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hosseinis · 7 months

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"God- here just hold my hand"!!!!!!!!!

HANNAH!!! i'm sorry i ended up writing criminal minds fic but i have the BRAINROT so this is way more comedic than whumpy so you can still have fun <3

send me a ship and a prompt and i'll write a quick oneshot!

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is tight and stressed, and Spencer can actually feel his heart pounding. Hotch’s heart. Spencer’s heart has been pounding since they first found themselves in this situation. He can’t stop counting the beats. “I need you to calm down.”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer says far too quickly, trying to shove some of the panic back into his stomach where it’s making a run for it right up his throat. He tries to maneuver himself around a little bit and instead just pushes himself up harder against Hotch’s chest. Their increased proximity gets even worse, and Spencer’s pretty sure the pantry may actually be shrinking. “I’m calm. I’m totally calm.”

A pantry. A pantry! Who the hell gets stuck in a pantry? Especially with Hotch around, who on his best days is basically a tank dressed up in a crisp tailored suit. But then again, even a well-dressed Virginian tank apparently has no luck against an unsub with a sawed-off shotgun, Spencer reasons.

At least he just forced them to drop their guns and phones and then locked them in the pantry, rather than shoot off their faces right then and there. They did profile him to be the submissive of the pair, and that he would balk at killing someone outright. There’s a can of something digging into the small of his back. Probably tomato sauce. Or corn. Or maybe beans. So at least the team is going to realize something’s off when they don’t show back up at the police station.

“You’re not calm,” Hotch grits. Maybe he’s got a can of something nonperishable digging into his back, too.

“Sorry,” Spencer says. “We’re just— it’s really tight in here. And I’m claustrophobic. Did I mention that?”

“You did.”

“Oh. I did?”

“Several times.”

“Oh,” Spencer repeats, and tries to wiggle away from the can again. “It’s just that the traditional definition of claustrophobia refers to it as an irrational fear of confined spaces, when in reality I find it entirely reasonable to not want to be squashed into a tight space where you can barely breathe, not to mention the lack of air circulation, and adding another person into that—”

“Reid,” Hotch says again, maybe for the fourth or fifth time. “I understand that you’re anxious, but right now we need to focus our attention on getting out of the pantry.”

“He padlocked it,” Spencer replies immediately, wishing he could move his arms. They’re pressed up against Hotch’s chest, and with barely an inch difference between their respective heights, he’s basically right in Hotch’s face, too. Hotch, for his part, has his arms awkwardly positioned at his sides. Spencer’s more of a beanpole, having to duck his head to avoid smacking it into the lightbulb above them, but Hotch has bulk. He’s probably even more uncomfortable. “And you don’t have enough space to kick it down.”

“I’m aware of that,” Hotch says, and the tension in his tone has ramped up. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Uh,” Spencer says, blinking. Hotch is a little cross-eyed. “No.”

“Try to think of something, then.”

“Oh,” Spencer says again. “No, I’ve been thinking this entire time. I actually can’t stop thinking. The good news is at least that we have about twenty-one hours roughly before we run out of air, even with the CO2 buildup, because the gap under the door is about three-quarters of an inch which means we can still get some oxygen, though it would be much better if this pantry had a door with slats rather than the typical—”

“Spencer.”

The use of his given name does actually stop Spencer in his tracks, but more than that it’s the way that Hotch says it. His eyes are squeezed tight, his teeth are gritted together, and there’s a bead of sweat that’s running down the side of his temple. Classic signs of… anxiety? Stress?

“Hotch,” Spencer says in stunned disbelief, “are you claustrophobic?”

He doesn’t get a response in the form of a word, but rather in the way Hotch opens his eyes again and glares at him. It’s not a real glare, necessarily, more of a you’re not supposed to figure that out glare, which just serves to shock Spencer even more. He blinks at him.

“You are,” Spencer says.

“I’m just… not comfortable in tight spaces,” Hotch corrects, which is the textbook definition of claustrophobia. But Spencer is absolutely willing to let it slide, because there’s something… oddly comforting about being in the exact same situation as someone as stalwart and fearless as Hotch. “It isn’t usually such a problem.”

“Oh,” Spencer repeats, and hums. “True. This isn’t a typical situation one would find themselves in. I guess normally it wouldn’t even come up. And I guess that means neither one of us are entirely equipped to keep the other one calm, since both of us are starting to show the signs of increased anxiety that come from prolonged close contact while in a confined space, and increased respiration from continued anxiety could also reduce our survival rate from—”

“God.” Hotch starts wiggling, which definitely makes a bag of chips fall somewhere and manages to extract one arm, which he holds, palm towards himself, up to eye level. Spencer stares at it, and Hotch shakes his hand a bit. “Here. Just hold my hand.”

Spencer gapes at him, speechless. If only the team could see him now.

“Hold your… hand?”

“Yes, hold my hand.” Hotch stares at something just to Spencer’s left ear before his gaze slides over to make eye contact again. He pauses, and then nods slightly. “Jack asks me to hold his hand when he’s scared. I figured it couldn’t hurt, given our… limited options.”

Spencer considers that for a moment, and then manages to squeeze his arm over so that he can take Hotch’s hand. Their limited options pretty much boil down to waiting and hoping for the best, so Hotch really isn’t that far off.

“You know, Jack’s pretty smart,” Spencer finally says after a moment. “Hand-holding reduces the level of the stress hormone cortisol, which means that we’re able to think more clearly. Plus the increased pressure from our hands can slow our heart rates, decrease our blood pressure, and put us in a much more relaxed state.”

Instead of answering verbally, Hotch just squeezes his hand tighter.

Spencer thinks about it again, and then smiles a bit awkwardly.

“You know, I never would’ve guessed that about you,” he admits. “You’re pretty much the most valorous person I’ve ever met. It’s actually kind of comforting to share the same fear as you.”

Despite everything, Hotch’s lips quirk up and he squeezes Spencer’s hand once more.

“I’ll just go ahead and take that as a compliment.”

#aaron hotchner #spencer reid #criminal minds #this was written to be platonic but it can be read as a ship too!#anyway: hotch and spencer are autistic and trapped in a pantry <3 #ginny does that writing thing

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annajustdraws · 1 year

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Varian having a late growth-spurt, your thoughts?

I'd like to imagine that everybody in Corona calls him kid or son or bean but when he's like in his mid twenties he's the tallest fella of the gang and he never let's them live it down.

Small baby bean turns to 8 foot beanpole.

Your thoughts?

I'd like to think he stays short xD.

But i don't know, I guess it whould be fun seeing him growing Up :)

#rapunzles tangled adventure #tangled the series #tts fandom #varian #varian tangled #answered

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fierypen37 · 1 year

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Virtue a Veil, Vice a Mask: Chapter 17

moodboard by @libradoodle1

Chapter 17

Her husband was up to something. Jon was taciturn by nature, but Dany knew the little tics that gave him away. Glances that lingered a little longer than usual, rubbing his mouth when he was lost in thought, his brow knit together with more ferocity than usual. Daenerys pulled up Ciri from their ride around the perimeter of the island. Clouds brewed overhead, promising rain. Swinging from Ciri’s warm back—on the island, Daenerys often rode with her saddle—she touched the tender green leaves of the squash growing from the ground among a small copse of beanpoles. Dragons plant trees. The thought amused her.

In addition to the crop of lemons and berries that grew wild on the island, she and Jon had become amateur farmers. Rice, oats, flour, salt and sugar, they could trade for or buy. The fisherman Teek, his wife Tirzah and their son Mycah had adopted them and often gave them more than their usual tithe of fish. There was a hearty fish soup bubbling in the cauldron for their supper. Dany nudged aside Ciri’s curious nose as she lipped at the bean sprouts.

“None of that, there’s plenty of tender grass for you,” Dany said gently. The mare huffed out a breath in Dany’s face, smelling of warm animal and crushed grass. She giggled, scratching under Ciri’s whiskery chin. The silver-white hair darkened to charcoal around her muzzle, her brown eyes watched Dany with equine affection. Idly, she wondered if Ciri and Shadow would mate. Ciri had grown and filled out—she was no longer a juvenile horse. Shadow seemed of an age as her, and her Dothraki assured her if he stood at stud, he would sire fine foals. Several riders had actually approached Jon with gifts toward that end. Thunder growled to the east, and not for the first time, Dany whispered a prayer for Ifakki and her babe. Find peace in the nightlands, my dear ones. The years had dulled the pain of their loss, and eased the guilt, but she would never forget them.

Clouds thickened overhead and Dany shoved away a pang of worry. Jon and Vyrmax hadn’t returned yet. Scouting the Dothraki Sea for friends or foes, as they often did. Winds could be unpredictable and cruel as the storms boiled up. Dany dug her bare toes in the damp black soil, then knelt to pull up the endless crop of weeds, hoping to pass a quarter hour before the rain began in earnest. Scattered fat raindrops pattered on her shoulders and head. It tickled. Daenerys’ fingers dug into the tough stalks of the weeds and yanked. The symphony of Ciri’s peaceful grazing, the smell of moist earth, the cool kiss of the wind drying her sweat, the buzz of a curious honeybee did little to soothe her. A wayward thought wondered if Jon would be amenable to keeping a beehive. Her mouth watered at the thought of drizzling sun-warm honey on freshly baked bread.

Dany closed her eyes and reached for Drogon. The link felt as gauzy as a thread of lace—stretched by distance. The sharpness of her worry trembled through the bond, Drogon’s attention was immediate and focused. Dany presented the image of Jon astride Vyrmax. The image always stirred her heart and roused a very Targaryen lust. The contrast of Vyrmax’s gleaming cream-colored scales and golden streaks contrasted with Jon’s raven black hair and dark eyes. It was an interesting thought how completely they matched: Drogon’s black and Vyrmax’s white, Ciri’s silver and Shadow’s black, Jon’s black hair and her own silver. Drogon emanated reassurance, angling his flight path toward where he last saw Jon and Vyrmax.

Rain began. Hard, heavy drops thudded on in spates. Steam rose as the rain cooled the warm soil. Dany absconded from her endless battle with the weeds and stretched her aching back. The falling rain rippled by the unseen hands of the wind, plastering her clothes to her skin, dripping from the ends of her braids. She tilted her head back and let the rain quench her thirst, droplets pinging on her closed eyelids. Licking her lips, she whistled for Ciri. The horse trotted back, eager to return to the dry warmth of her stall.

“I’m sure they found shelter,” she said aloud. Grabbing a fistful of Ciri’s wet mane, Dany skipped and swung astride. The heavy scent of wet animal and Ciri’s warmth enveloped her. Already hopelessly drenched, Dany heeled Ciri to a sedate walk. It was only rain. Not the fiercer wave of a storm, just a slow, nourishing rain. Drogon would find them. Light glowed in the windows of their house and Daenerys was heartened by the sight of it. ‘Barn’ was perhaps a generous term. Jon had yet to replace the planks with stone as was his intent. There were two narrow stalls and a tack room. The roof was thatch, and the planks were fresh. The light resinous smell of fresh hewn lumber added to the miasma of hay and manure. It was pleasant smell. Dany slithered down and led Ciri within by a handful of mane. With a twist of hay, Dany curried Ciri’s coat, helping to dry her. The rain pattered soothingly on the roof.

“Hello Shadow,” Dany whispered, offering a handful of grain. The black stallion whickered in greeting and lipped the grain politely from her hand. For a stallion, he was quite well-mannered. Dany scratched his forelock the way he liked and Shadow stretched out his neck with a contented grunt. Dany kissed his nose.

“I’ll see to my own supper,” she said, tugging the half door shut behind her. Dany paused at the water pipe she and Jon rigged to collect rainwater. A satisfying stream of water was pouring into the half-empty barrel. Standing in the rain, Dany shed her sodden clothes and washed her skin with a kernel of soap. Clean, dripping and shivering, she crossed the threshold onto the plank floor of their cottage. The smoored hearth throbbed with warmth, and the stew smelled delicious. Swathing herself in one of Jon’s shirts, Dany livened the fire and stirred the cauldron. Steam curled in tantalizing tendrils. Dany stirred with a wooden ladle, and took a discerning taste. Dany squeezed a lemon into the stew, and added a couple more peppercorns. She sprinkled flour on the counter and began kneading bread. Much like weeding the garden, it was pleasantly tactile task. Forming the loaves and sprinkling them with coarse salt, she set them in the iron oven to bake.

Drogon and Tessarion’s loud screeches broke the peaceful rainy-day bubble. Relief sluiced through her. She peered beneath the hide tacked over the window—they were waiting for glass panes to be delivered from Pentos. The three dragons landed with a thud. Dany pushed happiness and contentment through their bond. Drogon shook his great head, preening. Tessarion bared his teeth in a dragon grin. Jon, soaked and cold, judging by his grim stride, made his way to the house.

Dany dusted flour from her hands and fetched a towel, also spreading a length of linen on the floor. Jon shouldered through the door with a sigh, carrying his boots. Uncaring of how soaked he was, Dany jumped into his arms to kiss him. Water dripped from his hair onto her closed eyelids. His flesh was cold, but his dark grey eyes were warm.

“Vyrmax is swift, but the wind outstripped him. Gods, that smells wonderful. I’m starved,” Jon said. His gaze moved from the damp linen of his old shirt to linger on the hem which barely covered her arse.

“Mmm, my wonder, what a lovely way to be greeted!” he said, moving to kiss her again. Dany danced from his grasp, tapping his nose with a grin.

“Ah ah, wet things off first.”

“Even better,” Jon jested, already shucking his sodden jerkin. Dany laughed, helpfully scrubbing his hair. The urge to touch him, love him rose up, chasing away the lingering dregs of worry. She smoothed the towel over him in gentle strokes. Over the breadth of his chest, his hard belly, his corded arms. Pale and perfect. His trousers were soaked and clung to him like a second skin. They giggled as he had to sit on the floor and peel them off an inch at a time. Once naked, Jon shook himself like a wolf. Dany shrieked as cold drops pelted her.

“Come, let me warm you,” Dany said, drawing him back into the rain-quiet dark of their bedroom. His cold skin warmed to hers, and his cock stood undaunted and radiating heat. Jon batted away her questing touch and kissed his way down her body to kiss her cunt. Pleasure unfurled, kindled to a bright blaze under a few strokes of his tongue. Murmuring words of praise in Valyrian, Jon slid inside her with one thrust. His pace was short and fast. Dany bit back a cry, torn between pleasure and overstimulation. Her cunt and her breasts felt swollen, tender.

“Dany . . . I’m . . . oh fuck!” Jon hissed, spilling himself inside her.

Dany hummed happily, cradling him to her chest. In their nest of a soft feather bed and heaps of quilts, her fingers and toes tingled with residual pleasure. They drowsed in sleepy silence and Dany stifled a yawn against his shoulder. Jon heaved himself onto his elbows.

“Sorry I . . .” Jon began, cheeks flushed with embarrassment when Dany stoppered the words with a kiss.

“It was wonderful, as ever, my dragon. I worried for you,” she whispered. Jon rested his forehead against hers.

“All is well. The khalasar is well protected. Vyrmax and I saw another, I think Khal Lanno’s band, some hundred leagues north, but he wouldn’t dare test his khalasar against ours. He has only two thousand in his horde.” Conversation meandered toward the island, Jon was enthusiastic about the idea of keeping a beehive and the idea of breeding Shadow to Ciri.

“Gods, their foals will be swifter than the wind,” Jon said.

Dany reached down and gave his arse a gentle slap.

“Let me up. I must check supper,” she said. Jon grumbled, but rolled to one side. Dany braved the chill, belting her wool robe. Jon curled into the warm spot. The smell of baking bread greeted her as she tiptoed across the chilly floorboards. Under the iron lid, the bread had risen, the crust a lovely golden hue. Dany swung the hook of the cauldron off the flame. She reached on tiptoe for their earthenware bowls and wooden spoons. Yes, they could’ve purchased fine silver to eat from, but both she and Jon preferred simplicity. And if it could be made—or replaced—by things made of their own hands, then even better.

“Supper’s ready!” she called.

Jon emerged clad in his own robe and thick wool socks and wearing a sleepy smile. Gods, he melted her heart. Jon ladled bowls of stew while Dany cut the bread and spread it with butter. As she watched, it softened into a golden puddle on the steaming bread. Savory steam rose up and Dany’s mouth watered. Jon tucked in with alacrity, cursing as the hot stew burned his tongue. Pleasant silence breathed between them as they ate. Dany frowned. The bread was a bit tough—she’d overworked the dough. The crumb was good—very light with a hint of salt. The stew was rich and savory. Dany sipped gingerly. Her stomach had been uneasy of late.

“So what have you been planning, my love?” Dany asked. A couple drops of creamy broth clung to Jon’s mustache. Dany tapped her lip. Jon dabbed his mouth with his cuff with a grin, then his face settled into a more serious mien. Jon swabbed the inside of his bowl with the heel of his loaf and thriftily dabbed the crumbs from his chin. He set down his spoon and faced her square.

“I’ve given this some thought. We both abhor the practice of slavery. And we have the means to do something about it.”

Whatever she had thought he had been mulling over, it hadn’t been that. Dany blinked, surprised. Over their years together, she and Jon had shared their mutual disgust for the practice. The more she pondered, the more excitement grew. The dragons were large enough to ride, they had gold to purchase soldiers in addition to their trained Dothraki cavalry. They could do it. They really could! Dany jumped to her feet and began to pace.

“What shall we do first? Buy their freedom? Where shall we begin?” Dany said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Jon’s face softened and he rose to embrace her. Dany breathed in his masculine smell with the salty tang of his sweat, resting her chin on his chest. Jon tucked her wild hair behind her ear, his face soft with love.

“Gods, how I love you. I suggest dismantling one of the oldest and most profitable institutions in the world, and your first questions are ‘Where shall we begin?’” Excitement crackled through her. The young girl serving in Magister Illyrio’s manse floated through her mind, trembling under the weight of her burden and her fear. To see her freed would give Dany joy.

“First, I think we need to speak with the khalasar,” Jon said.

“I agree.”

Jon squinted through the shroud of fog that wreathed the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone behind them. Emotion stirred in his chest. Trepidation, hope, excitement and dread. How long would it be before they could return home? The task they chose was not out of necessity. He and Dany could live happily and peacefully on their island and not bother another living soul. And yet, as he looked inward, he found himself resolute. Justice and freedom were the duty of the sons and daughters of kings. Dany squeezed his hand and he felt some of the worry loosen. Together. As long as Dany was at his side, he could face anything.

They hired a ship to take them from Dragonstone to the port in Pentos. A sturdy cog, large enough for supplies and their horses. As much as he wanted to strike out for Slaver’s Bay and begin their task, there was a great deal of preparation to be done. Thankfully, he realized belatedly, his thoughts so occupied his mind that seasickness hadn’t troubled him.

“First we will discuss our aims with the khalasar. Many I think will be eager to follow us to war, but the cause of it may give them pause,” Dany said, pitching her voice over the strong wind. Jon nodded. How much more difficult had their leave-taking been for Dany? The home they made together on Dragonstone had been the only one she had ever known. Home with a red door and a lemon tree. Jon watched her strong profile. The wind whipped stray hairs from her crown of braids. Her violet gaze was fixed on Dragonstone fading in the mist. Jon tightened his arm around Dany’s waist, hugging her tight to his side.

“We will return, Dany. I swear it to you,” Jon said. Dany nodded and dashed a tear from her cheek.

“I know. It’s silly to be so--”

“Hush,” Jon insisted, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Jon stroked the tender fuzz of her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“You dearly cherished the thought of home. Of course you would be loath to leave it once you’ve found it.” Dany folded into his embrace. Together they stood in the chill of the morning until Dragonstone faded from sight.

They disembarked in Pentos at midday and rode to the bluff where the khalasar gathered. Dany had sent a raven to ready the camp. The Dothraki were abuzz with activity. Herding the horses into strings, packing tents, dousing cookfires. The three bloodriders, Daenerys’s handmaidens, Grey Worm and Missandei waited beneath a shade strung between two support poles. Irri offered a horn cup of water. Jon thanked her and drank gratefully. The day was warm and the water was refreshingly cool.

“What is our heading, khaleesi?” Aggo asked.

“We must have words, blood of my blood,” Daenerys answered. Dany met his eye and he gave a reassuring nod. Ultimately, the decision was hers. These were her people, her dragons—though she would dispute that fact. The moment weighed on her, Jon watched as she straightened to bear the weight. Gods, he couldn’t have loved her more.

“Jon and I have decided we must wage a war.”

Kovarro whooped in excitement. Jon glanced aside. The other bloodriders’ expression revealed nothing but surprise. Grey Worm and Missandei were likewise solemn.

“Who is our enemy, khaleesi?” Kovarro asked. Dany licked her lips and offered a succinct answer. Jon laid a hand on her shoulder in mute comfort.

“Slavers.”

Shock rippled through the assemblage. It was Aggo who first broke the silence.

“I have sworn you my life, khaleesi, but what qualm have we with the slavers? Many offer us gold and gifts.”

“Yes, and the slavers have many warriors. Many more than our number,” Rakharo said. Daenerys nodded solemnly.

“We plan to buy the freedom of more to even the odds. And I understand your concerns. If we do this thing, we step on a hornet’s nest. Our enemies will be many. But . . .” Dany trailed off and swallowed hard.

“If we do not, then thousands more will suffer and die under the hands of the masters. And I would wake in the night and hear their weeping for the rest of my days,” her voice warbled and broke a little at the last word. Jon shifted closer to her, his own throat tight with emotion. She said it best, laid out the stakes succinct and clear. On the one hand, freedom for hundreds of thousands of enslaved people. On the other, death for them. Death perhaps, of the only dragons left in the world. Each of the group understood.

“We will not continue unless all of you are with me. All of you,” Daenerys said. Silence fell, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp being broken down. Anxiety climbed as time ticked on, tension winding Jon’s muscles tight. If they refused, their campaign would die stillborn. Perhaps rightfully so. They needed the support of their commanders—who were also their closest friends and confidantes.

Grey Worm was the first. He closed the distance between him and Daenerys. With crisp, perfect movements, he knelt and offered his bared sword in the traditional fashion of Unsullied.

“I will follow you anywhere, Jelmazmo. This is . . . a wholly good thing. I thank you,” Grey Worm said, his deep voice calm and even. Missandei stepped forward and embraced Daenerys and then Jon himself.

“We are with you.”

Irri and Jhiqui were quick to follow with their own embraces and oaths of support.

“Many worthy battles await. Gold and gifts as well. I am with you,” Kovarro said, offering Jon his arakh.

Aggo squared his sturdy shoulders. Aggo was the oldest bloodrider. Gifted to Daenerys by her husband Khal Drogo on their wedding. Once Khal Drogo died, Aggo made the pivotal decision to cast his lot with Daenerys instead of Drogo’s bloodrider Qotho. He tied the blackguard to Drogo’s pyre, and thus the dragons were reborn. He looked to Jon first, and he straightened unconsciously. Jon held his dark gaze, looked at his hair—now more white than black—the gruesome scar on his cheek, his upright carriage. Aggo had been the one to help him tame Shadow, showed him how to wield a Dothraki whip. More a father to him than the one who had given him life. Satisfied, Aggo looked to Daenerys. A slight gentling softened his hard gaze.

“I will follow you, khaleesi and Khal Ahesh. I will slay your foes, ride at your side, always,” Aggo said.

“As will I,” Rakharo said.

And thus, they would change the world.

#daenerys targaryen #jon snow #jonerys fanfiction #road trip with dragons #fp37fic #virtue a veil vice a mask

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friendly-purple-glutton · 9 months

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How huggable is each of your ocs?

icey: VERY huggable. soft. like sinking your arms into a giant ball of furry dough. plus she'd purr and that'd be extra cute

raine: sort of like hugging a huge leather bean bag? that scaly hide's not doing her any favors but she's got the fat to balance it out

lena: like hugging a furry beanpole. she wears a big hoodie to try and cancel it out but it doesn't really work

rei: very huggable, but be sure to ask otherwise she'll bite. otherwise about the same as icey, if not more fluffy

nox: not exactly the easiest to hug. she's got a big hoodie but she's also got leathery scales like raine, without the blubber to cancel it out. very touch sensitive though and she' likes that'll get very intimate with you very fast

nahyo: EXTREMELY huggable! like hugging a feathery pillow. plus she's small so you can hold her like a body pillow

#icey: icey #icey: raine #icey: rei #icey: nox #icey: lena #icey: nahyo #icey answers

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aliciasinferno · 24 days

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So, if you are ok with it, how about this: Varian, as an adult, so around his late 20ies

He would have grown really tall

With facial hair, and his hair could have grown a bit, maybe a ponytail or a braid

Broad shoulders and wide chest, thick, powerful looking arms

With rolled up sleeves revealing body hair and maybe with one glove off revealing thickly scarred hands

But still with some youthfulness

I just love the idea of my small bean growing into a big, tall beanpole tree

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99999v · 6 months

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[Intro] Oh, my, god. Becky, look at her butt. It is so big. *scoff* She looks like, one of those rap guys' girlfriends. But, y'know, who understands those rap guys? *scoff* They only talk to her, because, she looks like a total prostitute, 'kay? I mean, her butt, is just so big. *scoff* I can't believe it's just so round, it's like, out there, I mean - gross. Look! She's just so ... black!

[Sir Mix-a-Lot] I like big butts and I can not lie You other brothers can't deny That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waste And a round thing in your face You get sprung, wanna pull up tough 'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed Deep in the jeans she's wearing I'm hooked and I can't stop staring Oh baby, I wanna get wit'cha And take your picture My homeboys tried to warn me But with that butt you got makes Ooh, Rump-o'-smooth-skin You say you wanna get in my Benz? Well, use me, use me 'Cause you ain't that average groupy I've seen them dancin' The hell with romancin' She's wet, wet, Got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette I'm tired of magazines Sayin' flat butts are the thing Take the average black man and ask him that She gotta pack much back So, fellas! (Yeah!) Fellas! (Yeah!) Has your girlfriend got the butt? (Hell yeah!) Tell 'em to shake it! (Shake it!) Shake it! (Shake it!) Shake that healthy butt! Baby got back!

(LA face with Oakland booty) Baby got back!

[Sir Mix-a-Lot] I like 'em round, and big And when I'm throwin' a gig I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal Now here's my scandal I wanna get you home And ugh, double-up, ugh, ugh I ain't talkin' bout Playboy 'Cause silicone parts are made for toys I want 'em real thick and juicy So find that juicy double Mix-a-Lot's in trouble Beggin' for a piece of that bubble

So I'm lookin' at rock videos Watchin' these bimbos walkin' like hoes You can have them bimbos I'll keep my women like Flo Jo A word to the thick soul sistas, I wanna get with ya I won't cuss or hit ya But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna *fuck* Til the break of dawn Baby got it goin' on A lot of simps won't like this song 'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it And I'd rather stay and play 'Cause I'm long, and I'm strong And I'm down to get the friction on So, ladies! {Yeah!} Ladies! {Yeah} If you wanna role in my Mercedes {Yeah!} Then turn around! Stick it out! Even white boys got to shout Baby got back!

Baby got back! Yeah, baby ... when it comes to females, Cosmo ain't got nothin' to do with my selection. 36-24-36? Ha ha, only if she's 5'3".

[Sir Mix-a-Lot] So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin' workout tapes by Fonda But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda My anaconda don't want none Unless you've got buns, hon You can do side bends or sit-ups, But please don't lose that butt Some brothers wanna play that "hard" role And tell you that the butt ain't go So they toss it and leave it And I pull up quick to retrieve it So Cosmo says you're fat Well I ain't down with that! 'Cause your waste is small and your curves are kickin' And I'm thinkin' bout stickin' To the beanpole dames in the magazines: You ain't it, Miss Thing! Give me a sista, I can't resist her Red beans and rice didn't miss her Some knucklehead tried to dis 'Cause his girls are on my list He had game but he chose to hit 'em And I pull up quick to get wit 'em So ladies, if the butt is round, And you want a triple X throw down, Dial 1-900-MIXALOT And kick them nasty thoughts Baby got back!

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space--butterflies · 7 months

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Oh, so, is that absolute, or could you imagine Varian as tall?

Like, really, really tall? A head taller than his father?

Like, he's so small as a child but grows from little bean to big beanpole?

While I can see, and I do get the appeal, my personal headcanon of him being about Eugene's height, maybe a few inches taller even, wins out in the end.

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celinolesunshine · 2 years

Note

ITAMI PLEASE-

ITAMI HAS NOTHING OTHER THAN BEING A BROKE ASS DISGUSTING SLUG OF A FUCK-

..now that I've gotten that out of my system.

Itami has almost no development, but from what I have of old noted I can put on down here for backstory purposes.

Itami's a solid 6'0 beanpole of a motherfucker. He's got the classic unruly (slightly spiky, ykykykyk) short bad-boy hairdo, and it's FIRETRUCK RED. Kinda like Kirishima from MHA, but Itami's is natural because unrealistic fantasy fiction.

He often wears a lot of slightly punk or grunge-ish clothing, which would be considered way vintage from back to (like 2020s) out present era. This includes leather jackets, lots of silver chains, and for some odd reason, a lot of smoke grey and maroon colours. Not a wifebeater kinda guy. More like a slightly-too-big blank tee.

I'm thinking he's in cahoots with Dimitri's militia, which means he's exposed to a pretty violent lifestyle in general. He's completely orphaned, always has been, but lurks around the Timberwick grounds like he owns the place to intimidate the kids and spc out new recruits.

He doesn't actually attend the school, to make matters worse for him in regards to Yagira Motome, his VERY young ex-boyfriend. Itami is around seventeen when him and Yagira meet, who is 14 at the time. Not cool, man, not cool.

When Yagira and Itami end up meeting when somewhere down the line the heirs are all collectively introduced to Dimitri's militia likely via Xiomara, one of Desponia's castle guards through tournament speculations, Yagira throws hands. Being nearly three years older now, Itami doesn't see Yagira's raised fucking fist coming (Yagira was small baby bean back then. He's not anymore).

Despite all that he did wrong to Yagira, he does end up apologizing for his terrible, gross, de-flowering behavior. Yagira appreciates the gesture, but doesn't reciprocate. The two are still bitter with each other, but can at least be in the same room without having a spat.

Itami and Dimitri go way back, from Dimitri's father having rescued Itami from capture when he was a baby (supposedly, his parents were criminals. They died in prison together not two weeks later).

When Dimitri find out about what he did to Yagira, their relationship becomes.. strained. They work it out and Itami genuinely tries to make it up to Yagira, but Yagira prefers if the two keep their distance from each other.

..That's all I've got on Itami for now.. if anyone got notes I'll take ideas!!

#jay's just talkin #jay jay says things #Adventure Valley #AV: character breakdowns #shut it sunny #sunny answers #Itami *last names??*#Yagira Motome #Dimitri Valon #Xiomara Denzivere #Milo Langenheim #original characters #og story haha

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portraitoftheoddity · 2 years

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@haptronym ’s content makes me want all the DadMight hugs, but the height logistics are... challenging.

#dadmight #silly #doodles #bnha #small bean and beanpole

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introvert--weeb · 2 years

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Hello!! I’ve had a hard day and I was wondering if I could get some fluffy head cannons with Hanma, Wakasa and Draken. If you can’t that’s totally fine! Thank you in advance!

Of course!! I have decided to do a fluffy idea for the headcanons else my brain just malfunctions 😅😅 please also be aware this is how I see the characters and your opinion may differ from mine ♥️

Apologies for how long I've been away and I hope you are having better days because you deserve them all ♥️

What are their love languages

Characters: Draken, Hanma, Wakasa

TW: maybe some mentions of manga only details, short in length

Draken

Draken's love language is a mixture of quality time and acts of service.

This boy will happily give you one of his 'famous' massages if you ask him nicely, especially if you tell him you had a hard day. Anything to make you feel like the treasure you are!

Draken is willing to do anything you ask of him, within reason. You need a ride home at the end of the day? The Zephyr will be parked outside your destination. Needing some more supplies from the store? This boy is already on his way.

He finds that actions definitely speak louder than words and so he enjoys showing how much he cares through simple actions. Please appreciate that the words 'I love you' will be few and far between. However, if it bothers you, he will outwardly say them whenever you need to hear them.

Based of the fact he has photos of all his Toman memories hung on his wall, I feel Ken would be one that found quality time together important. Does it matter that Mikey sometimes tags along? Not really, as long as you are OK with it.

Dates can range from day outings to reading magazines together in his room. As long as he is alone with you in some way, it counts as a date.

Draken is one that would insist on photos if you are both out and about. He has photos of you with Toman, the two of you at the beach (one that Mitsuya had taken during a Toman outing), and candid photos of you that he simply adored. Welcome to the wall of his cherished people, darling!

Hanma

Hanma's love language is physical touch.

This tall bean is clingy and is not apposed to draping himself over your body, no matter how much shorter you may be than him. If you are taller than the beanpole, he will still lean against you in some way.

Wakasa

When you two are together in public, expect your hand to be in his for the majority of time, or his arm to be slung over your shoulders. Hell, he is not even against using you as an armrest just so that he is touching you in some way.

While hanging out in either yours or his room, the affection is more sweet or heated depending on the mood. Kisses and cuddling are a must with Hanma. He enjoys it when you are curled into his side with his arm loosely around you.

Most of this boy's affection is teasing in nature. Quick kiss to your neck while you are mid-conversation with someone else; tapping your bum as he walks past you (only if you are comfortable with this) before sending a wink your way. Any way which leaves you flustered and shy.

Wakasa's love languages are gift giving and physical touch.

Wakasa is known to spoil you with small tokens of his love for you. Being an adult with a job sure did have its benefits in his mind.

These gifts can be anything. Your favourite drink or snack while hanging out to jewelry that reminds him of you in some way. More expensive gifts tend to be left until special occasions, but he has no qualms in getting you something almost every week.

His favourite thing to gift you with happens to be small plushies that he wins while hanging out in the arcade with the other Black Dragon members. In fact, he looks forward to these trips for partially this reason. (Yes, I headcanons that the OG BD guys go to the arcade every month or so)

Wakasa is not big on PDA but will always have a casual hand on you. Placing his hand on your back as you walk through Tokyo, or his arm loosely around your waist. Kisses and cuddles are left for the privacy of your home.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #fluffy headcanons #draken #ken ryuuguji #ken ryuguji #hanma shuji #shuji hanma #hanma #wakasa imaushi #imaushi wakasa #wakasa #requested #anime drabble #laura writes for tokyo revengers

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anntidote · 4 years

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tsukki tricked me at 9:00 today >:)

back to:

trick or treat event || ann’s playground

9. “fuck you!” “how hard?”

all you wanted to do was help. but tsukishima kei couldn’t get that through his thick ass skull.

actually, no. it’s not that he couldn’t get it. he just refused to because he’s an asshole.

despite all your comrades’ warnings and early signs, you’d disregarded each and every heads up with a wave. you fell in love with tsukki a long time ago. cold attitude, back handed compliments, and the dumb things you both would disagree about— you just enjoyed spending time with him, even if he didn’t display the same affection.

“tsukki! don’t you feel bad for yamaguchi?” your attempt at reprimanding the beanpole, leaning against the emptying classroom wall as he collected his belongings, simply staring.

time had done great work on third year tsukishima, blessing him with even more height, broader shoulders, and the sharpness of his jaw. the karasuno military uniform did no favors in trying to hide what he was blessed with. and he honestly had no business being that fucking handsome.

the usual scowl plastered on his face cracked with annoyance. “i don’t care, i’m going to go home.” orange beans of sunlight came through the window as class had ended. in a rush, the teacher didn’t even bother to get in between your arguement and left the two of you in the room to your own devices.

“it wasn’t even his fault, and you’re ditching practice to avoid saying sorry?” puffing our your cheeks at his stubborn attitude. “you’re being a coward!”

“shut up.” he muttered, attempting to leave, but you blocked the door. “move.” he commanded.

“tsukki~ cm’on, you’ve got to be more cooperative on this—“ you tried.

“i’m not going to listen to a loser who can’t even answer attendance without stuttering.” he chastised.

you scrunched your nose up. “very funny.”

“it’s not even your business.” the coldness in his tone cracking your heart a bit, looking away from how hopeful your gaze was. “so butt out.”

biting the inside of your cheek and clenching a fist, “i’m just trying to help, kei! you said you wanted to go to nationals—“

“shut up!”

“fuck you!”

“how hard!?”

“you—what? mmppff—!!“ you gasped into the messy kiss, before reciprocating, teeth and tongue sloppily clashing, as both of your hands began manhandling each other.

one crumpling the shoulder of his dress shirt, the other tugging the hair at the base of his neck, you moaned into the kiss, attempting to bring him even closer. to make him understand how frustrated you were.

hands traveling around your figure, chest to ass, the arch of your back and waist, he pulled away, turning you around and having you against the cold metal of the door.

maybe you guys should fight more often.

if it meant your cheek pressed up against the surface of the classroom door, spine arched as tsukishima’s grip on your hips kept up this brutal pace, his sex slapping your slit and reaching depths you couldn’t even fathom— maybe you could take all his rebuttals.

“got more to say, smart ass?” he chastised. you opened your mouth to snap back, but with a certain punctuated thrust, all your remaining thoughts evaporated into thin air, as you bit your fist to remain quiet. he let out a chuckle, basking in the sweltering heat of your tight, sopping cunny.

it was almost a silent understanding as both of you toppled over the edge, streaks of light clouding your vision, and rapid pants of breath exchanged with the obscene gush of mixed releases that spilled from your cunt, and began traveling down your thigh.

you looked back at tsukishima with such wide, innocent looking eyes that shook him to his core.

he wondered whether or not you felt embarrassed, as you were still bent over, hands against the door as your head was turned toward him. ass still up in the air, skirt flipped onto your back, panties hanging from your spread knees, and sticky sweet cum still leaking out of your pretty hole. “k-kei?” your hoarse voice, clearly fucked out, called out.

his heart was caught in his throat when looking back at your face, flushed cheeks and the red his ears burned betrayed him, pushing up his glasses.

“i’m sorry.” his apology rung out loud in contrast to the small tone he used.

but it didn’t matter, as the beaming smile you shot back at him made his heart stutter, as he knew he was forgiven.

you let out a giggle, missing the way tsukki’s eyes widened as he caught your cunt clench in excitement, a bit more white seeping out of you.

his eyes shot anywhere else, making you raise an eyebrow.

blowing a raspberry and finally pulling up your ruined underwear, you began to tease him.

“y’know, for a guy who rearranged my guts, you’re kinda shy.”

“shut up.”

a/n: this was really self indulgent. i love tsukki sm. i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did, as it writing this at 4am, hah.

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highlifeboat · 2 years

Note

Donna: Hey, Liza, do you think i'm weird?

Elizabeta: Nooo, You're perfect little bean.

Donna:

Angie: Wow...

Angie: You know, just because you're a fucking beanpol, doesn't mean everyone is small >:[

Elizabeta, internally: Oh shit, oh fuck, you offended her. Say something else!

Elizabeta, pointing at Angie: Baby bean.

Elizabeta, internally: NO-

Elizabeta: Small little baby bean--

#angie's gonna be taking kneecaps #asks #anons

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ask-the-riders · 2 years

Text

Some stuff that I feel like they might consider calling each other:

There's a lot here, so ima put it under a cut XP

Retribution @ Death: boss/sir (both sarcastically), idiot

Famine @ Death: chief, D

War @ Death: old man, D, dad (usually sarcastic or playful), sir (also usually sarcastic or playful)

Pestilence @ Death: coffee bean, death by starbucks, starbucks, hipster death, boomer

Abrael @ Death: grave digger, grim, poker face, hashtag, scrooge

Retribution @ Famine: big oaf, honey badger, daddy long legs, mi hombre hermoso (my handsome man), mi amor (my love), mi alma (my soul), cowboy, papi (no I will not be offering any context for these)

Death @ Famine: peanut gallery, hannibal lector

War @ Famine: big guy, hercules, hightower, weirdo, oddball, beanpole

Pestilence @ Famine: big guy, chuckles, snickers, amigo, lurch, lankenstein

Abrael @ Famine: smiley, terminator, chef, kitchen, roadblock, tank

Retribution @ Pestilence: rat bastard, damn rat, dumpster diver, garbage disposal, green heathen, parasite 1

Death @ Pestilence: garbage boy stink man, lord of the rats, rat lord, memelord

Famine @ Pestilence: doc, professor, brainiac, Einstein, genius, dr. strange, walking infection

War @ Pestilence: rat bastard, rat man, mister, idiot, dummy, perv/pervert, gremlin, nerd, morning glory, mister man, super soaker, loverboy, flash, gremlin 1 (again, I'm not gonna offer any context for some of these 👀)

Abrael @ Pestilence: bugger, minion, joker, bilge rat, his grossness

Famine @ War: squirt, little lady, fun sized, vertically challenged, munchkin, half pint, little buddy

Death @ War: angry bird, mamba, dynamite, spider girl

Retribution @ War: glitchy idiot, idiot, loudmouth, temper tantrum

Pestilence @ War: babe, beautiful, sweetheart, sweetness, lady love, hot chocolate, dynamite gal, cutie, hot stuff, gorgeous (basically every pet name that couples use)

Abrael @ War: glitchy, screaming dwarf, tnt, scarface, snapper, matchstick, wench

Death @ Retribution: rogue, bigshot, slayer, little prince, supreme dark overlord of negative commerce

Famine @ Retribution: firefly, shortcake, moonbeam, starshine, itsy bitsy, moonlight

War @ Retribution: boss, bookworm, sir

Pestilence @ Retribution: edgelord, emotionally constipated weenie, weenie hut jr, hot topic, apple boy, cradle robber

Abrael @ Retribution: smalls, time bomb, tough guy, dracula, incredible sulk, thuglife, princock, royal hiney

Connie @ Retribution: brother

Literally everyone @ Connie: sunflower, sunshine, sunbeam

Retribution @ Connie: sister

Abrael @ Connie: angel, treasure, goldie, goody goody, looker, treasure trove, aphrodite, ducky, lass

Famine @ Connie: oracle, fortune teller

War @ Connie: mom (usually either sarcastic or playful)

Pestilence @ Connie: golden girl

Death @ Abrael: diva, chatterbox, comedy central, shark bait, lookout, sailor

Retribution @ Abrael: fucking drunk, amateur, pirate, parasite 2

Famine @ Abrael: peewee, tequila, pipsqueak, little shit, captain morgan, jack daniels

War @ Abrael: shit for brains, loser, weirdo, idiot, gremlin 2

Pestilence @ Abrael: missy, tipsy, cap, houdini, suck up, captain morgan, jack daniels (he stole the ideas from Famine, and probably also refers to Abrael as different alcohol types/brands)

Connie @ Abrael: abby, captain/cap'n, dubloon, sparrow, sailor (She usually just calls everyone by name)

BONUS

Death @ Othni: the demon

Retribution @ Othni: bitch, cat boy bitch, asshole, roach/cockroach, idiot, bastard

Famine @ Othni: the demon (can't be bothered to remember his name)

War @ Othni: shithead, bitch, idiot, stupid, creep, stalker, moron, bastard, jerk, jackass, freak

Pestilence @ Othni: the demon, hole in one, puss (in boots)

Abrael @ Othni: the demon, the horror show

Connie @ Othni: the demon, Othni

---

Some of these might sound kinda mean/harsh, but sometimes it kinda depends on the context of the situation. For example, if War called Abrael "shit for brains" when they were being aggravating (in a bad way), that'd be mean. If she called them that when they're simply joking around and being a dork, and she kept her tone of voice light, then it'd be more playful instead

#info #rambles #death.exe #famine.exe #pestilence.exe #war.exe #retribution.exe #conquest.exe #mishap.exe #othni.exe #four horsemen of the apocalypse #riders of the apocalypse #undertale #undertale au

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edencallsme · 3 years

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hi i recently came across your corpse walker au and it just SPEAKS TO ME!!! PLEASE THE ANGST AND THE MEMES AT THE SAME TIME?? SIGN ME UP!! omg now i think about it,,if yuusha participates in the happy beans day event their team would technically win because yuusha could just take a body part off and YEET it towards the harp thingie

Haha, yes, join in with the angst and memes. In this place, we love to see Yuusha both suffer and thrive. :)

Unfortunately, I haven't seen/read the Happy Beans Day event, so I can't write much for it. Sorry, all I know is that they fought each other with giant pea shooters maidnipnsoincipndpinidnind--

In theory, Yuusha would be very good at sneaking around and ambushing people! They're very quiet and very difficult to shoot at because of their small figure and speed. (Finally, an actual advantage to their shortness.)

Too bad that Yuusha is literally skinny as a beanpole and has shitty stamina, but let's pretend to ignore that for the sake of this ask. :)

Not to mention, if you apply the whole semi-omnipotent body detachment thing, Yuusha will be ten times more deadly. They're already hard enough to deal with, now Cater has to deal with their creepy crawly hands?!

Needless to day, Azul was very happy with Yuusha's quick and efficient performance in battle.

#CorpseWalker AU #yuusha mortem #azur talks #azur answers #local ginger eboy complains about how its not fair that octopus man has an undead assassin on his team #yuusha being in the happy beans day event would be like a survival horror game #your objective? SURVIVE

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mybrothershands · 3 years

Text

MBH/Dumpling Crossover

featuring @diddlesanddoodles lovely characters and edited by @thundering-sussurus

"No," Cairo said blatantly before Ka had a chance.

Farris eyed Cairo with a deadpan expression.

“Luckily, we ain’t so desperate a condition as to be needin’ yer services,” Farris replied, but there was a single vein along his temple that pulsed in repressed irritation. His eyes moved back up to Ka and he asked, “Ye always let that one talk fer ye?”

The man clamped his hand over Cairo's mouth. A lump had formed in Ka's throat, and he swallowed. "Ah... I, that is." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Something about the man made him anxious, and he could not help but shuffle in place a bit. "No, I thank you very much for... for letting me work."

He glanced over at the men working the enormous pumpkins. It was so odd to see so many halfling giants in one place. They were a far cry from being human, and yet their weathered hands seemed small and delicate as they worked. Somehow they had cultivated larger foodstuffs, and Ka found himself a bit jealous. They did not look as lumbering or stupid as he must. There were so few foods that were to-scale for his kind, and yet these people seemed to have every luxury and more, even if some of the animals were a bit... unorthodox.

He quickly looked away, realizing he must have been staring. Ka's eyes moved to Nenani, still sitting comfortably in Farris's arm. It was then he realized this must be the man who watched her while she was sick. The giant cocked his head ever so slightly. Maybe there was more to this man.

Ka picked his head up, meeting the little giant's eyes for the first time. They were a piercing pale green, and he felt as if they might bore right through him. He cleared his throat, trying not to look away. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime? Anything at all. Decorations hung, moving tables..." he cringed before offering the next suggestion, thinking of what he might be asked to do to those poor birds, "...unloading the wagon?"

Farris did not miss the heavy reluctance in his voice.

“I know a tenderfoot when I see one. So stop lookin’ like a panicked scullery maid,” Farris admonished.

Scullery maid? Still, Ka nodded at the instructions, more than happy to listen in silence. "Yessir, thank you," he said when Farris was done, then eyed Avery. He was not sure how he felt about being called a beanpole, but, in any case, he seemed to have gotten over his shock well enough. Past that, he did not seem as hard as Farris. None of them did.

Cairo, however, was getting testy at constantly having his mouth shut by giant fingers. "You're gonna suffocate me," the human grumbled when he was finally free. His companion ignored him and listened for instructions.

“Avery and Bart will handle the birds. Yer with Saen on pumpkin duty. They need broken down, cut up, and fried so my bakers can get them into the pies and into the ovens for luncheon service.” He turned around to call out towards the black-haired cook sitting among the piles of pumpkins. “Avery. Come and start in on these birds. I want the first batches roastin’ within the hour.”

Avery stood, looking utterly relieved to be taken off pumpkin duty, and marched towards them. His step faltered, however, as he got his first real look at Ka. But he squared his shoulders and continued towards the cart, trying to play off his momentary hesitation.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, glancing him up and down as he fished two of the birds from the back of the cart. He held one under each of his burly arms. “Who’s the bean pole?”

“Ka’s helpin’ out today,” Farris replied dismissively. “Now shut yer gob and get to it. The spice mixture is in the green jar on the counter. Should be enough fer all of ‘em, so don’t be too heavy handed.” He turned towards Ka and jerked his head in a clear indication for him to follow. “We move fast down here, understand? Ye have a question? Ask it. And I ain’t no babysitter either. Only child down here is the lil’un.”

Farris led him over to the fire pit. A table had been placed nearby, and on it sat a few knives, a long handled wooden spoon, and two large crocks: one of butter and the other of honey. Farris eyed the knives and then said, “I’ll get a more size appropriate knife fer ye. In the meantime, sit down and Yale will be back with yer breakfast.”

"Thank you," Ka said as he approached the pit. He nodded politely to the one called Saen and noticed how the little giant's hair stuck up in the front. At first glance, he looked a bit puckish, though that was yet to be determined. Ka found and palmed the pumpkin Avery had left behind. There was a patch of the orange skin the skin already shaved off, he noted. Taking a moment to study it, Ka sat down near the table and took one of the small knives, despite Farris's offer.

After a few attempts to work with the little knife that felt like a kid's toy in his hand, he seemed to remember something. "Oh, I actually have... my own." He pulled on the strap of his satchel, then flipped the top open, producing a six-foot blade that was definitely not a kitchen knife. It was blunted and had several nicks in it, however, apparently unloved. He reached out, arm easily closing the distance, and held it into the flames for a moment to burn off any filth.

"I am Ka, by the way," he said, eyeing the man who looked about his age. "He told me your name, but... I'm afraid I've already forgotten."

Putting down his own knife, Saen extended a welcoming hand to Ka.

“I’m Saen,” replied the cook with a wide friendly smile. Ka at first reached out with his left hand to shake, but then realized his error and switched the pumpkin to his other hand and shook with his right. It did not feel too small, as he thought it might have. It was more like shaking a boy's hand, though calloused and firm.

"Saen," he repeated.

“And don’t mind Avery none," Sean continued. "He’s got all the tact of a mule and as much sense as a rusted penny.”

“I heard that!” Avery called as he came back up the steps from having delivered the first two birds to Bart.

“Maybe ye were meant to!” Saen retorted with a cheeky grin. Avery threw up a rude gesture as he went to the cart to collect two more birds. Saen just laughed and said, “Ye should be grateful this one came to rescue from prep work. Yer right shit at peeling.”

Yale appeared then at the top of the steps with the two meat pies, bundled up in a clean tea towel. He stopped to talk to Farris for a moment before continuing on towards Ka and Saen.

Nenani pulled at the kitchen master’s shirt to ask a question. “Fine. Just keep outta the way now and don’t be a pest, eh?” Farris warned before crouching down and releasing Nenani onto the ground.

“I won’t,” she promised and scampered along after Yale. Farris eyed the courtyard and the workers within before turning and taking the steps down into the kitchen.

Careful not to touch the still-hot blade, Ka made quick work of the gourd, peeling the skin away in long, thin ribbons. Both Yale and Saen watched with no small amount of awe at how Ka made such fast work of the gourd. With a wide grin, Saen turned to Yale. “Can we keep him?”

The pumpkin fit like a large potato in his hand, so the task really was not that difficult for him. Still, he bit back a smile and pretended to be too focused on his work to notice. Then two sets of feet approached, one big and one small, and he picked up his head. "Hello again," he greeted Yale. Finding Nenani on the ground, he thought it might be safe to release Cairo and set the pumpkin on the table. He double-tapped his chest as a warning before fishing the man out of his pocket.

Cairo grumbled a bit, but stretched as soon as his feet were on the grass. "Stiff as a board," he groaned, then reached his hand in his britches and scratched his rear.

Meanwhile, Nenani walked up to Cairo but stopped a few feet short. She bounced on her heels, a little bashful and said, “Hello.”

The man frowned, eyeing her with a squint. He looked the girl up and down, then squinted further. He turned his head and spit on the ground. "Can I help you?" he growled.

There weren’t many humans in the castle, and Nenani had wanted to ask the man questions about his life with Ka. But any questions she had died on her tongue as she stared down at the floor where Cairo had spit. She made a face and, looking back up, met his gaze with a disapproving frown. “That’s gross.”

He raised a brow. "So it is," Cairo said, a bit bored. He jerked his thumb back towards the kitchen where Farris had disappeared. "That one there, little man, he take care of you?"

She nodded. “Yeah. Everyone in the kitchen kind of does, but Farris is my actual guardian. See?” She reached into the top of her dress to pull out her marker. It was nothing but a simple leather strap with a struck metal medallion, and she held it up to him, showing off the side with Farris’s seal.

Cairo furrowed his brow and gave a simple grunt. "Collared you, then," he said. Still, it was rare he met one who did not fear the giants. Even Ka she had been kind to. Crossing his arms, he studied the piece, but did not move to touch. "Why?"

“It’s not a collar,” Nenani insisted with a mild glare. “It’s supposed to let everyone know I’m allowed to be here and to leave me alone. Because if you don’t have a marker, you might be trespassing. And not everyone here likes humans and might try to hurt you.”

The man regarded her for a moment. That did not bode well for him; then again, he had not planned to leave Ka's side, either. He thought for a moment longer, then spoke slowly. "We don't have anything like that," Cairo began, "but Ka does have a pocket that lets the regular folk know he's safe."

He had detested the idea of the marker at first, but on second thought, it might be quite nice to silently say that one was protected by a giant. A bit of a trophy in his mind. He then looked back and realized something else. "With protection comes..." He paused, trying to think of the correct word, and then realized what a stupid thought he had had. "I don't think it would be proper for me to wear one. It's my job to keep him safe, not the other way around."

She regarded him with confusion at first, looking back towards Ka and all his towering height and substantial bulk and then back at the much smaller Cairo. She smiled knowingly. “That’s what Jae says about Barnaby and Maevis. That Barnaby is more Maevis’s guardian than he is his.” She tucked her marker back inside her dress. “But don’t be worried about not having a marker of your own. Farris’s permission is good enough. No one will bother you while you’re here in the kitchens. I’ve only had one giant try and hurt me since I came here. I threw a pepperseed in his eye.”

Cairo raised his brow. "Good girl," he lauded. "And what did little man do when he found out?"

“Bart told Keral first,” she replied.

“What’s this about Keral?” Yale asked, having heard only the tail end of their conversation. He had moved to the fire pit and the large flat pan that had been placed atop a thin metal rack of sorts to hold it above the fire.

“I was telling him about Thrist trying to eat me that one time,” Nenani answered matter of factly.

Yale growled darkly at that. “Yeah, that swine-faced fucker ain’t gonna be tryin’ that again. He’s lucky Farris wasn’t around or he’d have had his arse fer curtains, and Keral would be down a scout.”

Cairo made an awkward snort before wiping his nose on his shirt. Eat her? What kind of hellish nightmare was this place?

"Do I put the pieces in there?" Ka asked, indicating the pan. He had finished skinning the pumpkin and rolled up his sleeves before uncorking the gourd. In truth, he had heard the conversation as well, but he was already squeamish at the idea and did not think he wanted to hear the rest of the tale.

"Down a scout?" Cairo asked, oblivious to Ka's discomfort. "You mean he ain't dead?"

“Aye, but first slice ‘em thin-like. They’ll cook faster that way,” Saen told Ka. He looked to Yale. “Lil’ man has a point though. Never did figure out how Keral managed to keep Thrist’s neck out of a noose.”

Yale shrugged, lips pinched into a frown. “I suppose bein’ the king’s favorite has it’s perks. So long he keeps him far away from the lass, I’m content with whatever hell trek Keral sent him on.”

Saen turned to Cairo. “Ye see, Thrist is a blue coat ranger. Ye might ‘a spotted one or two of ‘em here and abouts, but mostly they’re out in the provinces and the wilds, keepin’ an eye on things and reportin’ back to Keral who then reports to the King. He’s the captain of the Blue Rangers. Back when the Blood King was still alive, they were a bunch of murdering thugs. But since Keral took over, he’s been tryin’ to bring the order back to its original purpose.”

“He’s also Farris’s brother,” Nenani added.

"Brother," Ka muttered under his breath. There was a wafer-thin sneer on his face that faded as he shook his head. He hollowed out the pumpkin with a finger, holding the orange guts in his palm for a moment before holding them out. "You keep the seeds?" he spoke up in a kinder tone.

"And Farris would have wrent him limb from limb," Cairo said slowly, watching Yale's face as he said it.

“I’m sure he has his reasons, but I can’t say I wouldn’t have paid good coin to see that,” Yale replied. He sighed in resignation. “But Keral isn’t a bad sort, even if his men are pieces of walking rubbish. Probably the most cheerful man in the whole castle. Until ye make him mad and then he looks a lot more like Farris.”

“And his whiskey is top shelf. Got a bottle of it fer my nameday a few years back. But careful," Saen added. He gave Cairo a wink. "It’s got one hell of a kick.”

Ka adjusted his seat, still unsure what to do with the pumpkin guts in his hand. Finding no better place to put them, he tossed the glob into the fire and went to slicing up the pumpkin on the table.

Meanwhile, Cairo put a hand to his heart. "What! You take me for a drunkard? No, no, no no no," he waved both hands before himself. "Lost my uncle to the devil juice," he declared.

“Apologies,” Saen replied, shamefaced, and he raised his hands to placate the human. “Meant no offense. Sorry fer yer loss there, lad.”

Ka promptly knocked the man over with a knuckle. "Dirty liar."

"Hey!" he spat, brushing the dirt from his person as he got up.

The giant turned to meet Sean's eyes. "He likes mead. Had to carry him home half the time-- hey! Don't kick me! Old fart."

"You didn't let me finish," the human growled, glaring up at him. "I had him right where I wanted, too."

"Saen is nice, you shouldn't do that to him," Ka said plainly. This earned him another kick in the shin.

Saen recovered from his surprise quickly, looking to Yale with a haughty grin. “Ye hear that, Yale? I’m nice.”

Yale had grabbed up some of the sliced pumpkins and tossed them onto the pan with a knob of butter, and they began to sizzle. He waved the wooden spoon at his fellow and retorted, “Only ‘cause he’s never seen ye lose at the pebble toss. Or yer tantrum afterwards.”

“Ah, I don’t lose that often,” Saen replied, suddenly defensive.

“Well, the three shillings I won off ye last month say otherwise,” Yale replied as he turned his attention back to the frying pumpkin. He abruptly turned back to Saen as a memory suddenly resurfaced. “And then there was the time ye bit Kol.

“Oi. He stole my sausage,” Saen replied with a frown. “Fair punishment fer the crime.”

“Well, I think you’re nice,” Nenani said and Saen turned to smile at her.

“Why thank you,” he said.

“Even if you bite people,” she added with a grin.

Saen’s smile drooped and he held his arms out in exasperation. “It was one time, and I was drunk off my arse!”

Had Ka been wrong? Maybe his first impression had been right. They were not being rude, at least not to him, but it reminded him how little he knew. He was just an outsider, after all, so decided to keep his mouth shut for a little while. Since Yale had deemed his sliced pumpkin worthy of the frying pan, he regarded the small pile of gourds and wondered just how many pies they planned on making. He shrugged, taking another pumpkin and tossed end over end a up a couple times before setting to peeling again.

Cairo, however, had no such convictions. "You," he said, hammering a finger at Saen, "I like you." He crossed the lawn towards him, much to Ka's dismay. "So what's this about the king's whiskey," he paused, recollecting, "and what the ripe devil is a nameday, for that matter?"

Saen began slicing up more pumpkins but paused at Cairo’s question, regarding the human with a look of horror.

“Ye mean ye don’t have namedays where yer from?” Saen asked. “To celebrate ye bein’ a year older?”

The human squinted up at him. "It's a birth-day, you fool. Because it was the day you were...?" He shrugged. "Unless you hatched from an egg. I suppose you do look a bit like a lizard, then."

Saen slid his knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and paused, staring off into space as he realized the silly mistake he had made. “Oh. Birthdays...huh. Yeah, those.”

Off to the side, Nenani laughed. Saen sent a brief glare her way, but it left soon as it came and he moved on. “As fer the whiskey, it’s ain’t the king’s. Keral’s a bit famous fer his whiskey round here. He doles it out to those he deems worthy of it every once in a while. Farris may still have a bottle. Ask ‘im nice like and he may give ye a nip.”

“Best wait till end of day though,” Yale advised in good humor. “We ain’t bluffin’ about it havin’ a right kick. And we don’t need ya wanderin’ ‘round only fer ye to lose yer footin’ and fall arse end into the fire.”

Saen snickered. “Yeah, just ask Jae."

"Mmh," Cairo grumbled, waving his hand. "Never been one to ask nicely myself." He knocked twice on Saen's shin.

At the motion, Ka watched the man with round eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. Still, Cairo did not seem to care, and repeated the motion.

Saen looked down curiously and titled his head. “May I be of assistance?”

By now, Ka was visibly shaking his head, openly nervous. The human either did not notice or simply ignored him. "Up, I said," Cairo laughed. He eyed the orange stains on his hand. "Wipe your grubby hands off first, mind you. I don't want to smell like rotten fruit in an hour."

“Oh. Alright then,” said the cook, pleasantly surprised. He sat his knife down and roughly wiped his hands onto his apron before bending down. There was a moment’s hesitation as Saen tried to think of the best way of picking the man up. Unlike Nenani, Cairo was an adult and therefore taller and with considerably more heft to him. In the end, he used the same technique he employed with the little girl, which was to shove his hands under the human’s arms and lift him up. Perhaps it was simply that he was more accustomed to the weight of a small human child, but Saen was a little taken aback by just how much heavier Cairo was. Though really he shouldn’t have been. He did his best to not let it show on his face as he lifted the man onto a clean spot on the table.

Cairo winced a bit as the giant pinched the old wound in his ribs. Once set down, he let out a puff of air and brushed himself off. "Boy you got little girly hands, don't you?"

"Cairo..." Ka warned, though this time did not bother to look up. His stomach rumbled again, and it was then he remembered the pies Yale had brought. He hurried to finish skinning the pumpkin.

Saen tucked his hands under his armpits and pouted. “...don’t have girly hands...”

From the fire pit, Yale started to laugh.

The human took a bow. "My apologies, Princess. Would you like me to kiss your ring?"

With a sudden devilish smirk, Saen grabbed a piece of sliced pumpkin and pushed his ring finger through it and then shoved it in Cairo’s face. “Go on then.”

Yale turned to Ka. “Sorry about that one. I’d say he’s normally not like this...but I’d be lying.”

The big man shrugged. "Don't apologise to me yet. Mine may do worse," he said as he chopped up the pumpkin on the table. Just as he said it, Cairo pricked up as though offended.

"What!" he growled, scrunching up his face at the slimy vegetable.

The human's mood seemed to change then, and he put on a mask of haughtiness. "Your grace, I was only jesting! I wouldn't dare touch thine ring. Tis too great an honor for a lowlife such as myself... but if you insist--" He then took not the ring finger, but Saen's middle finger, and bowed before it. Cairo then proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick the knuckle.

“Oi now!” Saen snapped loudly, pulling back his hand in disgust, but the force of the movement caused his pumpkin ring to fly off of his hand and up into the air. And when it came back down again, it landed on top of Ka’s head.

The little man roared with laughter, while his giant friend was left with a sticky bit of pumpkin in his hair. Ka sat there a moment, eyes distant and unmoving. At last he drew a deep breath, let it out slow, and deadpanned, "Your highness, I think you have lost your ring."

Nenani covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle, looking back and forth between them. Saen drew a breath to make a retort when a bellow sounded from the archway.

“I’M HEARIN’ A LOT ‘A TALKIN’ AND NOT A LOT ‘A WORKIN!”

Both Saen and Yale, more than accustomed to Farris’s hollering, turned their focus to their work. Nenani, still growing use to the sheer volume her guardian voice could achieve, was startled badly and jumped.

Ka gasped and hunched his shoulders at the sound. "Sorry!" he squeaked, though he knew the man could not hear him. He took the pumpkin from his head and pitched it into the fire. It had been a fairly solid piece, but his hair was still sticky in places from the stuff. Cairo, he noticed, had not budged other than to turn in the direction of the voice and square his shoulders as if to fight.

The giant then caught sight of Nenani still pulling herself together. "Are you okay, little one?" Ka murmured.

She blinked up at him and then nodded with a small sheepish smile. “Yeah. I’m still getting used to how loud Farris gets sometimes.”

“Bit of a wonder we ain’t all deaf,” Yale murmured to Ka with a suppressed grin.

“Do you ever yell like that?” Nenani asked Ka. The question came more from a curiosity about Ka’s height. Farris was one of the taller giants she had met and Ka towered over him. If Ka were to get as angry, she wondered if he was that loud.

Ka glanced from Nenani to Yale and then back again. He shook his head as he reached for one of the pies. He hesitated, remembering Farris's call, and chose to grab another pumpkin instead. "I haven't raised my voice since I was a boy," he admitted. "People get nervous when I use my normal voice, so I try to be quiet."

"Y'ain't that bad," Cairo growled.

Yale gave Ka a strange look. “Nervous? Why would they be nervous? I agree with yer brother. That’s plain stupid. What’s other people’s business if yer voice is a tad loud?” Yale gave Ka an appraising look. “Fer as tall as ye are, ye don’t seem to care fer the attention.”

“I always thought it would be really inconvenient to be really tall,” Nenani mused. She had found a small rock on the ground and had picked it up and was idly passing it between her hands.

Saen laughed and replied, “We could say the same fer ya small folk being so short. Ye get winded just climbin’ the damn stairs.”

Ka shrugged at Yale's question, but found the words strengthened him a bit. Even if the man was a giant in his own respect, it felt good to hear some encouragement on the subject. "You are... much more confident than I," he decided.

The giant shook his head as he peeled. His voice got quiet and apprehensive. "I've scared people before. Humans, mostly. I don't like it." He forced a laugh. "Maybe I worry too much."

Cairo picked his teeth. Upon finding something, he pulled it out on his fingernail, then stuck it back in his mouth. "Sure do," he grumbled. He turned to Sean and curled his lip. "I don't have to climb your stairs, midgey boy."

Saen grinned and poked the human’s middle. “Maybe ye should start,” he quipped.

Near the pit, Yale was considering Ka with a little more of a critical eye. He took the sight of him in and his words and pieced more of the puzzle together. He understood easily the apprehension that came with interacting with humans, though he and the rest of the staff and Farris all made jokes and snarky remarks about popping them into stews and pies. It was all a balm against the festering wounds left behind by the war. It was easy to joke to and make light of it all. It was their morbid way to reconcile with the very real evils they had done. That Farris had done for them. To save them. But Yale held himself just as responsible as Farris. No matter what the kitchen master told him. He too remembered those faces...

He looked to Nenani then, who was watching them with an open curiosity. Innocent. She knew only bits and pieces, and even then, he wasn’t sure she knew anything of the whole truth. If she did, she never let on.

He took the slices of cooked pumpkin and dropped them into a shallow earthenware dish. Staring at the other slices still sizzling along the hot metal pan, he spoke to Ka.

“Didn’t use to be. Confident I mean,” Yale admitted to him. “When I was younger. Durin’ the war and all. Scared a lot of humans in my life. And I'm talkin' real terror. Wasn’t my choice to do it, but I did.”

Ka was silent for a moment, trying to think over Cairo's angry exchange with Saen. The humans here had been foolish enough to wage war with the giants? Behind that, what had they done to deserve their wrath? He shook his head and decided to ignore it. "I... haven't had to kill anyone, fortunately. There was that one, erm, accident with a dragon rider, but..." Ka shrugged as he rolled the pumpkin over in his palm, unsure how to finish his sentence.

He then glanced over to where Nenani stood and recalled how protective Yale had been of her. If so much had happened to him, how had he recovered so well? He himself had been a mess the time he had hurt Cairo. Then again... "I suppose there are bad humans just as there are bad giants," he finished.

Yale nodded with grim understanding at Ka’s words. There was no need for him to say anything else as his meaning was plain as well as his regret. It only served to confirm in Yale’s mind the kind of man he was and it brought forth a feeling of smug contentment. He wasn’t always as good a judge of character as Farris, but he wasn’t bad either. He felt pride in knowing his initial assessment of Ka had been right.

#crossover with doobdles

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