’ll constantly have to be in hiding, you deserve better than that. You deserve a happy life.” Scoffing at his nonsense, you pick up the rag again and continue to clean him.

“Obi… I don’t care what you’re able to give me. As long as I have you, that’s all I need in my life. You make me happy, and all I want to do is to love you.” At your confession, Obi-Wan lets out a choked sob as he closes his eyes, trying to hold the tears at bay.

“You’d do all that, for me?”

“Obi-Wan, I’d do anything in the galaxy for you. Now let me finish getting you cleaned up and then we can get some sleep.”

“That sounds amazing. And darling?”

“Hmm?” “Thank you.” It’s soft but it makes your lips twitch upwards as you pick up some shampoo.

“You’re welcome, now tilt your head back,” and he does, easily complying to your command, though he never really had an issue with that before and he doesn’t think that he will ever have an issue with that again.

===========

Author’s Note: SO THERE WAS THAT. I hope you guys enjoyed the angst and the soft caretaking because he deserves it. 

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon​ @babblydrabbly​ @fairchildflag​ @a-reader-and-a-writer​ @tavners​

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #ben kenobi x reader #ewan mcgregor #star wars prequels #obi wan kenobi x fem!reader #Star Wars Revenge of the Sith #Obi wan kenobi series #Disney plus #lacontroller1991 #obi wan needs a hug

[kess-in-the-perthchimzone]

Mini fic: Wind & windmill tattoos

For @naomi-obsessions — I so deeply appreciate that you love the Critical Obsession podcast as much as I do and have shared your feedback with them! And based on this absolutely phenomenal post by @srnileforme (who also gets the credit for the image immediately below)

The week of a major conference at the university, Sailom walks away from his shifts at the coffee shop with hundreds of baht in tips from international visitors looking to get rid of their banknotes. The money burns a hole in his pocket during his rainy walk home. Even years later, even with his debts fully paid, he can’t turn off the voice in his head that tells him to save it for the end of the month. He has to argue with himself for a few minutes until the thought subsides — he doesn’t need to save it. Between his scholarship and his part time jobs, he has plenty stashed away.

What he really wants to do with it is use it for something nice for Kang. Their fourth anniversary is coming up and he knows from experience that Kang is going to go all out. It’s one of two days a year — his birthday being the second — that Kang has negotiated to be able to spoil him without protest. At an absolute minimum, Sailom can expect some expensive dinner, at least one new outfit, and a night in a five-star hotel. All of which he genuinely appreciates — and he knows Kang loves the time together.

But Sailom wants to … “beat” is probably not a good word to use when thinking about the person you love. He wants to win this year. He wants to do something so romantic Kang can’t possibly top it. It’s his turn.

As he passes under a tree, fat drops of water hit against the umbrella and the splattering sound makes him glance up. He stares at the windmill motif emblazoned overhead. In a brilliant flash, the idea comes to him. He smiles the entire rest of the way.

**

It takes some real finagling to avoid Kang seeing him shirtless for a week. Given Kang’s complete disregard for privacy, Sailom can’t risk showering around him. Or changing. Or just wearing a particularly nice shirt that Kang might want to take off him.

To be safe, Sailom invents a major test the morning of their of anniversary plans. He’s out the door every single day before sunrise and home late enough that Kang is usually asleep by the time he climbs into the bed. By the end of the week, Sailom is a month ahead in his work, so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, and desperately wanting to take a nap with Kang’s hand splayed across his chest.

All of that fades into the background at the way Kang looks at the tattoo like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen in his life. He has a huge smile on his face but his eyes have been brimming with tears since he first recognized the design now permanently marked below Sailom’s collarbone. Water threatens to spill over at any minute.

“I — you — that—“ Every time Kang tries to speak, he has to break off on a hitching breath.

Sailom starts laughing then, although he feels suddenly like crying too. He takes Kang’s hand and pulls it until his palm rests over Sailom’s heart, completely covering the windmill.

“If you ever doubt my love for you, just look here,” he begins. As he continues, his voice drops, losing all traces of amusement. It’s the most serious promise he’s ever made. “And know you have my entire heart.”

Kang starts crying in full then, the hardest Sailom has seen in a very long time. Sailom pulls him forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. He feels Kang’s wet nose brush against his collarbone.

“Can I get one too?” Kang finally asks, some long time later in a muffled, choked voice.

**

They don’t make it out to dinner that night. Kang spends what feels like hours kissing the skin around the ink until the skin is as pink and tingling as it was in the immediate aftermath of the appointment. Then, when Sailom is flushed and swearing at him, barely able to stand it anymore, he keeps going downwards.

((A few weeks later, catching glimpses of the inked lines of the wind above Kang’s heart when the deep vee of Kang’s shirt parts tantalizingly further, Sailom fully understands the feeling.))

((Want your own mini fic? Show me proof that you submitted a question or feedback to the Dangerous Romance Celebration hosted by @criticallyobs before midnight your time on this Thursday and I’ll tackle the Kang/Sailom prompt of your choosing))

#dangerous romance #kanghansailom #kess sometimes writes fic not meta

[seraph-of-sizes]

hi !! feel free to ignore but can I request g/t headcanons with wanderer and/or venti ? have a nice day!!!! :) <3

Holidays got me so behind on asks, here ya go!

Wanderer: I love the fact that you can choose a name for him, I gave him the name Kokoro so that will be the name I use for these headcanons. (Also giving him the nickname of Ko which means child)

Giant/human size:

If there was a poster child for fearplay from a giant, Kokoro would be it. Pre-Irminsul incident he was not kind to borrowers that he came across. At the very best case scenario he would let them scurry off, whispering his disgust under his breath, worst case scenario…well. 

Post-Irminsul incident he’s much more tolerant of tinies, especially after having to interact with some that attend the Academiya. He just ignores them mostly, unless he gets paired up with someone (ie Faruzan who he tolerates).

He doesn’t have a lot of his sense of pressure and touch anymore, between being a puppet and the Dottore’s experimentation. So sometimes he finds a tiny that has hitched a ride on his person somewhere. It’s lowkey a game between the tinies of the Academiya, who can stay on the Dendro Archon’s pupil the longest without him noticing.

Current record was Layla who had fallen asleep in one of his pockets on accident, and was only discovered because Nahida had teased Kokoro about bringing a friend “home”.

Tiny/borrower size:

Pre-Irminsul incident, he would be a very aggressive tiny that would assist the Fatui as a spy of sorts. He would still desire the Electro Gnosis, less because he believes it to be rightfully his, and more to just piss off his “mother”. 

HATES being held, will do whatever he can to not be held. He doesn’t mind sitting on a shoulder or anything, just being held like a doll.

Abandonment issues are dialed up to 11, especially since the child that passed from sickness would play with him like a regular doll. Traumatized.

Venti: My favorite archon <3 silly little wind sprite.

Giant/human size:

Easily the gentlest person around tinies. Can be found sleeping in many random places absolutely covered in the tiny folks of Mond. 

Most tinies know he’s Barbatos, and consider him the patron deity of tinies. Since, he too has a tiny form (wind sprite).

He actually plays around with his size sometimes to be more closely involved with the tiny community of Mondstadt, though often with a change of clothes to prevent too much confusion.

If a tiny feels comfortable with him, they should be prepared to have a bad hair day. He tends to fidget with whatever is in his hands, aka tinies often find themselves completely ruffled after a few minutes of Venti’s attention being elsewhere. 

Tiny/borrower size:

Prankster of the year award has been his for centuries. Between causing headaches for Jean, to stealing an unfathomable amount of wine from the Angel’s Share, new visitors to Mond will often be warned of a tiny bard clad in green.

He can often be seen hitching rides with just about anyone, offering them a day filled with music for just an apple.

Cats are even worse to tiny Venti, not only is he allergic, now they're big. He’s often seen on rooftops and in trees for that exact reason

#genshin g/t #genshin impact g/t #giant!wanderer #tiny!wanderer #giant!venti #tiny!venti #blurby request

[yorshie]

You have Admired, Every Man Desires

Arthur Morgan x gen neutral reader (one mention of reader being dainty/delicate “easy to confuse for a woman”)

SFW, drinking, gambling, period typical danger, cursing, kissing. Liquid Courage Arthur makes a move on reader.

title from song Devil's Tattoo

Chisholm was a cattle depot nestled against the rocky scree of a plateau, the only landmark of significance as far as the eye could see.  It boasted only four buildings: a saloon, general store, bunkhouse, and a tiny post office.  The buffalo grass that surrounded the town had to be cut back each year, lest it grow up the side of the wood and sod buildings and the town disappear again.

In the light of a cat scratch moon, it was a desolate, lonesome place. The lowing of cattle could be heard from miles away, but the low, plaintive songs of the men moving between them were lost at a distance, tending to blend with the soft sigh of the wind. Dogs bickered and barked back at the various nocturnal sounds of encroaching animals, their shapes blurred as they moved quickly up and down the tracks worn in the sandy dirt.

You watched as one such dog eased up to the hitching trough at the front of the saloon, wary eyes on you as it leaned up and sampled the water., before its ear cocked backwards at some unheard sound and it disappeared across the street, back to its brothers and charges. 

You tipped your bottle against the brim of your hat as it looked back at the mouth of the alleyway, lip curling as if warning you not to follow. “Wouldn’t even dream of it, asshole,” you mumbled into the drink.

It felt dangerous, this place, the air outside the swinging saloon doors foggy and warm from the pressed bodies inside, at war with the fall chill and cold wind that wound its way through the buildings. The only visitors were cowhands and punchers, loud men drowning themselves in noxious alcohol til the fumes had driven you out the doors. It was easier to watch the road, pretend you were useful, than try and keep an eye on Sean inside. 

The irishman seemed determined to outdrink the cowboys, never mind the reminders you kept dropping that the two of you were suppose to lay low while Arthur and Trelawney met with a “friend” who was suppose to have information on coaches with light security.  After the fifth round you realized Sean was ignoring your cautions on purpose, and finally fed up with him, you rose and left him to it.

After all, it was much easier to breathe outside as well, without all the hard, curious eyes that dissected your every move.

“Ain’t wise to be out here by yourself,” came a grumble from behind, and you flinched, hand dropping to your waist before your brain recognized Arthur’s voice. You breathed out slowly, and turned slightly to see him step out on the darkened porch of the saloon, cupped hands vainly trying to protect his match from the wind as he lit a cigar.

You made a curious sound, and his eyes flickered up, the edge of his mouth curling as he turned and leaned against a post with his back to the street.

“Nicked it from our circus manager.” He supplied, twiddling the cigar in his hand. “Figured I’d earned it after not putting a bullet in him on the ride here.”

You snorted, took a sip of your beer, and watched as he finished running the flame over the end, pulled, then checked the ash was even.  “I don’t expect too much trouble from our end, but with this many liquored men in tight quarters, someone’ll end up dead by mornin’.” He set the cigar back in his mouth, shook the match and let it fall.

“I can handle a few drunk men,” you countered, and he chuckled.

“Of that, I have no doubt, but I’d rather be able to see you if trouble starts and you need help.” His look turned dark as the sound of breaking glass tinkled through the doors.

“Sides, ain’t no workin’ women here, and most these fellers ain’t seen anything resemblin’ a woman for weeks.” Oblivious to your raising eyebrows, he continued, “They ain’t gonna be too picky-” he glanced up and stopped, and you took a moment to pointedly sip your beer. “Well… they ain’t likely to care much on what they get their hands on.”

You hummed an affirmative, and he looked away, and you let your eyes ghost over him before you turned to the thick paned windows, the yellow glow distorting the moving shapes within. “You’re not worried about Sean?”

Arthur let out a breathy chuckle, and you glanced back in time to see him lean his head against the post and give you a slight smirk, hands settling around the buckle on his waist. “I don’t care about Sean’s hide half as much as I do yours, kid, and any man that’s drunk enough to tune out his scratchy yowl is welcome to em.”

It wasn’t what you meant, but you couldn’t help but feel amused, he looked so pleased with himself. Then you squinted, catching the slight ruddy tint of color on his cheeks. “When you were warnin’ me about ‘liquored men’, I didn’t think you were counting yourself.”

If anything, the color ran higher, but he met your squint and only let his lazy grin widen. “Well, never let it be said that I ain’t picky-”

You openly rolled your eyes at him, and he broke off, shouldered off the post and stepped closer. You felt the thrill of awareness seep down your spine as he stopped just shy of touching you, the smell of whiskey mingling with the cigar. His head tilted above your own, and even in the diffused light you could see the mischief warming at the edges of his gaze.

“You’re actin' quite brave for such a little thing.” You angled your body to face him more, watched as his eyes tracked down to the bottle you brought up between you to sip from.  “I ain’t drunk,” he supplied suddenly, voice dropping to a lower octave, the sound rumbling between your close bodies. “Just figured it might be time for some liquid-”

He broke off suddenly, and both your heads turned sharply at the loud, booming barks coming from down the main road. Arthur slid closer, pulling you halfway behind the post as your head craned around in an attempt to see.

“That sounded too big to be a cow dog,” you murmured, bending to set your half empty bottle on the porch, taking the moment to peer out at the rapidly approaching figures.

“Naw, more like a bloodhound,” Arthur answered, all softness and warmth gone.  His grip tightened on your bicep, pulled you upright, and started herding you further down the porch towards the edge of the building, where you both paused at the sight of another figure coming from the opposite way.

“C’mon, kid,” Arthur swung himself off the porch and into the alleyway with a soft thud, his hands already aloft to catch you as you jumped. He tugged on your arm again, and you readily followed.

“What about Sean, and Trelawney?” You whispered belatedly, almost skipping to keep up with Arthur’s longer stride.

“They’ll head out the back, go ‘round and get the horses. Despite all evidence contrary, Sean can smell lawmen a mile away. As fer Trelawney, well, he’s slippery enough to be part eel.”

“An eel?” You parroted, incredulous, and were rewarded with a sigh and a roll of shoulders.

“You start sassin’ me now, kid, and your hide might end up worthless after all.” It was rumbled out, but you snorted, and Arthur pushed you in front, urging you faster towards the back of the building.  His hand was a burning brand against the small of your back, fingers splayed wide against the fabric as he pushed you forward.

Light flared at the end of the alley, and Arthur’s push became a firm grip as he hauled you back and around, and without thinking you pushed, hard, against his chest. 

His back hit the side of the building, his hiss of pain turning into a low swear as you tripped forward and crashed into him. The hard edge of his pistol’s handle dug into your hip while the jut of his arm and elbow caught against your stomach, and you distantly realized that you had trapped his right arm, likely trying to draw.

The light swung in a high arc, and you panicked, threw up your hands, knocking against Arthur’s nose and sending his hat flying with another curse. You grabbed at the sides of his face and dragged him into the dip of your neck, heart a mad dash as you pressed more fully against him.

He stumbled, his free hand tightening in the back of your shirt and pulling it taunt against your ribs, and you felt the shudder work through him as the two day scruff on his jaw scraped below your ear.

You kept an eye at the end of the alley, swallowed thinly, and tried hard not to think of the way Arthur felt pressed against you, the warmth of him a burning furnace compared to the cold. Tried so hard not to breathe as he shifted under you, the creak of leather loud as he widened his stance. Without thinking you ran your nails through his short hair, lightly scratching his scalp, earning a hitch in his breath and another shiver against you.

The light blessedly continued on, and you heaved out a breath, lurching backwards and away from temptation. Arthur’s grip relaxed on your shirt, and he let you pull him up, though with a quick two step forward he knocked you off balance, his grip jerking you backwards at the same time.

“Arth-”, half his name, confused and high pitched, then the air knocked out of you with a sharp rap as your shoulders hit the wall behind you and he crowded into your space.

Your hands shot out, grabbed the fabric between the bottom of his vest and the rough leather of his gun belt, pressed against the warmth of him radiating out, and without thinking took in a deep lungful of air. He stank of horse, gunmetal and whiskey, the air between you rapidly heating up as he glared down at you.

His hand tightened against the small of your back again, and you shivered uncontrollably as you felt the fabric inch up and cold air tickled in. That whisper burn of his beard was back, cheek rasping against your earlobe as he leaned in.

“You think you’ll be so calm and collected when I finally do get my hands on you?” His voice was a rumble, a distant thunder that snuck into your bones and turned your stomach to jelly.  Your teeth snapped shut, the click of your jaw audible, and you felt him smile, hot breath painting over your exposed collar, before he leaned in even closer, his larger frame caging you in as his chest pressed firm against your own.

“C’mon, kid, don’t loose your nerve now.” Amusement despite the chiding tone, and you breathed hard through your nose, felt his own nudge your head further to the side, the softness of his lips a shock on skin rubbed raw.

Slowly, softly, your hands moved, slid upwards over his vest until you could cup the sides of his neck, felt his pulse thudding in time with your own. 

“There’s the kid,” his whispered words were pressed against your skin, so low you strained to understand, and you clamped your lips closed on the moan that bubbled up at the quiet praise.

“Think you and I need to have a talk,” he continued, his lips grazing your pulse once more, before he moved back slowly, his grip keeping you back. “But I don’t reckon we can have it proper, here.”

You blinked up at him stupidly, breathed in again, brain slowly catching up to what he was saying. He chuckled at your expression, hand coming up to chuck your chin. “C’mon, kid, let’s go find our idiot and circus manager, and get the hell out of here.”

He tugged you after him, and you went woodenly, your feet barely obeying as you followed the sway of his wide shoulders.

———————————————————————

Two more hours left alone with these idiots, and I might break my promise to Dutch and shoot Trelawney after all. Slippery as an eel indeed, don’t think even I could hold him long enough to strangle him, though my hands do itch something fierce every time he opens his goddamn mouth.

Sean is drunk, no surprise there, but at least he’s passed out, so we’re saved from whatever torment he could inflict.

The kid is staring into the fire, dead to the world. Doubt I could clap and they’d even blink. Don’t know if I should take any pride in that, but part of me still remembers the look on their face when I turned the tables on them.

Teach em not to pull a stupid stunt like that. Though in hindsight, I probably just encouraged more bad behavior.

I already planned on making the group split in the morning, for want of some peace and quiet, but maybe the kid’ll be up to following me back the long way home.

Ah, who the hell do you think you’re foolin’, Morgan?

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption fandom #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #cussing #cursing

[jabbage]

#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

[andiwriteordie]

moments that we stole

alright, the collection of tumblr prompt ficlets, aka moments that we stole is now up on ao3! 25 unrelated ficlets for you in case you missed any 🫡

as for the two bonus ficlets that haven’t been posted on tumblr...

—

24: the tomb won’t close 

aka, i’m a lying liar who lies, and i did, in fact, write an IT Chapter 2 inspired ficlet. 

Summary:

“What if we were wrong?”

The words are a gut punch, knocking what little air is left in Will’s lungs out of them. Beside him, he hears Mike’s breath hitch, and his fiancé whispers, “What?”

“What if… we were wrong?” Dustin repeats, quieter now. “We hypothesized that the Upside Down was destroyed, and we used Will and El losing their powers as proof to back that up. But what if… what if we were wrong?”

Or:

Twenty years after his kidnapping, Will and the other Party members return to Hawkins.

—

25: close friends, besties, roommates

inspired by this post from kidovna!

 Summary:

Will offers him a strained smile. “Hey, Mike,” his husband greets, definitely sounding far too casual for the situation at hand here. “We, uh… we have some visitors.”

Mike blinks, and he looks back and forth between his husband and…

And the teenage versions of themselves.

Or:

Mike and Will get some visitors from their past.

#byler #byler fics #byler ficlets #andi writes not dies

[walviemort]

Expecting a Secret [3/3]

Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow’s labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she’ll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There’s just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: Here’s the final part of my bday fic for @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. Hope you've enjoyed this little adventure! rated T | AO3 | 4.7k | part 1 | part 2

The next day was much of the same. Based on the book and his math, Killian was roughly around 32 weeks along—but found it hard to believe there was still time to go, based on his size. The new clothes he’d bought fit fine; it was just—so big, it seemed. His center of gravity had greatly changed and he felt terribly cumbersome. He didn’t think he was waddling yet, but he wasn’t moving with as much ease as he had just a few days ago.

He was just so keenly aware of all the changes going on within (and without, as he was reminded every time he passed a mirror—which was often) that he was losing in the effort to keep abreast of goings-on in the rest of town. Perhaps that was for the best; perhaps if he pretended he wasn’t here, others would forget as well and he could get through this without attracting any unnecessary attention.

He didn’t even draw the curtains to look outside, lest he risk anyone seeing him. But he didn’t need to open them to tell that it was a gloomy, overcast day; much the same as his mood. He was sore all over; it was impossible to get comfortable; the babe would not stop moving; and even the book he was trying to read couldn’t hold his attention (perhaps the title should have been Withering Heights instead).

Well, he was no stranger to brooding, so he gave himself over to that for the bulk of the day. By evening, he was in a terribly rotten mood that not even Oreos could soothe. He was looking forward to simply taking a bath—and hopefully getting some sleep—when there was a knock at the door. He sighed; he supposed that was inevitable—likely Granny ready to tell him off for all his pacing.

He cracked the door open enough to peek around and bit out a “What?” at his visitor.

“Jeez, I was just trying to invite you to dinner, not get my head taken off,” Emma rebuffed. “I thought this was Hook’s room; not Grumpy’s.”

“Ha,” he replied, unamused. “I’m afraid I’m still not quite fit for company.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Okay, something’s up. You don’t usually avoid us like this.”

“Is a man not permitted his solitude at times?”

“Not when he’s being fucking weird. What aren’t you telling me?”

He nearly spat out the truth, but managed to close his mouth before he slipped. “Why does it matter?” he retorted. “I thought you couldn’t trust me.”

His heart nearly broke at the way her face fell at that; it was a low blow, but half his frustration came from trying to keep his distance. He hated keeping this from her, especially when there was a significant chance it was going to cause more trouble for her later. But he couldn’t risk more harm to her or her family. 

“I told you—” she started, in a small voice, but he cut her off. 

“Aye, well, I don’t quite believe it yet,” he said. “Don’t worry about me; just focus on the witch. Good night.” He punctuated the statement by firmly closing the door.

He waited for the sound of her footsteps to move away—and really hoped that wasn’t a sniffle he heard through the walls—before he himself stepped back from the door—and brushed away his own tears.

Then he shuffled off to the lavatory and began to draw a bath, though he knew it wouldn’t make him feel any better for being an utter arse to the woman he loved. But, hopefully, it would keep her at bay until he got through this.

He hissed as the babe then sharply connected with his ribs, seeming to chastise him just as much as he was already doing to himself. “I know,” he muttered. “I’m a bloody bastard.”

Two more days. He could do it—right?

—---------------------------------------------

A sudden jolt of pain woke Killian the next morning. He was ready to strike out at Zelena again, but when his eyes flew open, no one was there. And yet, the ache persisted.

His entire midsection, globe that it was, felt like the muscles were clenched—but he didn’t know how to relax them. He took a few deep breaths, which eventually worked, but his stomach still felt sore (or, at least, more sore than it already felt with its fairly rapid expansion). What the bloody hell was that?

The pregnancy book was sitting on the bedside table; he immediately reached for it to skim through. (He hoped Belle wouldn’t mind how dog-eared and beat up it was becoming.) He was at, what, 35 weeks now?

Ah, right—practice contractions. Lest he forget, birth still lay ahead of him. He massaged his rounded belly, saying a silent prayer that the babe within didn’t grow much more; he wasn’t sure entirely how the little one was to emerge, given that he didn’t have the traditional parts for it, but perhaps it would be easier on him if they remained on the small size.

The day continued on much like the previous had, although the practice contractions kept catching him by surprise; he yelped more than a few times at them.

After one, he did hear footsteps rush to, and then pause outside his door. He knew the sound of Emma’s gait by this point, and waited to see if she did anything, but the floorboards creaked as she inevitably walked away. 

Rather than frustrated, he was simply mad at himself for how he handled that interaction with her last night—but it had at least worked, so that was one less thing for him to worry about over the next day or so.

The next novel from Belle was much more enjoyable, even if he dozed off in the middle of reading. It felt like he was constantly on the edge of sleep, but the pregnancy manual had implied as much when he was as far into the third trimester as he was.

He was once more on the cusp of a nap when a persistent rapping sounding at the door—much different, and more forceful, than Emma’s usual (surprisingly polite) taps. Hopefully, whoever it was didn’t hear the groan as he shifted to standing; his belly was starting to drift southward as the little one moved closer to resting on his pelvis, and he could tell by the way they were wriggling that they were starting to run out of room.

Which meant it was getting harder to keep his bump from view of the door; he had to prop his left forearm on the edge of the frame to support himself this time. “Dave,” he greeted, surprised, when he cracked it open. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

David, however, seemed less than thrilled to see him. He crossed his arms and leveled a rather fatherly stare at him. “To figuring out what the hell is up with you.”

“I’ve just been feeling under the weather,” he said, thankful that Emma hadn’t inherited her lie-detecting abilities from her father, even it was somewhat true.

“And that’s reason to be a jerk to Emma? Especially when, for the last few weeks, you couldn’t seem to stay away from her?”

“No, it’s not,” he conceded. “I…intend to apologize once I’m feeling better; hopefully in a few days.”

David’s expression didn’t change. “You know, her last couple of magic lessons haven’t gone well.”

That made his heart sink in a different way, and he swore the babe was kicking nervously. “No?”

“No. She hasn’t been able to do much of anything with it. I think we all know what that means.”

Killian swallowed; any chance of defeating the witch—of keeping this child, and the Charming’s, safe—depended on her magic, as much as he hated to put it all on Emma’s shoulders alone. 

“Is…is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, knowing full well he’d be useless for a bit more.

“You can pull your head out of your ass!” David hissed.

“Beg your pardon?”

The prince huffed and stared at the floor. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, and she’d probably kill me for it, but the reason she’s been having trouble is you.” He looked back up. “You’re good for her, much as I hate to admit it, and whatever the hell this is you’re doing? She’s worried. So…figure it out.”

Before Killian could come up with any sort of reply—not that he had one ready—another practice contraction hit, and he curled in on himself a bit as he winced.

“Shit—are you okay?” David asked, trying to look around the door.

“‘M fine,” Killian waved off. “Or I will be. Just a—stomach thing.” (A rather large stomach thing that was also pressing on his bladder—again.) “Besides—it’s not like she plans on staying anyways,” he finally threw back. 

“Maybe she needs a reason to,” David countered. “Take care of yourself.”

He turned around and left, but Killian remained slightly stunned. Eventually, he did have to shut the door and head to the toilet, but David’s words lingered in his head. “ You’re good for her .”

Bloody hell, he really had been too rash in his agreement with Zelena. He should have known his tendency towards self-flagellation would mess things up one of these days. But there was nothing to be done at this point than to see it through, and just pray he could apologize to Emma fast enough to help get them out of this disaster.

The baby kicked against his side, and his hand flew to the spot without thought. The more time he spent with this little passenger, the more he also was determined to save them. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to be a father, given the low success rate of his past attempts at it, but he’d be damned if he let any harm befall his—and whoever else’s—child. “I don’t know what lays ahead, little one, but I’m going to do my best to keep you safe, too,” he murmured to the bump—and just hoped he hadn’t told yet another lie.

Quite obviously, his mood fell from whatever relative high it had reached that morning to the lowest of lows once more, especially with the continuation of the practice contractions.

He was laying listlessly on the mattress that evening, tracing the babe’s movements with his hand, when he heard a gentle knock. But he wasn’t fit for company and the lights were off, so hopefully they assumed he was asleep. 

Outside the door, he easily recognized the sound of Emma sighing. “I know you’re in there, even if you can’t hear me right now,” she said. “Probably passed out, if you’re still really feeling bad. But I…I feel like it’s not just that,” she continued. “I don’t know what I did to make you pull away. Okay, I know some of it, but—something else happened. I just wish I knew. Because I miss you,” she confessed to his closed door. “And I want to be with you again. Or hang out or whatever.” She sighed again and he thought he heard her forehead clunk against the wood. “Well now I really know you’re sleeping, because that would have gotten your attention if you were awake. Probably for the best.” She paused again, then added “good night,” and he heard her move across the hall to her own room. 

He suddenly sniffed; bloody hell, these emotional shifts were getting tiring. But he hated— hated —that he was the cause for her emotional distress, and worse, that it might have bigger implications for everyone else, including his child. (Perfect time for a practice contraction to start, eh?)

He’d well and truly fucked this up. 

So he gave into his heightened emotions, curled in on himself (which was no small feat—nor very quiet on Granny’s mattress), and cried himself to sleep.

———————————

Rising from the bed the next morning was the most arduous it had been yet—not just because of his babe’s consistent growth, or the practice contraction that had once again woken him, but his belly had also finally “dropped”, as the book said; the little one was well and truly resting on his pelvis, getting ready to make their escape—which could happen at any moment, most likely. 

His nerves were constantly on edge, consequently. The baby seemed to echo it—or was just anxious to get out; he wasn’t sure. But honestly, if it meant keeping them safe until the witch was defeated, he’d rather they stay there—safe—even if he was horrendously uncomfortable. 

Until another practice contraction hit and the babe shifted atop his lower pelvis. Never mind; he wanted them out. 

But for the first time, he realized just how alone he’d be for it. David hadn’t left Snow’s side when they were in the hospital, and he knew it was common for women to have any number of supporters during the process. But if he was still to be keeping it a secret…

However, that was when he heard Emma’s door open across the hall. What if he just…let the door open? Just a crack? It wouldn’t be his fault if she ended up barging in, would it?

He waddled to the door and unlatched the bolt, then reached for the knob—only for it to disappear as soon as his hand neared. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Zelena’s voice called out. He whipped his head and lifted his hook, ready to strike, but she wasn’t in the room. “That’s cheating,” she went on, and finally he saw her: staring out from the standing mirror next to his dresser. “Surely you can sit on this for just a few more hours; you’ve definitely kept other secrets longer.”

“What if something goes wrong?” he countered. “What if the child needs medical attention, eh? You really expect me to do the rest of this unsupervised?”

“Psh, you’ll be fine—I made sure of it when I cast the spell,” she waved off. “Just try not to get too loud, alright?”

“You know there’s a werewolf downstairs, right? They’ll probably hear.” The odds that he got through the day without Granny yelling at him for all the creaking he was causing were already slim.

“Oh, you’re right.” She waved her hand, and the walls briefly glowed green. “Silencing spell. Yell all you want, then; no one will hear it. See you in a few hours, Captain.” And then she disappeared from sight, leaving his own sorry reflection staring back at him, looking tired and morose. 

He sighed and shifted his weight from side to side, observing his reflection as he did. Perhaps his belly wasn’t quite as big as it felt, but it did protrude quite a ways in front of him, fully rounding out his stomach and resting heavy on his hips. While bracing his lower back with his left wrist, he lifted his shirt to properly view his belly. There were quite a few stretchmarks along its lower curve, and his belly button even stuck out. The little one moved then, and he could see the whole thing eerily shift as they did. 

Perhaps Zelena’s interruption had been good for another reason: did he really want to subject Emma to this view? Even he barely wanted to look at it, even if it held some novelty. But the babe wriggled again and he pulled his shirt back down; he could feel it plenty—he didn’t need to see the alien-like sight in better detail.

There was only one thing left to do at this point. He went to the odd canister by the door (he believed Henry had called it an “umbrella stand”) and retrieved his sword from its scabbard. He flexed his fingers around the grip and rested his brace on the apex of his bump. “Well, little love, wish us luck; I’m going to do my damnedest to keep you safe.” He liked to imagine the subsequent kick was an affirmative response. 

(Not for the first time, he also wished he had a way of contacting Smee; the man would have easily been able to slip the child away safely. But he had no idea what digits to use on his room’s telephone. Alas.)

As the day wore on, the practice contractions got more consistent—and stronger. He wasn’t entirely sure what would mark the start of labor, so he continued to alternate resting and pacing as they went on. 

More than once, he caught himself on one surface or another as they increased in intensity; this must be it then. He tried to skim over this section in the book, but couldn’t focus long enough for it to be of any use. 

So he breathed, and paced, and rested, and breathed, and paced, and rested, with sips of water and restroom breaks scattered in as needed. 

By mid-afternoon (he thought, at least, based on the light outside), he was sweating hard, gripping the back of a chair for support. It felt like the child was nearly ready to come out, but there was one thing that hadn’t happened yet. 

It came on his next restroom trip, thankfully: his water broke. He didn’t even bother putting his pants back on, and his shirt had long since been hiked up above his belly (there wasn’t much sense in keeping it on but he needed something for whenever the witch showed up).

“Alright, little one; let’s do this,” he murmured, shuffling back to the main room (and his sword). But he hadn’t gotten very far before the next—and strongest yet—contraction stopped him in his tracks, drawing a shout and forcing him to curl in on himself, catching himself on the back of the chair for support. 

Which of course was when the door to his room flew open. 

Emma stood, staring at him, mouth agape. “Oh…oh my god,” she eventually stammered. 

“Swan, I…” he started—but how the hell could he explain it?

Shockingly, he didn’t have to. “They were right; you’re pregnant. Holy shit.”

“They?” he asked, panting. 

“Belle,” Emma explained, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “And David. Just now—Belle mentioned the book you borrowed and my dad told us what happened when he saw you yesterday and—”

He didn’t mean to cut her off, but he yelled out as another contraction commenced. “You shouldn’t be here, love,” he said once his breath came back. “The witch—”

“Who gives a shit about her?” she said angrily, rushing to his side. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!”

“I cou—ahhh!” Any attempt at explanation was cut off by the sudden increased intensity of his labor. “Love, just—go,” he tried to argue, but there was no strength behind it. 

Not that she would have listened. “Like hell I will. I am not leaving you to do this on your own. Just tell me everything after, okay?” He nodded. “Okay. Let’s have a baby.”

(He desperately hoped it was hers, cruel as that might be.)

She reached for his hand and guided him to sitting on the chair. “How long have you been going?”

“I don’t know,” he had to answer. “It’s all happened so fast.”

“Really? God, mine felt like it took forever.”

“No—all of it,” he clarified in between breaths.

“Wait—all?” she asked, placing her free hand on his belly.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Just the last 10 days.”

“Shit,” she said, but it could have also been a reaction to the way he suddenly gripped her hand fiercely as yet another contraction came; they were incredibly close together now. “Um, Killian, I—I have to look—” She didn’t finish her sentence, but pointed downward.

He nodded again, though it was undoubtedly a terrifying sight. She took her own deep breath and knelt in front of where he was perched on the edge of the chair; her eyes went wide when she got a look. (This was so far from what he’d hoped her first encounter with his private parts would look like.)

“Oh wow, you’ve gotta push,” she said, in a slightly panicked tone. “I can see the head.”

“I can certainly feel it,” he answered, trying for some levity. But then the next contraction came and he found himself bearing down unwittingly.

“Just like that,” she coached. “I’m right here.”

“You really don’t have to be.” He was trying to give her an out.

“Hey.” Now she was the one squeezing his hand, intensity in her green eyes. “I want to be.” 

He managed to crack half a smile before his body forced him to push again—and again, and again. Emma gave enthusiastic encouragements the whole time but he was just in so, so much pain. 

“The head is out; you’re almost there!” she exclaimed, unfortunately having to take her hand back. “Just a few more—you can do it.”

He could, and he did—but he wasn’t quiet about it. But finally, the babe was out—and he was spent.

“It’s a girl,” Emma said softly, and the little one began to cry—but he didn’t dare look, and instead focused on catching his breath.

He could see enough to notice Emma pulling the little one to her chest and moving closer to him. 

“Oh, Killian,” she cooed. “She’s perfect.”

He was sure she was, but he couldn’t look. He couldn’t see the babe, because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let her go. And he quickly needed to build up the energy for a fight; his sword was sitting on the table next to him.

“Don’t you want to see her?” Emma asked softly. He just shook his head, feeling a tear crawl down his cheek.

“I can’t,” he murmured.

“Killian, what’s wrong? Do…do you not want to keep her?” There was no doubt that was giving her some unpleasant flashbacks of her own, even if it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Oh, no—I think he does, and that’s wherein the problem lies.” Zelena had arrived—and was gloating, but unphased by the way he was now staring daggers at her (but still decidedly not looking at his daughter—bloody hell, he had a daughter).

“Go to hell, witch,” he spat, reaching for his blade.

“Someday, yes, but not now. Now, I think I’ll be taking what's mine.”

“She’s yours?” Emma exclaimed, holding the baby tighter to her and casting a questioning glance between Zelena and Killian. (Gods, they hadn’t even had time to cut the umbilical cord yet.)

“Well, not ‘mine’ mine. Biologically speaking. She’s yours, really,” she said, gesturing at both of them.

Did she just say…? “Mine?” Emma asked, surprised.

“Yes, indeed. And what beautiful babies you make,” the witch said, coming closer. “If I can’t have a child of confirmed true love, then one of potential true love will just have to do.”

Summoning energy from somewhere unknown, Killian grabbed his sword and stood, leveling the blade at Zelena’s neck. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,” he growled.

“That wasn’t part of the deal, Captain,” she hissed. “Unless you’d care to explain to the in-laws why I still kidnapped their baby?”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Emma interrupted, and faster than either of them were aware—in a flash of white light—Zelena was on the floor—and her broach was in Emma’s hand (the one that wasn’t still holding tight to his—no, their —baby).

“No—no, no, no!” the witch cried, seemingly attempting to summon the pendant back—do anything—with her magic. “Oh, you’ll pay for that,” she roared, pulling the Dark One’s dagger out—but Killian struck out at her arm before she could summon the Crocodile, making her drop it, and then kicked it away.

The witch let out a shriek—but it was cut off by a cloud of grey-ish magic. “Fat chance of doing anything to us from the cells below the hospital,” Emma quipped, then turned to Killian. “Are you okay? What the hell is going on?”

“A long story,” he sighed as he relaxed, adrenaline fading just as fast as it had come, his sword clattering to the floor. “One I will gladly tell you shortly; just—can I—?” He hoped the way he was reaching towards the babe finished the question for him.

“Of course,” she said warmly, putting the little girl in his arms. And he finally got to look at her, and, oh—she really was beautiful. She’d calmed down a little bit, at least since Zelena had been dispatched, and was looking around the room with large eyes; he hoped she’d inherit Emma’s color there, seeing as she had clearly acquired Killian’s own pointed ears. 

His body was beginning to tell him there were some things that hadn’t yet been dealt with; he held the little lass as Emma helped him through that. “You wanna tell me just what all this was now?” she asked, firmly but gently, once things were cleaned up. 

“I was a bloody idiot,” he summarized, but told her everything else that had happened since the night at the docks. “Swan, I cannot apologize enough for being such a fool. But…I also don’t fully regret it.”

“I get it,” she said, running a finger over their now-sleeping daughter’s head. “And I’m sorry for making you feel like you had nothing else. But…I guess I can’t complain about the product either.”

For a long moment, they just stood there—the three of them, in awe over their new little blessing. Aside from the incredible ache he felt, it was near perfect—and he was finally able to breathe for another reason (and not just because the precious little toes in his cradle were no longer digging into his lungs).

“Congratulations, love,” he said.

“For what? You just did all the hard work.”

“You defeated the witch. You saved this one, your new sibling, all of us,” he explained. “That’s something to be equally proud of, if not moreso.”

She blushed. “Yeah, but in the moment, all I could think of was saving her—and you.”

“Me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you. Did you not hear what Zelena said?”

He had, but he didn’t dare acknowledge it. So he just nodded.

“My magic has never been stronger than it was just now—especially not earlier this week.”

“Aye, your father said as much.”

“You know why?”

He was starting to get the picture, but wanted her to say it.

She chose not to use words, but actions, and leaned toward his face.

“Hold on—the curse,” he said, regrettably pulling slightly away.

“It should have gone away with her magic,” Emma said, “and I don’t care anyways.” Then she insistently pressed her lips against his and, bloody hell, he couldn’t remember a sweeter, more meaningful kiss.

Though he would have preferred it not be cut off by a sudden interruption from the doorway. David stood at the now-open threshold, coughing (and clearly averting his gaze). “Granny said she heard some weird stuff and made me come check it out. I think I saw too much, though.”

Emma laughed; Killian tried, but it hurt his core. “Come on; I never thought I’d say this, but we need to get you back into some pants and get you two to the hospital.”

He passed the baby to her while he shuffled around to get dressed, and she caught up with her father, who thankfully drove them both to Storybrooke General.

Dr. Whale was shocked by the turn of events and insisted on keeping both Killian and his daughter overnight for observation; Emma stayed by their side the whole time. (And used her magic to accelerate his healing a bit…well, a lot, thankfully, though he wasn’t sure his midsection would ever be as firm as it once was.)

There was still a lot to deal with—emotionally, obviously, and they had to decide just what to do with Zelena; not to mention Snow giving birth still lay ahead. 

But as he walked out of the hospital the next morning—with Emma in one arm and tiny little Alice Margaret Jones, wearing her little sailboat onesie, in the other—he knew it would all work out; maybe, just maybe, this could be their happy ending.

----------------------------------------

thanks for reading!!! tags: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @killian-whump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88

#cs ff #killian mpreg #killian jones ff #expecting a secret #my ff

[destroyerofnations92]

Teaser 'up unto the overturned keel'

Here is a short snippet of chapter two of 'up unto the overturned keel', the first of hopefully many stories that will be posted on my new Patreon, starting December 31, 2024.

───※ ·♛· ※───

“Prince Daemon, this is treason! How dare–

The Hand was cut off by a strong left backhand to the face, sending the Hightower knight sprawling.

“Daemon!”

“I will not be interrupted nor spoken to like that by this little man,” Daemon told his brother, “Harrold!”

At once, the door opened and the impressive knight stepped into the chambers, “My Prince?”

“Take the Hand to the empty chambers across from my brother’s. He is not to leave, nor to receive any visitors.”

Ser Harrold nodded, “Yes, my prince,” and for the second time that day the Westerman’s hand was slapped away by an irate and humiliated Hand, who refused his aid and instead clambered up from the floor by himself, blood trickling down his chin from where his lip had been split.

As the door closed, Daemon merely poured himself a drink – only one – and sat in his armchair, overlooking the grand model of Valyria his brother and king had been building for the past few years.

“I never cared about your peacocking, brother. I knew my place. Your choices were yours. If you wanted to throw feasts and tourneys and strut around with your ugly crown, that was your prerogative,” Daemon began, looking at his brother for the first time since stepping foot in his chambers, “You chose to keep your deceitful and ambitious Hand, rather than appoint me, the man who won you that crown, and I said nothing. You dismissed me from two council offices within six moons at that snake’s urging, and I said nothing.”

“Daemon–

“Let me finish, brother,” Daemon asked.

Upon Viserys inclining his head, the prince continued, “You may believe the lords voted for you because of your pretty eyes or the tiny cock between your legs, but it was me that made you king. It was their fear of my butchering those who stood in your way, their fear of me burning their lands and their keeps, of me killing our cousin and taking the throne by force if need be, that won you that crown.”

Viserys had always felt deeply angered and inferior when those around him mentioned how important his brother had been to his ascension – Aemma, Rhaenys and even Lord Beesbury – but now that it was just the two of them, he could not find the strength to deny any of it, “I know, Daemon.”

“Then why do you renounce me? I have done nought but love you. I have fought for you and I have bled for you, yet you cast me aside every time.”

Viserys lowered his eyes, uncomfortable at hearing how emotional his brother was.

“Your son is dead,” Daemon whispered.

Viserys’ breath hitched and his heartbeat stuttered, “How?”

“He was too small, and seemed sickly and blue upon brought forth from the womb. He was unable breathe on his own. There was little the midwives or Orwyle could do. He died only minutes after he was born,” Daemon chose to give his brother honesty, “Aemma survived. Only barely though. If not for the midwives I had summoned she would have followed him into the grave,” Daemon uttered coldly, “You were about to sacrifice your wife for a son.”

At that Daemon turned to him and Viserys was taken aback by the coldness in his eyes, “It was not like that, Daemon. I had no choice. I had a dream.”

“A dream?” Daemon mocked him, “Please do tell what you saw in this dream, Your Grace.”

A light shone brightly in the king’s eyes, as if entranced, ignoring his brother’s sarcasm, “A son being born wearing the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel crown. A son born amidst the clashing of swords, charging of cavalry, and roaring of dragons.”

“Dreams are warnings, Viserys. Portents from the Gods,” Daemon sneered at him, “To warn us of calamity that is to come.”

“A son is needed. You don’t understand, brother,” Viserys paced in front of the fireplace, nearly pulling all his hair out, “I must have a son,” the king turned to his brother and stared him straight in the eye, in the hopes he understood the direness of his words, “From my blood come the prince that was promised and his will be the song of ice and fire.”

“Heir.”

“What?” Viserys was confounded by Daemon’s single-worded reply.

“From my blood cometh the Heir that was promised and theirs shall be the song of ice and fire,” Daemon whispered, “You are confusing your High Valyrian with the Common Tongue. Our ancestors did not differentiate between man and woman, and as such had near to no gendered words.”

Viserys was baffled, “How…?”

“The old man may have believed that you were the right choice for king, but even he was not foolish enough to think that you would ever be the one fighting these wars,” Daemon elaborated, “He told me mere weeks after the Council. He summoned me to these same chambers, showed me the dagger and demanded I vow to protect you and the House of the Dragon.”

Viserys was dumbstruck. His brother knew of the prophecy and had pulled the rug out from underneath him.

“His arrogance was astounding,” Daemon sneered, “His choices are what weakened our house, yet it was my vow he needed? Nonetheless, despite my disgust at this old and weak-willed man begging and pleading, I made an oath to protect my future king and his kingdoms.”

Silence descended over the king’s chambers, a pin drop could have been heard.

#daemyra #team black #daemon x rhaenyra #fuck the greens #queen rhaenyra targaryen #fix it fanfiction #anti team green #daemon defense squad #prince daemon targaryen #patreon #house of the dragon #world of westeros #blacks vs greens

[happiestplacehq]

        “ YOU SAID IT YOURSELF...                      ONCE                                         UPON                              A DREAM... ”

                                     MYSTIC WOODS MASQUERADE EVENT

Founder’s Week and the Hollow Hootenanny is an annual event that has taken place in Redwood Hollow for as long as anyone could remember, and through adversity, it returns.

It seems in the past few years that unfortunate events have surrounded Founder’s Week, from break-ins, to theft of important town heirlooms, to suspected poisonings. Then again, weird things have been happening all throughout the past few years, leaving the people of Redwood Hollow more on edge than ever.

The circus’s visit in October was enough to have Mayor Burton question the need for events in town, after it ended so disastrously. For a time, he even considered shutting down the Community Events Committee for good. But advisors assured him that shutting down the committee would be terrible for the community in the long run. If disaster was going to strike, it would strike anyway; there was no point in leaving the town bored and miserable just in case.

And so, with a tentative dip back into a real community event, the Valentine’s Day Blind Date event went off without any real hitches. Food drives, song contests and an art contest here and there and things really seemed to be looking up again.

Queue Founder’s Week. Mayor Burton had been convinced to give the committee the go-ahead in order to boost town morale. The market prepared their stalls, guest artisans prepared their very best wares for the influx of tourists, and the Redwood Hollow Museum put together a special exhibition walking through significant events in the history of Redwood Hollow. Sadly, a space still remains where the infamous stolen book once lay. It now features an explanation of sorts, with the hopes that one day it will be returned to its rightful place in the heart of town.

As always, The Chest of Hope will be open during Founder’s Week, with hopes displayed at the entrance of the Hollow Hootenanny.

Now, Founder’s Week would not be the exciting time that it is, without the beloved Hollow Hootenanny to close the week. Perhaps due to the growing mystery surrounding Redwood Hollow in these past few years, it is fitting (or, perhaps, a little on the nose) that the Hootenanny theme reflects that. This year, all residents and visitors are invited to attend the Mystic Woods Masquerade. That’s right. A masked ball (just what we need when suspicions are already high). Look out your best regalia, revise your waltz step and get practising your fan signals. You will not be granted access if you are not wearing a mask.

Various prizes will be awarded throughout the night, including best dressed, most spectacular mask, and the most mysterious overall look. To add a little mystery, the events committee has suggested that all those invited attend alone, and do not reveal your masks before the party. The true test of your relationships will be in finding your friends and partners amongst the crowd.

When the clock strikes midnight, all faces will be revealed.

                                                ——————

An OOC information post will be made shortly with OOC details for players, and will be linked in the source once posted. This event will take place between Friday 12th and Sunday 28th of May OOC. In character, this event will have taken place at the beginning of April.

If you would like to volunteer your character for any plot drop related business at the event, reply with their name!

Please like this post once you have read it.

#disney rp #disney roleplay #lsrpg #ouat rp #fairytale rp #mystery rp #town rp #happiestevent #happiestevent11 #poisoning tw

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 2: September, 1899 (Continued)

[1]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there's smut in this.)

3,315 Words (AO3 Link)

Ana Maria Gardener stood at the counter of the Hoosier cabinet in the kitchen as her son groggily ate his breakfast. She put together his lunch for the school day, wrapping the contents into a tea towel and placing it in a tobacco tin painted and shaped like a wicker picnic basket with a sealed glass bottle of milk.

Her son sighed and stood up, taking his plate to the sink, “How much longer do I have to do this again?”

“Do what? Go to school?” Ana replied in Spanish, “Well, you just turned 10. I’d like you to stay in until the term ends after you turn 13. I think you’ll be enough of a man by then to take over some of my responsibilities.”

The young boy turned and looked at her. She reached over and smoothed his straight, raven black hair and continued with a more gentle tone, “So, I’m afraid you have another 3 years.”

He rolled his eyes. They were striking for a child of his ethnicity, especially compared to his mother’s deep brown ones, bright and soulful ocean blue. They cut through anyone he gazed upon, almost glowing in contrast with his light tanned skin.

The grandfather clock chimed eight times. Ana handed her son a balled up bundle of mint, thyme, and basil to clean his mouth and teeth. He dutifully put it into his mouth, chewing it as she followed him into the living room for his coat and hat and out onto the porch of the house where she handed him his lunch and books. He leaned over the railing and spit the concoction out when they became tasteless, sauntering down the stairs to the barn.

Ana wrapped the wool shawl over her shoulders tighter for extra warmth. She looked at the overcast sky above Cain Valley and the rocky peaks of the Bear Mountains. Autumn had not even officially arrived yet, and the snow was already threatening. She frowned. Even after so long her Mexican blood hated the cold. It made her long for Guadalajara, the birthplace she hadn’t seen since she was a child.

Her son came back to the house riding on top of Josefina, a patient dark brown and white Tobiano patterned American Paint mare. Behind them he was leading Enrique, an old a trusty Appaloosa stallion with a coat of white with black Dalmatian spots. Ana had taught him well, the boy was so gentle and patient with them. It made him more experienced than others his age. In those moments, Ana allowed herself to think of his father.

Ana hitched Enrique to the post in front of the house. He reached up to her son, who leaned down and let her kiss him on the forehead.

“No fights!” She said firmly, “I do not need another letter from Miss Svensson about it!”

The boy nodded, but she knew by the look in his eyes he wasn’t going to promise anything he couldn’t keep, “Si, Mama. See you later.”

“I love you!” She called as he rode away to meet with the other children waiting at the main gate of the property.

“Love you too!” He replied.

The group wandered out of sight as the stage coach arrived, dropping off new visitors to the hotel she owned and picking up the old ones waiting on the porch. They were a diverse bunch, around similar ages give or take a few years. Some were Chinese from Mr. and Mrs. Liang, some were Irish from Mr. and Mrs. O’Hogan, a couple were black from Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and hers half-Mexican. Despite their presence in the town for many years, and most accepting and welcoming of them, there were still ones who were not. That extended to their own children. It was no wonder her son, strong in his convictions, ended up getting into schoolyard brawls. Another thing of his father’s she saw in him, that she couldn’t curtail no matter how hard she tried.

She walked across the curved brick driveway to the inn on her property. Through a back door she entered a small office. She sat down at the desk, opening a time book sitting on the surface. She scanned through the names, noting the days and times they worked. Very rarely did the team she had miss days, or not fulfill the 8 to 10 hours she asked of them, without her knowing beforehand. She mentally totaled the pay for them. She went into the drawer and took out the stack of paychecks. She pulled out six of them and filled them out one after another, adding the same information each time with the exception of the names they were for.

She got up with the paychecks in hand, taking a satchel off a hook and putting them inside it before slinging it over her shoulder and across her chest so it rested on her hip opposite. She went to a safe hidden in a cabinet below a bookcase, entering the combination to open it. Inside was the money the inn made the past two weeks. She quickly counted it, first the bank notes and second the coins - $300.76 in total - before she put them in the satchel as well. She also grabbed a gun belt with a loaded revolver, buckling it around her waist under the bag.

Ana returned to Enrique at the her house, who was idly munching on some grass along the path as far has his tether could allow him to reach. She unhitched him and mounted him sidesaddle. She scratched him behind the ears, the horse making an unbothered huff as she guided him onto the main street to the general store a short ride away.

The general store was always busy, however the crowd always cleared the counter when Ana arrived. She politely greeted them, scanning for any unfamiliar faces who might cause trouble with the business she needed to attend to.

Behind the counter was a Mr. Latini. He was a scrawny man who always wore thick, round glasses and sported a mustache almost too big for his face. He had been the proprietor of the store, like his father before him, and shared 50/50 ownership with Ana since her husband passed on his businesses to her. It was something he was never thrilled with. She could always see it in his eyes when she came in for her half of the profits. For what reason she was never sure, perhaps because she was a woman, or because she was Mexican, or both, but he was smart enough to never debate about it. They both made out well in the end. She was never unkind or unfair, so they simply made their pleasantries and he gave her the money - $591.04 this time around. She nodded, put it in her bag, and got back on her horse.

The Farmer’s Bank of Cain Valley was the grandest building in the town. It was an ornate two story Neoclassical styled with large windows. Inside it was just as fancy with its carved wood paneling and accents and chessboard marble floor. It wasn’t busy yet, Ana being able to walk right up to one of the teller’s windows.

She took out the money and paychecks, sliding them to the teller, “I’d like to deposit the money and get these notarized to distribute.”

The teller gave her a slip and a pencil to fill out while he placed the proper stamps on the checks to make them exchangeable. They traded the pieces of paper and the teller took the money, recounting it at lighting speed to make sure he had the right amount. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a receipt.

“Thank you.” Ana said, putting them in her bag and departing.

The sky had cleared when she trotted back to her property on Enrique, the sky a vivid light blue and the sun warming the area a bit more. On payday Ana felt like she was on a grand tour of some sort. She would go into the blacksmith’s, paying to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. She would go to the stable, putting Enrique in the paddock and paying Mr. and Mrs. O’Hogan, despite the fact Mrs. O’Hogan’s work was limited due to how pregnant she was. Her last stop was back to the inn, going through the main entrance to pay Mrs. Liang, who would hold onto her husband’s for when he returned in the evening. Ana took her satchel and gun belt back into the office.

Between the house and the inn Ana picked some bundles of herbs in the large garden, some for cooking and some medicinal. She carried them inside, walking through the floral wallpapered hallway to the kitchen. She hung them over the oven range nestled in the old renovated hearth to dry. She pulled out some small logs from under the oven, placing them into the firebox. She filled a kettle with water from a pump attached to the dry sink and placed it onto the stove.

She brewed tea, sitting at a secretary desk in the living room. She filled out a ledger book to keep track of everything she did that day, then moved on to reading the September issue of Good Housekeeping. There was once a time she believed reading those ladies’ magazines would teach her how to be a proper, honest woman. Now it often reminded her that most of the men and women who wrote for them were rich and metropolitan, out of touch and no understanding of how most people lived or raised their children. Damn Easterners.

Mr. Liang drove in a few hours earlier than expected, surprising Ana to see the wagon pull up in front of the living room’s large bay window. He jumped from the driver’s seat and raced up the stairs to the porch. He knocked on the front door rapidly, not stopping until Ana answered.

Liang bowed, “Madam Ana! Sorry to bother, but something important came up as I was return.”

Ana’s brow furrowed, “Is everything all right, Mr. Liang?”

“Came across man at Bacchus.” Liang began to explain, “He in back. He not good shape. Seem very sick. It came and go during ride, but I thought you could be help.”

Ana nodded and followed Liang to the wagon. Liang climbed into the back of the covered bed, hearing him say something to the man. The stranger grunted and replied.

His voice… Could it -? No. Ana knew that wasn’t possible. She swallowed that hope, waiting for Liang and the stranger to emerge.

Liang guided him out with the stranger’s arm around his shoulder. Liang told him where to step and had him sit down on the platform that doubled as a seat, letting him catch is horrible sounding breath. Ana’s eyes widened. A rush of disbelief washed over her, so intense it made her light headed. She stumbled backward, grabbing the stair railing to steady herself.

“You all right, Madam Ana?” Liang asked. Ana wasn’t able to form the words to reply, still staring at the stranger. He finally looked at her. His eyes were still the deep and soulful pools of ocean blue she remembered, but their clear sparkle gone. They were glassy and graying, bloodshot and sunken. Their life replaced by a painful sorrow.

He squinted in vague recognition, “…Anie?”

Anie… She hadn’t heard that in so long… His voice was still the same deep and warm baritone, but more rugged and raspy with age. It subsided the shock. She went over to him, sitting next to him and almost collapsing in the seat. She reached out, almost expecting the figure before her to disappear in an instant until her hands rested on his cheeks. She took in his face. He was older now, as was she, but the lines from the rough life he had led suited him more than it did her much softer ones. He had a few more scars than just the one on his chin that she remembered. She could tell his nose had been broken many more times. There was also the pitiful things. His features were gaunt. Under the deep purple and yellow bruises he was so pale, except for his cheeks and lips which were a feverish blush which burned under her fingertips. His beard had traces of both old and fresh blood trapped in the hairs. Above it all, he was there before her. After so long, she had him in her grasp again.

“Arthur…” Ana whispered, holding back tears, “It’s you… Dear God, it’s you…”

He nodded weakly, “Yeah. It’s me.”

Ana embraced Arthur tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. He felt so thin and fragile. His proud and strong, broad body withered away.

“You shouldn’t be this close to me, Anie,” Arthur said, “I’m real sick.”

Ana nodded. She let him go and turned to Liang, “Mr. Liang, could you go into the house and prepare the sick room? Afterwards I need you to fetch Dr. Anderson to take a look at him.”

Liang bowed, “Yes Madam.”

Ana put her attention back on Arthur. She took the shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around his.

She sighed and shook her head, “You look like shit.”

Arthur remembered how blunt she could be, especially in her accent. He was unable to keep himself laughing, “I feel like shit.”

Ana helped Arthur stand. She led him into the inn, keeping her hand on his back. It felt nice for Arthur to be inside, warmed by the fire that crackled in the lobby.

“Mrs. Liang!” Ana called.

A small Chinese woman appeared from a hallway holding a stack of clean towels, “Yes, Madam Ana?”

“Are any of the bath rooms available? This gentleman here badly needs one.”

Mrs. Liang handed Ana some of the towels and a white nightshirt, “I just do up them all. Everything ready.”

Ana thanked Mrs. Liang and led Arthur down the hall. She chose one of the bigger baths. Despite how thin Arthur had become, he was still a rather large man. She didn’t think to ask, maybe she probably should have, but she was more focused on the task. She took the shawl off him first, then started for the closures of his suspenders to remove them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Arthur remarked, putting his hands up to stop her, “What’re you doin?”

Ana put her hands on her hips and raised a thick, dark eyebrow, “What do you mean? You’re filthy. You clothes are filthy.”

“Yeah… But… Y’know…”

“Arthur, we have seen each other naked. It’s been a long time, but still. There’s no need for false modesty. Especially in your condition. I need to see how bad it is.”

Arthur relented. He knew she was stubborn when she was determined about something. At least, she was when she was younger. He just wished it wasn’t stripping him bare. She continued with his suspenders, throwing everything on a mirrored vanity. She moved on to the black bandanna he had tied around his neck, the one he used as a mask during robberies, then to his shirt. Ana made a remark about it, surprised it was still in one piece. He tried to recall if he had it that long, the beaten light blue shirt with dark blue double pinstripes. He had to agree it had seen better days, showing its wear and tear with stains of various substances and origins permanently soaked into the fabric.

“Hold still.” Ana ordered. She circled around him, inspecting every inch of his torso. His chest and stomach were deeply bruised like his face. She traced her fingers along the lines of his ribs, finding fractures that had begun to heal. He had a fresh scar on his left shoulder, still a light shade of pink. His condition heightened her worry. He was so underweight he was nearly a skeleton.

Her voice broke, “Oh, Arthur… What happened to you?”

Arthur winced, “Tuberculosis happened to me, Anie. And a man who ain’t even worth givin’ a name to.”

“Consumption…” Ana exhaled. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, trying to gather her thoughts. He was right. If it was that disease, he was sick, and there was very little to do about it.

“Then I guess you came to the right place.” Ana added. She tapped him chest, motioning to sit on a stool next to the bathtub. She pulled the boots off his feet, and helped him take off his pants. Like a mother, she instructed him to get in the tub.

The steaming hot water felt good on Arthur’s infirm body, scented by lavender and rose oil. He laid back with a hum, watching Ana wander around the room to get things. She put a large bath sponge and a bar of Castile soap on the tray over the tub, going to the vanity and producing a shaving kit and a pair of scissors. She sharpened the razor blade before sitting down on the stool, dipping the shaving brush into the foamy cream and painting his beard with it. As she was with other blades Ana handled the razor well, carefully but quickly taking the hair off his jaw starting from below his right ear and ending below his left. She dipped the razor in the water to wash it off and dried it. She wiped the rest of the shaving cream off Arthur’s face with a washcloth that was warmed on top of the pot bellied stove in the room.

Ana smiled and rubbed the scar on Arthur’s chin, “There you are! There’s the handsome man I knew.”

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you,” Arthur chuckled, “ain’t nothin’ handsome ‘bout me.”

Ana made a sour expression and then rolled her eyes. She dipped the bristles of a hairbrush into the water. She started working on his hair, which had grown long and fell down his neck. She brushed it until whatever trapped in his locks had been removed and it shone with golden tones of polished copper. They didn’t speak for a while as Ana focused on cutting his hair. She wasn’t a barber by any means, but trimmed it to a normal length for a man and keeping it a little bit longer on top. She gave it one last douse before parting it on his right side.

Arthur was the one to break the silence, “Madam, huh?”

“Only the Liangs call me that.” Ana replied as she moved on to washing his body, “It has something to do with their culture putting an importance on honorifics. The Chinese have a very specific view on courtesy.”

“I guess. Jus’ sounds weird is all.” Arthur said, hissing through the ache when she went over a bruise, “How long you been here anyway, Anie?”

“Ten years. I ended up here after…” Ana trailed off.

He looked at her and nodded, “I understand.”

“I was fortunate somehow.” Ana continued, “I got married. I had a baby. My husband died. I got left with this business of his. My son is t-… Nine now.”

“At least one of us figured out how to live honest.”

“It wasn’t easy, Arthur. In fact, it was almost unbearable for a couple of years. When you spend all your life on the run, doing whatever you needed to do to survive in spite of any law. Ending up on the other side of it, your instincts still remain.”

Ana assisted Arthur out of the tub. She wrapped him in the warm towels and helped him dry off. He put on the knee length white cotton nightshirt and a pair of matching slippers. After all of what he bad been through, he had to admit it was nice to be clean.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 posting #rdr #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 community #red dead 2 #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan rdr2

[roguesbazaar]

The River Spirit's Bag

While Hitching-Post is no stranger to odd occurrences and even odder visitors, something has caught the attention of the local folk. Winter still has a firm grip upon the land, but the river has decided it is the heart of spring. A seasonal mix up brought by a confused River Spirit who found themselves beached upon the little central island of the river.

#dice bag #dungeons & dragon #dnd #ttrpg #dice #accessories #etsy #Rogue's Bazaar #dnd dice #embroidered bag #dice bags #koi fish

[alesyira]

AN: Behind the scenes Hitoshi POV from '...might actually be a villain' - this is an early draft, and I have a bunch more written that might end up as an actual chapter (or several). I needed to post the oneshot Volume Control with all of its new references before I could share or post a lot of the other stuff I'm working on in the timeline.

It's been a long time since Hitoshi has had unexpected company, but his new living arrangements in an apartment complex means he should occasionally expect people knocking on the door that want to sell things or hand out pamphlets. 

This visitor, however, is weird. 

Cute. Timid. Nearly swallowed by a flour-dusted hoodie that’s a few sizes too large.

Asking for sugar. 

Who does that nowadays, when things can be easily delivered within a few minutes? He just so happens to have sugar in the pantry, along with a few other shelf-stable goods that were already present when he'd arrived less than a week ago. 

If it's an honest request for sugar, he can drop him under control, leave behind a few well-worded suggestions, and get him gone with his requested ingredient and none the wiser.

(If it's not an honest request, well, he has a few suggestions for that, too.)

Only, his quirk slides right off.

Alarm bells ring, loudly. He has never met someone that can shrug off his quirk with nothing more than a vaguely discernible shiver. 

Trap. 

But he's dealt with traps before. And if this guy doesn't think he's onto him, then he can spring a little trap of his own. 

He steps quietly into his apartment, sliding his finger up the back of his neck to boost Shi's volume. Shi perks up from its doze.  

The stranger's heartrate is a little rapid. He's anxious. But his physical reactions, the spike in his heartrate as he blushes at the sight of him, the slight hitch in his breath, and the interesting shivers every time his quirk fails to catch him lead him to the conclusion that this is not an intentional trap. 

If he's being set up for something, then this short guy has no idea he's part of it.

If they’re both being set up for something, then perhaps he can lean into this a little. Playing with the bait while he wheedles information out of him could prove interesting. 

He sends the cute little ball of nerves packing with the requested sugar and types a quick text. 

Hito: got anything interesting on this building?

A few minutes pass.

Mei: nada.

Mei: 95% off the grid, except for a little old-school router running out of a cafe on the first floor.

Hm.

The building being off-grid is ideal for a safe house, but he’ll have greater peace of mind with a few subtle additions. 

Hitoshi: can I get a pack of m&m’s

Mei: already put a double in your box

Mei: swing by whenever

He'd planned on heading out for Mei's when Shi picks up the vibrations of the little neighbor heading toward his apartment door. The scarf shakes with irritation that he's left it lumped on the couch when he moves toward the door to intercept the knock. "Stay there a minute," he murmurs quietly. "We'll leave in a few." 

The neighbor has cleaned up a little, no longer coated in the abstract smattering of flour. He looks like he's dressed to go somewhere, but the loose-fitting hoodie in this summertime heat is vaguely suspicious. (He has little room to judge, considering he frequently goes out wearing what looks like a scarf along with the watch cap that covers his distinctive violet hair.)

He drags him inside and nudges him into a chair, leaning into his space with a wolfish grin at the shellshocked look on his cute face. His green hair is a riotous mess of waves, almost long enough to be pulled into a ponytail. He reaches out to tweak a soft lock, admiring the way that he stills beneath his touch, a bright blush blooming across his cheeks. 

Shi is picking up some very interesting reactions in this little anomaly, and despite the fact that his quirk continues to fail, never in his life has he felt quite so empowered just by standing close to someone and speaking in quiet, confident tones. 

He kind of wants to see how far he can nudge him, how easy it would be to convince him to do whatever he asked, and a fresh thrill of excitement that he could have these things without ever needing to use his quirk is intoxicating.

Shi sidles over while he's distracting with his hands and his voice, plucking half-formed lies from his clearly disheveled thoughts. The wallet that peeks from his back pocket is slipped free and pressed into his waiting palm, where he quickly shuffles through its contents to locate what he needs. 

He blinks down at the identification card. Midoriya Izuku. Quirkless. The fact that his name is Midoriya coupled with his brilliant green hair seems a little too on the nose, but no one would dare to carry around an identification card that lists such a terrible bit of information as quirklessness. Especially if he's been trying to convince him of this alias and a shitty quirk, green, from the very start.

He's more willing to admit his lie once he's been caught, and then fuck, the physical reactions to hearing his name are almost good enough to eat. He's going to have a hell of a time fooling around with this absolute dessert of a man. 

He's so pliant, staring up at him like he doesn't know what to do or say, but he can see the blush that floods his face (so many blushes already today) and hear the way his heart races when he touches him. 

He doesn't mind sneaking in a kiss to taste him, just to feel the way his breath stutters against his mouth. There's an ever-so-vague whine creeping up the back of his throat as he slips his tongue between shocked lips, taking a quick taste to tide him over. 

Shi settles around his shoulders as he stands upright, then blinks down at his clearly dazed neighbor. 

Hm. Maybe that was a little too forward.

He leads him back to his apartment. It's a little concerning that he's so easily manipulated. He stares down at him for a moment longer. Shi catches a tiny hitch in his breath, and it looks like he's rousing from whatever shock overtook him. 

Hm. Very worrisome. He might need to keep a closer eye on him. He heads toward the elevator and presses the button, watching from the corner of his eye as his neighbor absently licks his lips and blinks to sudden awareness, a fresh crimson flush tearing across his cheeks. 

Hitoshi laughs to himself, stepping inside the elevator. Definitely going to need to keep an eye on that one.

AN: I'm excited to work on this AU series two steps to the left <_< it's gained equal importance in my 'to-do list' alongside Trouble

AN2: m&m's is an inside joke reference to monitoring and mayhem devices. mei named them.

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha fanfiction #shindeku #shinzuku #shinsou hitoshi #midoriya izuku #behind the scenes #...might actually be a villain #Hitoshi's POV #two steps to the left au

[lordgrimwing]

In Town #1

Three horses stood at the hitching post in front of the general store. The men riding them quickly dismounted and tied the reins loosely around the metal pole. A little boy, he couldn’t be much older than four or five years, stayed mounted on one of the mares, his bare little feet hardly stuck out past her back. The group of elderly women sitting in rocking chairs on the veranda running along the storefront, gossiping and knitting, watched with interest.

“I’ll be back thoon,'' one of the black-haired men said to the boy. “Don’t go getting yourthelf in trouble.”

The boy huffed and folded his arms over his checkered shirt. 

The women watching thought it was very cute. 

The three companions, brothers, headed for the store, leaving the boy to kick his feet idly atop the placid mare.

“Afternoon, ma’amth, Mith Ann.” One of the other black-haired men said as they passed, tipping his hat politely.

“Good afternoon, Caranthir.” Said a woman with long gray hair pulled up in a loose bun at the nape of her neck so it wouldn’t interfere with her yarn. Maryann Richards ran the boarding house on the other side of town with her rheumatic husband. “What brings you boys into town?”

Caranthir paused and his blond-haired brother, Celegorm, smacked the back of his head as he walked past him and into the store. Caranthir looked completely unbothered. 

“Ma sent us for extra flour and sugar.” He said carefully, paying close attention to the ‘s’ sounds. His pronunciation wasn’t perfect, but still far better than the lisp his family usually used. 

Maryann dropped her knitting needles and clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, that was wonderful.”

He grinned and continued. “We got some family coming over the mountain for a while, so Ma wants extra things for them.” 

She nodded, familiar with the motherly desire to have good food for visitors to eat. She intended to ask if he and his brothers would be bringing their visitors into town at all as she’d like to meet them, but just then Celegorm stuck his head back out the door and snapped, “Cara, thutup!”

Caranthir offered the women a chagrined farewell and hurried into the store.

Maryann sat back in her chair with a little smile, knitting forgotten on her lap. The other women, all of them old enough to be his grandmother, tutted and whispered amongst themselves about how he really was as wonderful as Maryann kept insisting. Wasn’t he just a diamond in the rough, and didn’t anyone have an eligible granddaughter in the surrounding counties who might be convinced to visit for a month or two? 

The boy left to cool his heels on his father’s horse watched them for a minute with an expression that said he wasn’t sure what to make of what he just saw. Eventually, he said, “That’th my uncle.”

Maryann leaned forward. “He’s very nice.” She assured him.

The boy made an exaggerated skeptical face that made the women chuckle. “Uncle Cele thaid he needth to grow thome ballth.”

Maryann’s companions dissolved into unladylike laughter.

The mare furthest from them pinned her ears back and snorted.

The boy squinted at them, perhaps confused as to why they found his uncle so funny. Quickly giving up on deciphering the oddities of townswomen, he occupied himself with braiding the mare’s mane, or at least the small section he could reach.

#the silmarillion #caranthir #celegorm #curufin #celebrimbor #sons of feanor #old gods au #The old ladies think Caranthir is very eligible #Celegorm things Caranthir is a fool #the feanorions have secrets and they don't like sharing #let Brimby be a cute kid! #Celegorm's horse is a real piece of work #grimwing writes

[direnightshade]

Monster Mash

Figured I would try to get myself back into writing by working on some smaller things, starting with this. 'Tis my favorite season, after all.

Warnings: Children (Henry's involved, of course) Word Count: 690

A large pumpkin rolls heavily in the back of the SUV that takes a turn onto an otherwise deserted, leaf-riddled street of upstate New York. Behind the wheel, Charlie winces. He’s been trapped! Bamboozled! Tricked into coming here at the hands of both his son and you, but most by Henry’s devious manipulation tactics. Who’d have thought a pouty lip and threats of having the worst Halloween ever would be enough to get Charlie to cave?

He cannot recall the last time that he’s gone to a pumpkin patch - if ever - but surely the price he’d paid for the pumpkin that rolls so haphazardly in the trunk was exorbitant. It’s really not that much different than years before, you’d assured him while he griped in the checkout line. But…at least the sheets he and Henry will be wearing have cost him all of nothing. And…

He should be - is - grateful for this opportunity. The last few Halloweens with Henry have been spent in the heat-ridden hell that is Los Angeles. It’s about time he’s come out here to spend it in the falling leaves and rapidly cooling temperatures as the holiday was intended to be enjoyed.

“Are we there yet,” Henry asks from the back seat, his gaze cast outward towards the multi-colored canopy of the trees that pass by.

“Nearly,” says Charlie, his own gaze flitting from the rearview mirror back out onto the road ahead. “Just a few more turns and we’ll be there.”

In spite of all of his complaints, Charlie has gone through great lengths to ensure that this day goes off without a hitch for the three of you. He’s chosen a park, one with great fall foliage and little to no other visitors this time of year; the three of you have your autumnal outfits on and ready for any and all photos to be taken, and there is - of course - the pumpkin to be carved upon your arrival.

And carved it is…

Charlie lets Henry carve most of it, only stepping in to help when asked - helping to sharpen out the teeth and eyes - while you retrieve the sheets and sunglasses from the SUV’s trunk. Together it takes them no time at all to reach their desired outcome and, leaving the pumpkin’s interior on the grass for the wild animals to enjoy, the three of you trek a little deeper into the park to set up for your not so impromptu photoshoot.

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” Henry exclaims excitedly, reaching for the sheets in your hand.

Setting one set aside, you are quick to help Henry pull the sheet up and over so it drapes properly on him, ensuring that the small eye holes sit as they should, allowing him to see before you hand him the sunglasses to put on. Once both you and Henry are satisfied with the outcome, you turn your attention to the second sheet and drape it over yourself, mirroring his look with your own, soon moving to stand behind him.

Nearby, Charlie is fiddling with his camera, adjusting the angle of it until he’s satisfied before setting the timer to give him ample time to run over to where the two of you stand. As he runs over, pumpkin in hand, you know that he’ll undoubtedly gripe about the remnants of the shredded insides sticking to his hair once he removes it post-shoot. The amusing thought elicits a smile from you beneath the cover of the sheet.

“Ready,” Charlie asks, the question asked prior to him slipping the hollowed out pumpkin over his head, the carved face now looking at the camera.

“Ready!” Henry’s eagerness shines through in his shouted reply, a hand pumping upward towards the sky. Quickly remembering that all extremities must be covered by the sheet, Henry lowers his hand back down to his side just as Charlie settles a hand against your back.

Beneath the coverings of the sheets and the pumpkin, the three of you smile just as the camera fires off a series of photos, capturing the first of many photos the three of you will take today.

#Charlie Barber #Charlie x Reader #Charlie Barber x Reader #Henry Barber #cw: children