#Fabric Inspection Coding

[fannedandflawless]

The Uniform Was Armour

An attire analysis of Severus Snape, as portrayed by Alan Rickman

What does it mean to wear forty buttons every day? To choose black not for fashion, but for function? To wrap yourself in discipline and precision while others wear colour and comfort?

I’ve been studying Severus Snape’s wardrobe across every film—and what began as curiosity quickly turned into full analytical obsession. Because beneath that iconic silhouette is an entire philosophy stitched in wool, linen, and silence.

Let’s talk about it.

👔 The Buttons, Layers, and Surprising Realism of Snape’s Wardrobe

Yes, I’ve zoomed in. Repeatedly. Across every film, from Philosopher’s Stone to Deathly Hallows, I’ve counted his buttons—frame by frame, button by button, layer by layer. Let’s just say—I’ve become very familiar with this frock coat’s construction.

And darling, here’s the breakdown:

3 unbuttoned at the collar

9 buttoned down the front

10 per sleeve

4 per leg

🧮 Total: 40 buttons.

Forty. Let that settle in your bones.

On set, most were decorative—Alan Rickman wasn’t fastening all forty by hand. Hidden zippers, snap closures—clever costume design. (This is based on standard film costuming practices—where elaborate garments are often modified for ease of dressing with hidden closures. No official quote confirms this for Snape's outfit specifically, but it aligns with how similar costumes are constructed.) But in-universe? If the real Severus Snape wore this...

It’s safe to assume he used a spell. Realistically, no one’s spending fifteen minutes every morning fastening forty buttons—not even Severus Snape. He had essays to mark, potions to brew, and a corridor presence to maintain.

And oh, that presence.

—

🧥 The Full Layer Breakdown (Based on Alan Rickman’s Film Costume and Button-by-Button Image Zooming)

1. White high-collared shirt – stiff, sharp, and always buttoned to the throat. Clean. Severe. Scholar-coded.

+ Black cravat or neckcloth – visible in several key scenes (notably when inspecting the cursed necklace and seated with the Dark Lord). Likely silk or satin. It adds formality and structure, anchoring the layers while communicating a quiet, old-world elegance.

2. Inner black buttoned layer – possibly a waistcoat or inset panel. Tailored close. Minimal.

3. Frock coat – double-breasted with 14 visible buttons. Structured. Commanding. The real statement piece.

4. Long open-front robe – that iconic swirl. When he enters a room, it follows like a shadow.

5. Straight black trousers – clean-cut, no nonsense.

6. Tall black boots – polished leather, confident heel.

7. (Possibly) sewn-in underlayer for structure – subtle but significant.

—

🪡 What Could the Fabrics Be?

Shirt: Cotton or stiff linen—light but architectural. Holds the collar high.

Inner layer/waistcoat: Lightweight wool or twill—close fit, breathable, efficient.

Frock coat: Wool blend or gabardine—thick, silent, unmistakable.

Robe: Wool or silk-blend—fluid with weight, designed for drama.

Trousers: Soft wool or worsted—no embellishments, just utility.

Boots: Black leather—lived-in, lacquered, ready to move.

The entire ensemble whispers: do not underestimate me.

—

🔥 How Did He Survive the Heat?

All black. All layered. All day. In July? (Or August, depending on the school calendar—but we’ll get to that heatstroke later.)

The answer is geography. He lived in the dungeons.

The Slytherin common room sits beneath the Black Lake—stone walls, filtered light, the occasional squid gliding past. Cold enough to preserve potions and secrets alike.

So yes—he wore forty buttons and never broke a sweat. Because the walls were colder than any seasonal breeze. And honestly? So was he.

—

🧼 How Many Did He Own?

We never see his wardrobe, but let’s be honest—he’d need more than one. You don’t brew over a cauldron daily without carrying the scent of asphodel and burnt fluxweed for hours. Add parchment ink, dust from centuries-old tomes, a hint of candle soot—and you’ve got a potion master’s signature scent.

And let’s not forget: Hermione Granger literally set fire to his robes in Philosopher’s Stone—whether it was the hem or that slightly fluffy bit at his ankle, the damage was real. There can’t have been just one. Not in a school full of reckless students and volatile substances.

These garments weren’t just iconic—they were functional. And surely duplicated.

Three, at minimum. Five, if he allowed himself the luxury. All identical. All immaculate. Possibly with a charm or two to keep the folds crisp and the fabric warded.

—

🧣 The One Exception—His Layer for Weather

Across eight films and countless scenes, Severus Snape’s uniform never truly wavered—except once, perhaps twice.

In Philosopher’s Stone, during the infamous Quidditch match where he counter-cursed Quirrell’s jinx, he wore something different:

A high black scarf

Fingerless black gloves

A heavier, textured outer cloak—draped and more tactical

It’s the only time we see his silhouette altered so clearly.

Still black, still formal, but slightly more utilitarian. Weather-appropriate, perhaps? November in the high stands of the Quidditch pitch must’ve been brutal—wind cutting, robes whipping. Most students wore house scarves not just for pride, but to survive the chill.

So yes, that scarf and heavier cloak weren’t just stylistic flourishes. They were practical, protective, and quietly prepared.

Either way, it stood apart—and not just in costume. In that moment, he was cast as the villain, misunderstood and brooding in layers.

And I must wonder—where did that cloak go? At first glance, I assumed it had been lost to the flames of Hermione’s accidental sabotage in Philosopher’s Stone. A dramatic end to a singular garment.

But then—rewatching Goblet of Fire—there it was again. During the Hungarian Horntail trial, Snape sits beside McGonagall, and if you look closely: folded cuffs, denser weave, a broader drape over his shoulders. The silhouette is unmistakable.

The scarf and gloves are gone, but the cloak’s presence speaks volumes. Not flashy, but deliberate. A return not for spectacle, but for utility. Its weight, its shape, the quiet precision in its fit—nearly identical.

So no—it wasn’t destroyed. Not gone. Not forgotten. Simply reserved. Practical. Intentional.

Another glimpse into how even the rare deviations in his attire still follow a purpose. Nothing is ever random with Severus Snape.

Still all black, still stern—but there’s something in the added structure that reads more formal. Less dungeon-brewer, more event overseer. It’s functional, wind-resistant, and dignified in a cold, open-air setting.

Perhaps it was kept for outdoor events—or those requiring a touch more presence. It reminds us that even the most stoic wardrobe had its layers—and that nothing Severus Snape wore was ever without intent.

Even when the silhouette shifted slightly, the reasoning didn’t. Whether reserved for specific events or dictated by weather, every layer had purpose. He was always watching. Always calculating. Always protecting.

—

🖤 What the Uniform Meant: Endurance as Identity

The choice to wear such rigid attire wasn’t just style—it was declaration. It was discipline. It was Severus Snape, sealing himself into something he could control.

"It is endurance. Conditioning. Discipline—of body and mind. This attire is not meant for ease. It is meant for containment."

That’s how I imagine he would have spoken of it, if ever asked. With restraint. With precision. With the same measured control that shaped his every movement.

He didn’t wear black because he liked the colour. He wore it because black absorbs. It doesn’t reflect, doesn’t shine, doesn’t distract. It takes.

And if someone ever questioned the heat? The weight of so many layers?

"If I wear less… I feel more." "And for someone who has spent most of his life bearing what others cast off, that is… not always bearable."

It was never about temperature. It was about endurance as aesthetic. About turning vulnerability into fabric. A way of saying: I will bear what others shed.

To wear layers was to keep the world at a distance. To button forty buttons was to remind himself: control is chosen. Every day.

"There is a certain power in being the only one who does not wilt under pressure. Let them sweat. Let them squirm. I remain."

Snape didn’t need robes that breathed. He needed robes that held.

Because the man beneath them had spent a lifetime feeling too much. And hiding it all in plain sight.

And somehow, it worked.

He endured.

And never once did his silhouette flinch.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Melt

"And if I die because you made me melt, oh well."

Summary: You and Frankie spend a hot summer day by the pool

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, semi-public shenanigans (we're assuming there's a big, tall fence around the pool lmao), Frankie being our 🐱 eating king, Frankie being the sweetest and so obsessed with you, poor Pope probably needs to clean his pool after these two leave, reader wears a bathing suit, can swim and can get sunburned

A/N: HEY HOMIES, IT'S YA GIRL!!!!! What better way to celebrate National Catfish Day than with a lil poolside Frankie 🤪 It has been hotter than Satan's ballsack out here in the midwest, so this song is dedicated to this ongoing heatwave and this song that I am absolutely obsessed with and is SO Frankie coded 😭 This is the first thing that I have worked on since May so apologies in advance for bein' a little rusty, but I'm excited to finally be back on the writing train again!!! ily all, big forehead kisses for each of you MWAH!!!! 🥹 poorly beta'd bc that's how i roll

Love it or hate it, if there was one thing that you could always count on, it was the fact that summers in south Florida were hot. 

Really fucking hot. 

So when Pope had offered up his pool for you and Frankie to use while he was out of town for the week, it was a no brainer that the two of you had ecstatically accepted his invitation. 

“We really owe Pope for this one, huh?” You smirked, setting down your beach bag on one of the lounge chairs spread across the pool deck, pulling out some sunscreen and towels for you and Frankie. 

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Frankie sighed, nodding his head in agreement, admiring the crystal blue water sparkling in the heat of the hot summer sun, hands on his hips as he looked out over the pool. 

You couldn’t help but giggle as you stood behind him, secretly whipping out your phone to take a picture of Frankie inspecting the pool before quickly texting it to Pope, knowing what a kick he’d get out of it. 

You: Thanks for letting us use the pool! New pool boy is taking his job very seriously. 🫡

Pope: Haha. Would have looked better if he showed up in a bikini. Have fun u 2. 

“What are you laughing at?” Frankie asked, turning around to the sounds of your sneaky snickers before feeling his own phone buzz in his pocket, looking down to see a text from Pope. 

Pope: Your wife thinks you’d make a good pool boy. Told her you need a bikini first. Have fun with Mrs. Fish today.

Pope: Not too much fun though. 🤨

Frankie: Sorry to disappoint. 

Frankie: What’s that supposed to mean? 

Pope: I just cleaned the pool before I left. Don’t need any baby fish swimming around in there if you know what I mean 🐟 💦 lol

Frankie: Jesus christ, Pope.

Frankie shook his head as he slipped his phone back into his pocket as he made his way over to you, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you closer to his chest. 

“You think I’d make a good pool boy, huh?” He smirked, planting a chaste kiss in your lips as the two of you laughed. 

“The best. But only if you give me another kiss and put some sunscreen on me so I don’t turn into a lobster.” You teased, kissing him right back before pulling away to grab the sunscreen bottle, passing it off to him. 

“Fair enough.” 

As he took the bottle from you, starting to shake it up, Frankie couldn’t help stop and watch in awe as you began to remove your coverup. Underneath, it revealed the little, strappy, bright yellow bikini you had just bought, deciding that today would be a good choice to show it off for the first time with just you and your husband together. 

“Fuck me…” Frankie whispered under his breath, his tongue darting out of his mouth and swiping over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down, admiring every sun-kissed inch of your soft skin and the way the fabric of your swimsuit hugged your curves. “Is this- fuck, is this new?” he asked softly, his sweet brown eyes just about popping out of his head, trying to use every ounce of self composure to even form a coherent question. 

“Do you like it? I got it a few days ago when I was out. Figured I could use a new one.” You blushed, biting down on your lip at Frankie’s reaction, wondering how in the world he still managed to make you feel as beautiful as he did the first night he’d met you after all your time spent together. 

“Can I show you?” Frankie asked, running his hands along your waist, gently toying with the strings holding your swimsuit bottoms together. 

“Show me what?” 

“Show you how much I like it?” He responded, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers slowly began to undo the bow tied around your hips while he gently nipped at your neck, making your stomach swell with arousal. 

“Mhmmmmmm.” You nodded, carefully backing up until your legs hit the lounge chair behind you, Frankie gently guiding you to sit down and lay back while he nestled himself between your legs, draping each one over his bare, broad shoulders, his tanned and freckled skin glowing in the blazing afternoon sun. 

Frankie wasted no time planting soft kisses up the inside of your thighs, the familiar scratch of his beard and mustache against your skin making you moan in eager anticipation as you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your swimsuit bottoms. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that? I’m so lucky.” He whispered between kisses along the meat of your thighs before stopping at your core, letting his fingers brush against the fabric of your swimsuit, sneaking under the material just enough to feel how wet you had already become in the few short moments since you had sat down. 

“Seems like you're pretty wet for not even getting in the pool yet, Hermosa.” Frankie teased, the ghosting of his fingers along your cunt making you whine as you propped your head up to see the devilish smirk between his cheeks. 

Almost painfully slowly, Frankie untied the first, then second bow holding your bottoms together on each hip, watching your swimsuit fall to the ground, revealing your pussy, slick and puffy, worked up from Frankie’s touch. 

“So pretty…” He cooed, letting his fingers drag across your cunt, collecting your arousal and rubbing at your clit, already aching to be touched. 

Frankie was nothing if not a methodical man, memorizing every twitch and hitched breath beneath his touch, learning all the things that absolutely drove you wild.

Knowing that he could be the only one to make you feel this good got him off more than anything else ever could.

He couldn’t help but grin at the way your lips fell to a perfectly parted “O” as he pressed more pressure against your sensitive nub, and how they fell even wider as he pressed two of his fingers into your entrance, gently curling them to bump against the soft, spongy spot inside you that had you clenching around his hand. 

“Oh Frankie… Fuck…” You whimpered, your head falling back as Frankie’s fingers were soon followed by his tongue, licking a long, broad strip across your cunt, ​​putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to make that all too familiar sweet tingling sensation to start build in your stomach. 

Frankie’s tongue danced in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you with just his fingers. That, combined with the meticulous and skilled motions of his tongue had the coil in your belly beginning to tighten further and further. 

Your hand shot down between your parted legs, reaching to grab a fistful of Frankie’s brown, curly locks, thick and sweaty from the heat, tugging just hard enough to force his gaze up towards you, your eyes locking with his rich, brown ones. 

“F-Frankie-” Was all you were able to mutter as he continued with his fingers to press against your g-spot, slick coating his digits with each stroke. He licked one more strip along your pussy before placing soft kisses on your clit and the inside of your thighs, peeking up at you with a boyish grin. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. Wanna taste you all over me.” Frankie moaned, the low rumble of his words making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as he dove back between your legs, wrapping his free arm around one of your thighs, firmly holding you in place. 

Curving his fingers ever so slightly and latching his lips around your clit, you knew it was only a matter of moments before Frankie was about to make you fall apart completely. You could feel your legs begin to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter around his fingers, able to utter nothing but a “F-fuck…” as you felt your orgasm rip through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins and soaked Frankie below you. 

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum for him with everything that you had in you, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become. Your pussy was slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the way Frankie had fucked you senseless with just his tongue. 

“Frankie, holy fuck.” You whispered under your breath, still trying to regain your composure as you looked down at a satisfied Frankie, wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand with a smirk. 

“Always taste so sweet, Hermosa. You’re so fucking hot, I swear you’d make me melt faster than the sun.” 

The two of you both couldn’t help but snort at Frankie’s cheesy comment, sitting up as you giggled to grab Frankie’s face and bring him in for a long, deep kiss, the taste of you still fresh on his tongue. 

“You are such a cheeseball, Fransisco Morales. I can’t believe that- Frankie! Frankie! Put me down! No, no, no, no, you better not-” But before you could finish the rest of your sentence, Frankie had already picked you up out of your chair, flung you over his shoulder and had you flailing your arms and legs as he carried you towards the edge of the pool, jumping in with you mid-way through your poorly fought protest. 

Your heads bobbed to the surface, still in a fit of laughter as you floated in the refreshing cool of the sparkling pool water, you wrapped your legs around Frankie’s waist, draping your arms over his shoulders while he pulled you closer to his chest. 

“Sorry, mi amor, what were you saying?” Frankie teased, raising a playful eyebrow at you as he grinned with his goofy smile, making you over dramatically roll your eyes at him. 

“One, that you are the biggest goof I’ve ever met and I love you for it,” You snickered, plating a soft kiss on his plush lips, “and two, I think I can practically hear Pope screaming at you for the fact I’m half naked in his pool.” 

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”   

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[ccwpidsblog]

LaRue: Earn My Favor | MOORE TWINS

Summary: Vivian LaRue gets a peace offering she didn’t ask for — two chained men, bloodied and defiant. She inspects them, breaks a man’s fingers, lays down her rules, and makes it clear they’re hers now.

Themes: dominant femme character, humiliation and dehumanization themes, implied kink (muzzling, control, forced obedience), emotional coercion, god complex behavior, blood injury and knife use, manipulation and power games, BPD-coded OC, dubcon-coded power imbalance, sub!smoke and sub!stack dynamics, captivity themes, asset language, mob setting and implied systemic violence Word Count: 1.9k

Authors Note: HERE DAMN!!! jk love yall and thank you for 1k omgggeee. Hope you all enjoy muah <33

Tag List: @christinabae @queenofklonnie22 @anaiyaflys143 @thedondada05 @junkie05 @essence-134340 @blackpantherismyish

Part One

The room is hushed, but heavy with tension like the moment before a jazz band’s first note. A long banquet table stretches the length of the room, dressed in white linen and gold trim, half-full with men trying not to look nervous. They drink, they whisper, they steal glances toward the head of the table where she sits.

Vivian LaRue.

All eyes are on her, and rightly so. Draped in deep plum velvet that clings to every curve like a second skin, she’s a vision — a mountain of womanhood, regal and immovable. Her gown plunges at the chest, gold chains draped like a necklace across full, brown cleavage. Her hair is coiffed and curled in the way only a woman who owns every inch of herself can pull off. Rings glitter on nearly every finger, and her heels sharp, sky-high, red-bottom stilettos gleam beneath the table like weapons.

She doesn’t smile.

Her gaze stays steady on the men dragging in two prisoners

They're a mess. Hands bound behind their backs, clothes torn from the struggle, knuckles bloodied, mouths smarting with the kind of bruises that only come from refusing to shut up. Even now, they don’t walk, they’re yanked in, half-fighting, half-grinning through the pain..

“Your new dogs,” the fool beside her says, gesturing to them like they’re slabs of meat. “Streets call them Smoke and Stack. Strong ones. Smart. Thieves, killers, both. But wild. Dangerous. Thought you might enjoy the challenge.”

Her brow arches extremely unimpressed. Vivian rises slowly, like a coming storm, no rush, no need. The air shifts with her, the whole room tilting on its axis as though gravity’s remembered who’s really in charge.

She doesn’t speak, She doesn’t have to

Click. Click. Click.

The measured strike of her spiked red bottom against polished floorboards echoes like a countdown. Men have pissed themselves at the least.  She walks past the squirming idiot who delivered the twins, doesn’t even glance at him. Her eyes are locked on the taller one, Stack. The quiet one. The one who watches like he’s memorizing exits and weaknesses.

She stops before him, close enough that he can smell her perfume, sharp cinnamon and danger. Her gaze drags over him, from the busted lip to the dirt-streaked trousers. Then her hand lifts, smooth, deliberate, and presses flat against his chest. The fabric is cheap, thin, torn near the hem. She touches it like it offends her. Then, with one flick of her wrist, she lifts his shirt, exposing bruised ribs and sunken skin. Her eyes narrow, not in pity, but in cataloging.

“Hmm,” she hums, voice silken and amused. “You’ve been starved. Shame. You have a decent frame.” Her fingers trail along the curve of his side, not soft, not kind. Just a long, black stilettos nailed inspection, like she’s checking the quality of a cut of meat.

Then she grabs his face.

Ringed fingers clamp around his jaw, tilting his head side to side. She doesn’t flinch when he stiffens, doesn’t pause when his nostrils flare. If anything, she smiles wider.

“Pretty bone structure,” she murmurs, tilting his chin. “Eyes like something that forgot it was ever tame.”

She releases Stack with a little push, like she’s finished inspecting a steak and found it slightly overcooked.

Then slowly, with an annoyed click of her tongue — she turns to Smoke.

She moves like a lioness eyeing the loudest animal in the cage. Smoke shackled at the wrists, blood on his lip, eyes full of hell. He doesn’t flinch. He leans forward, chains rattling, jaw clenched, daring her.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he spits, voice raw with rage and pride. “I ain’t your pet, bitch.”

The room stiffens. One of her men steps forward, ready to hit him but Vivian raises one hand.

She just smiles. Power radiates off her like heat off summer asphalt. Her lashes flutter, delicate as moth wings, like she’s smelling something rotten.

“You really oughta wash your mouth before speaking in my house,” she says, cool as winter champagne. “But I suppose manners are hard to come by when you’re raised in a ditch and dragged here in chains.”

He lunges or tries to. The chains snap tight with a violent clank, halting him mid-surge. Still, his lip curls, teeth bared like a feral dog.

She doesn’t step back.

She leans in.

“You know what I do with animals that bite?” she murmurs, lips nearly brushing his ear. “I don’t put 'em down. I break 'em. Bit by bit. Bone by bone. Until they beg to be useful.”

Then she shifts suddenly, sharp and she’s right in front of him. Both hands come up to cradle his face. Not soft. Firm. Controlling. Like she’s fitting him for a muzzle.

She cranes his head upward, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

“You must not know who I am,” she says, voice low, mocking, rich with warning. Her nails dig into his jaw just hard enough to sting, to leave little half-moon reminders of who touched him and why it mattered.

Then she shoves his face aside like it’s nothing. 

Like he’s nothing.

She turns back to Stack, calm as a queen walking through her garden. Her fingers hook into his bottom lip, tugging it down, inspecting his teeth like he’s a horse she’s considering buying.

Her expression is thoughtful. Unimpressed.

“This is your idea of a peace offering?” Vivian drawls, voice smoother than chilled champagne but twice as cutting. Her gaze is locked on the fool who brought them, one brow arched like a guillotine waiting to drop. “You drag two filthy, mutts into my house, wrapped in rusted chains like a damn sideshow, and you want what? A handshake? A cookie?”

Smoke snarls, lip curling like a dog that still thinks he’s got a shot at the kill. Stack exhales hard through his nose, slow and deep, his broad shoulders rising with the warning of a storm. They’re bloodied but proud like wolves caught, not conquered.

The man who brought them chuckles, too high, too nervous. “They’ll learn. I promise. You break ‘em right, they’ll serve well.”

.“What the fuck do I look like to you?” she says, still smiling, each word dipped in poison and pearls. “A dog trainer? A madam? Or maybe a fool?”

The smile slips off the man’s face like oil off glass. He stammers, taking a step back. “I—I just meant—”

Vivian turns to him slowly, her expression unreadable but her intent crystal clear. The air in the room shifts. Her steps are steady as she closes the space between them, her eyes fixed on his with the cold detachment of someone who already knows how this ends.

He watches her, frozen, then tries to smile. It's weak, uncertain, a flicker of charm he doesn’t realize is already too late.

She extends her hand. He offers his without thinking, desperate to stay on her good side.

The moment his fingers touch hers, she tightens her grip and bends them backward with a sickening crunch.

He cries out, falling halfway to his knees, breath caught in his throat as pain floods his arm. Her fingers don’t let go. The rings she wears dig into the delicate skin between his knuckles, and she applies pressure with cruel precision, watching the panic bloom in his eyes.

“You brought me blood and chains when I asked for my  money,” she says, voice calm but heavy, every syllable deliberate. “That’s your idea of honoring a month long debt?”

He shakes his head, gasping, but she doesn’t wait for him to answer.

With her other hand, she reaches down to her thigh and lifts the slit of her dress. A thin leather holster clings to her skin, just above the curve of her garter. From it, she draws a sleek silver knife, polished and thin as a whisper.

Without hesitation, she drives the blade into his side not deep, but clean. Just above the hip. It won’t kill him, but it will make every movement agony.

He screams. His knees hit the floor. Blood begins to stain his shirt, his belt, the floor beneath them.

Vivian leans in close, lips near his ear. Her grip on his hand hasn’t loosened.

“I still want my money,” she whispers. Her voice is warm now, almost intimate. “And every time you look at this hand— feel this hip—” she presses her nails into the bruised knuckles until he flinches, “—I want you to remember what else you owe me, nigga.”

She yanks the blade free and wipes it with a silk handkerchief before sliding it back into its holster. Her hands are steady. Not a drop of blood touches her dress.

He collapses fully now, writhing on the floor. His breath comes in short, wet gaspsz Vivian steps back, heels clicking softly as she turns from him like he no longer exists.

“Get out.”

One word. No need for more.

The chairs scrape harshly against the floor. Men exchange nervous glances and hurriedly obey, filing out like shadows retreating from light.

The room empties until only Smoke and Stack remain. Their breaths are heavy, chests rising and falling in a tense rhythm. Their eyes flick between Vivian’s poised figure and each other, unsure if they should run, resist, or fall to their knees.

She smiles, eyes sharp, amused.

“Well?” she asks, voice soft but laced with steel. “Aren’t y’all gonna thank me”

They stay silent. Not out of respect, not yet. Out of calculation.

Vivian clicks her tongue, sharp as a nail driven through wood.

“I should’ve killed you for that little outburst, Smoke.” Her voice is warm, thick as honey left out in the sun. She tilts her head just slightly, watching him like a cat watches a wounded bird. “Would’ve made a fine example.”

Smoke doesn’t flinch. The blood crusted on his mouth has gone dry. His hands are still bound, but his stare is unyielding.

Vivian smiles wider.

“But no. I see something in you. In both of you. You’re wild. Filthy. Loud. But I’ve broken in worse.”

She begins to pace again  slowly, deliberately   letting her heels echo against the marble like punctuation. Her fingers trail along the edge of the table, casual, like she owns everything in reach. Because she does.

“You’re not guests,” she says. “You’re not men. You’re assets. And in no time…” She glances back at them, lashes fluttering like she’s amused by her own generosity. “You’ll both be begging.”

She stops again, standing just before them.

“I’ll take the chains off. But Smoke — you?” She points a blood-red nail at his face. “You get a muzzle. Since you like to bark so loud and bite before you’re fed.”

Her expression softens in the cruelest way.

“Learn your place, and you’ll eat well. Sleep safe. Maybe even earn your name back. Earn my favor…” Her lips curl into something dangerous and slow. “And maybe I’ll breadcrumb you both with my attention. A glance. A touch. A little praise, if you sit pretty enough.”

Her voice drops to a purr, like the last breath before a kill.

“But run?” She shakes her head once, almost gently. “Run, and I will catch you. Wherever you go. However long it takes. I will find you.”

A beat of silence follows.

Smoke and Stack don’t speak.

They just breathe, still heavy, still locked in place.

Stack glances at Smoke.

Smoke looks back.

Something passes between them not fear, not submission. Not yet. But something that says they know what they’re in for now.

And they know it’s only just begun..

They’ve seen what she does to a man who owes her.

They’re wondering what she’ll do to the ones who don’t even know the rules yet.

[phoenix-and-found-family]

Okay but...

How long had the Phantom been planning the note, code, and safe in the control point???

The hat, safe, and number carved into the side of the drawer were all there in the tutorial. That building was evacuated because of Rising Phoenix. Which meant it must have been evacuated recently.

The note, after further inspection, says this:

[Image ID: A note that says "To The next Agent, Control Point Babadag has been evacuated following Agent Phoenix's demolition of Zor's nearby base. To reconnect to the Agency and restore power, follow the protocol outlined in this tape," followed by a drawing of a VCR looking tape.]

So, it was actually left after Phoenix blew up the building???

Which, because I am assuming the evac took a while because there's no trace of people in there, means the Phantom put a whole ass safe in the base that there was only a probable chance you'd end up in.

Getting a safe made that would only open to specific medallions, making those specific medallions in the first place out of a metal that doesn't fucking melt in a volcano (the last one is in the lava of KBOOM), and then hiding them, in mission locations you didn't even know you would be in, seems like it would take months, if not years.

And that's not even considering where they actually are in the levels:

In Roxana's house it's in her home computer, which, given the way the circles are drawn on the note, she 100% didn't know about

In the mines, which were used by the agency until she left and Zoraxis found them, they're in a stalagmite??? Specifically one the drill can't even reach, which is probably why it's still standing. But how did this person know you'd break the drill??? And why have none of the robots, or the supervisor, who can actually see the marking, ever tried to break it open to see what you could find? How did they get it in there?

In Blind Spot it's behind her license plate, which, as well as raising the question of how on earth Roxana didn't notice that but immediately knew when you and Reginald showed up, makes me wonder how she didn't get pulled over by police for having something covering up her plate

Hot Water has you A. Put a grate under the vending machine with the shield maker in it on a chalkboard, and B. send the code you get to Ollie, who sends it to you confused. Which means A. The chalkboard was assumed to not going to be erased when the grate was installed/replaced, B. The agent would figure out where to put it, and C. Phantom managed to sneak the medallion into wherever Ollie was located without him knowing anything about it

Cold Shoulder: They froze the medal in solid ice in the gondola control panel. That could only be melted by the bear laser. How in the fuck.

I already talked about the lava thing so I'm not getting pictures for it (I'm lazy)

And the note they give you from the safe looks like this:

The code translates to "I expect you to live", which is awesome, but they also call you Phoenix.

You got this nickname, at most, a month ago.

There was no physical way to do all of that in a month or less.

So either this person is inhumanly fast, predicted where you'd be in the missions, made sure no one else got it somehow, did this without stopping anything that was going on, and also got you some gloves made of gold fabric as a reward for solving the puzzles, or something else is going on.

I don't know, but I think that this Phantom person is even more interesting when you factor in how they managed to do all of this in the first place.

[pankowcrumbs]

Heyyy an idea just popped in my head, about chef Luca going shopping with reader for the arrival of their baby girl or boy, it’s up to you ! 😊

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

“I think we’ve officially become those people,” I muttered, holding up a pastel pink muslin cloth with tiny embroidered strawberries.

Luca raised an eyebrow. “Those people?”

“You know. The ones who say ‘We don’t want anything too girly’ and then buy twelve strawberry-patterned cloths and a bunny lamp.”

He looked down at the cloth, then at the overflowing trolley. “I blame you. I wanted grey. Neutral. Scandinavian.”

“You said ‘grey is for sad people’ two aisles ago.”

He didn’t respond. Just smirked, picked up a matching baby onesie, and tossed it in the trolley like it weighed nothing.

“Unbelievable,” I said, grinning.

We were in the baby section of a department store in Islington. It was raining, naturally. The kind of day where your coat feels too warm and the air smells like bus brakes and bakery steam. My back ached. Luca was holding a coffee in one hand and a baby sling in the other like he was born for this.

Which, frankly, was unfair.

Because if anyone looked like they belonged here calmly assessing breast pump options while I nearly had a breakdown over how many muslins was too many muslins it was him.

“Do we really need three different swaddles?” I asked, watching him gently inspect the fabric like it was a delicate herb.

“She might have a preference.”

“She’s not even born yet.”

“She’ll still have opinions. She’s your daughter.”

I gave him a look.

He bumped my shoulder. “I’m just saying. She’s going to scream the loudest and eat the most. I can feel it in my bones.”

“And I suppose she’s going to love jazz and hate coriander?”

“Exactly.”

Luca wasn’t a talker. Not like me. He didn’t fill silences unless they needed filling. But with the baby, something in him had cracked open just a little. Like he wanted to be ready. Wanted to understand every part of this new world we were building.

And if that meant spending two hours debating the absorbency of newborn nappies, so be it.

We moved to the prams next. Which was where things got… dramatic.

“What’s the difference between travel system and pushchair combo?” I asked, blinking at a sign like it was written in code.

“No idea.”

“Do you reckon we’re being scammed?”

“Absolutely.”

A sales assistant appeared like a guardian angel. She looked about nineteen and terrifyingly competent.

“First baby?” she asked gently.

“Is it that obvious?” Luca said, amused.

“Only because you’re reading the tags like you’re choosing a flat,” she said, laughing.

We did a demo. Collapsed a pram. Put it back up. Failed twice. Luca managed it third time round and looked ridiculously proud. I think it was the first time I saw him flustered all afternoon.

“She’s going to think we’re idiots,” I whispered.

“She’s going to think I’m a god,” he replied. “And you’re my assistant.”

I elbowed him. “She’s definitely your boss. I’m just the one who makes her laugh.”

“Like I said. Assistant.”

By hour three, we’d acquired:

Seven muslin cloths (two of them strawberry-patterned)

One bamboo baby bath

An absurdly chic changing mat

A set of bibs that read “Chef’s Special” (Luca’s pick, obviously)

And a tiny jumper that said “Little Sour Dough” which nearly made me cry

We stopped at the café on the second floor.

He ordered decaf. I got a hot chocolate and ate the foam with a spoon. My belly felt huge. He rested his hand on it without thinking, like it belonged there.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” I said. Then paused. “Just… weird. It’s all so close now.”

He nodded.

“I keep wondering if I’m going to mess it up. If we are.”

His thumb rubbed circles into the side of my bump. “We will. At some point.”

“Wow. Comforting.”

“But then we’ll fix it. That’s the point, isn’t it? You fuck up. You fix it. You keep going.”

I looked at him.

“Kitchen philosophy?”

“Life philosophy.”

It made sense. He’d spent his whole adult life building something with his hands breaking it down, starting again. Taste-testing and reworking until it felt right. Love, I realised, wasn’t that different.

On the way home, it started pouring properly.

We ran to the car, bags shoved in the boot, hair dripping. My coat stuck to my skin. He cranked the heater up. The windows fogged.

We sat there for a second, listening to the rain drum on the roof.

Then he said it. Quiet. Matter-of-fact.

“I bought her a chef’s apron.”

I turned.

“For when she’s older. Like, five.”

“You bought a five-year-old an apron?”

“I just...” he shrugged. “I want her in the kitchen. With me. Flour on her nose. Telling me I’ve oversalted something I haven’t.”

“You’ve absolutely oversalted it.”

He smiled.

“She’s going to love you, Luca.”

His throat bobbed. “She’d better.”

“She will.”

We got home. Unpacked. Set things up.

He spent twenty minutes adjusting the angle of the cot mobile. I folded clothes that were smaller than my forearm. The flat smelled like lavender detergent and clean wood.

Later, curled on the sofa, I watched him looking at the car seat instructions like it was a bomb manual.

“You know you’re going to be amazing at this, right?”

He didn’t look up. “You have to say that. You’re stuck with me.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

“Even when I put the nappy on backwards?”

“Especially then.”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I can cook a perfect egg. I can’t figure out which buckle is which.”

“Yeah, but when she’s old enough to eat solids?”

He grinned. “Game over.”

Before bed, he wrapped his arms round me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder. My back pressed to his chest. The baby kicked once firmly.

He kissed the crown of my head.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I’m ready.”

“Me too.”

A beat.

Then, “Maybe.”

I laughed.

And she kicked again.

[bnsni]

prowl stealing reader's panty and being an overall pathetic scumbag 🛐 I need

a/n: OUGHHHHH YESSSSS. NSFW WARNING UNDER THE CUT

IT'S funny. A lot funny, really. He considers himself pragmatic, prone to cold shoulders, used to remarks that'll sully his name, maybe even leave a dent on his face. He does have an optic left, though. All that he doesn't care because honestly? There’s no weight to it, whatsoever.

And yet.

You've been nice to him only once — a mere smile and a few parting words of praise, and now he's reduced to a degenerate, cushioned up against his berth as he purges himself with the scent of your undergarment. Panties, he remembers. Even better — or worse. Primus, it's unwashed.

His optics droop as the musky scent hits. Shoulders, once taut, now relaxed, helm hitting the berth as he groans. It was soft. Much too soft agains this hand, against his face. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He had only known, however, was the fact that he’s not himself. And a pull of something so minuscule, an organic fabric of all things, that reeled him senseless of thoughts is ridiculous.

He’s breached at least several protocols in the Autobot Code. Even behind closed doors in the confines of his own quarters, he had already crossed a line by invading your privacy. Invading your trust.

A simple patrol along the halls had his pedes roosted by your doorsteps. The Organic barracks. Female, too. After all, he was the one who fixed your lock when it broke (hm, yeah, wonder why) — so it doesn’t come off as a surprise when the officer is spotted dawdling in front of your room.

Initially, he’ll do a quick inspection and leave. But the door. It was wide open. A quick peek wouldn’t hurt, right? He just needed to, ah, yes, needed to see if anyone had messed with your belongings. Theft is a big, big concern these days. (Wheeljack would know, he’s been stealing Nitric Acid from medbay without fail. )

And, it does. It made him stuff a handful of your panties into his sub space. Made his pedes skim across the halls until he’s in his own quarters — doing whatever the hell he is doing now : eyes shut, lower regions pressured and uncomfortable.

Prowl never denies. He never denies his guilt because that would mean his calculations are proven innacurate. A faulty assumption. A mistake. And here’s the thing is— he never makes a mistake. So, he chalks it up to illusion when he thinks about you. A reason to justify the means of being a scumbag.

You’re pretty. Nice. That’s all there is to it. He knows he’s lonely so he’s filling up the void. It’s nothing deep. As soon as tomorrow comes, he’ll avoid you. Avoid you like he’s not fisting his spike, conjuring up images, wondering how you’d feel against him as he’s rutting up your soft flesh.

How your ankles would hook over his shoulders. How your sweet face would contort, lips, pretty and soft kissing up his shaft.His servos on your hips as he rolls his own, watching the spike pushing up against your cunt— in and out, slick and throbbing. How would you sound? Soft? Guttural? Loud? Would you bite your fist when he’s too rough?

Prowl groans, re-positioning the fabric over his spike. It had become too slick, purple transfluid blotching the pink a more creamy mauve and his other servo comes to stifle his moans.

He’s not getting any sleep tonight.

[atzhrts]

i had a silly little shotaro valentine's day thought and have to let it out somewhere

thinking about shotaro surprising you for valentine's day; gifting you flowers, your favorite candy, favorite things, and amongst the pile is your favorite character in the form of a stuffed animal. it caught your eye right away and you picking it, up admiring it. you let out an innocent thought, telling him the stuffed animal is your guys' child. you think nothing else of it, but it lights something up in shotaro. you two had talked about your desire for children early on, but hearing you say that made his mind race. who knew saying something so innocent in passing would lead to unlocking shotaro's breeding kink and having you bent in half under him on his bed?

would’ve been awesome if i actually answered this on valentine’s day but sadly im incapable of doing anything on time. happy late valentine’s day!!

its definitely super taro coded, starting off innocent and then completely losing himself. he definitely spent a good hour that morning picking out the perfect flowers for your bouquet, maybe even getting advice from the worker before he moves on to getting your plushie. but he doesn’t have to buy it because he’s a smart man, got it in advance and brought it back from japan with him, telling you it’s perfect because one, it’s your favorite, two, it reminds him of you, and three, it’s from his home country and he can share a piece with you.

“it’s like she’s our child” you smile at shotaro, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his skin before you look down at the plushie in your hand, gently stroking the fabric. you didn’t think anything of the comment, inspecting the bouquet of flowers on the table till you feel shotaro press himself into your back. his hands come down onto your waist, pulling you closer into his hardening bulge and tucking his head over your shoulder. he gently giggles when you scold him for getting hard over something so simple but who can blame him??? his imagination just ran wild!!!!

shotaro had a whole program planned for you that day but the second the comment left your mouth that’s out of the window. that’s how the two of you spent the majority of valentine’s day in bed, your boyfriend’s dick hitting all the right spots inside of you as his thrusts send you up the mattress.

“fuck” shotaro groans as he watches your ass jiggle from his slap “gonna breed you” he bends down, sweaty chest hitting your back before he brings you up with him again. wrapping his arm around your throat to hold you up, moaning softly when he feels your nails against his skin pressing his bicep closer against your neck.

“gonna cum so deep inside of you baby” he moans “have to make sure i’ll knock you up okay?”

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2023: 10-Defeated

Damian sat at his desk and briefly scanned the files of the new departments he was overlooking. One of them was the art department, which he was greatful for. The only thing that bothered him was the fashion department. He didn't agree that it was art. It was business. Clothing was a necessity, not a luxury. Clothes could be sold in stores. Art was meant to be displayed and shared. The Wayne heir scanned the file again.

'Head of fashion department was listed as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'm sure I can get rid of her and move the department. Nothing will get in Damian Al Ghul-Wayne's way.'

The Wayne heir approached the fashion department. He saw the office door open and observed the inside. There was a small woman with blue hair drawing on a tablet. He could see a gown forming under the movement of her stylus. Damian stood tall as he knocked on the open office door, but she never turned around.

'Brat.'

"Miss Dupain-Cheng!" he shouted.

To his surprise, the designer slammed her hand down on her desk and glared at him.

"You made me mess up." she snarled, "Who the fuck so you think you are to come in here and bother me?"

This wasn't the type of meeting he had been expecting at all.

"Damian Wayne." he answered, not use to people glaring at him, "I wanted to inform you that I will personally be keeping an eye on the department and see if it's truly necessary."

"Fine." Marinette snapped, "There's the door. I'm busy; you can show yourself out."

Marinette turned back to her tablet and began ignoring him, again. Damian couldn't believe that she didn't get scared by his name. She talked back to him! Damian walked out and slammed the office door.

'What a horrible person. I'm not just gonna get rid of her; I'm gonna fire her entire department! I'll just exploit her weaknesses and show that she's incompitent at her job.'

Marinette had noticed that Damian taking to lurking around her department. He had inserted himself into meetings and questioned everything: Is what you're buying necessary? How could it help Wayne Enterprise? Why did you choose this fabric? Why this shade? Why not vermouth?

It had been six months and she was ready to punch him. Mari had heard rumors that he was starting to neglect other departments he was covering. She couldn't understand his fascination and distaste for hers. After another grueling meeting, everything came to a head.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, I highly suggest rereading the code of conduct." Damian stated, in front of the entire department.

Marinette could feel everyone's eyes on her, "And what have I done now, Mr. Wayne? I don't believe 'bow down' is a rule."

"Your behavior and attire are innapropriate in the work place." Damian commented, irked that she still went against his authority.

"Excuse me?" Mari shouted, "I am completely professional!"

Damian snorted, "You regularly seduce your staff."

"I wish." someone whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Mr. Wayne," Marinette spoke, "please, tell me how my business attire is innapropriate so that I may correct it."

Marinette knew she had him this time. She still made all her own clothing and inspected them the day before for any rip or loose seams. She wore button up blouses with short sleeves and a blazer. She made sure to wear pants as she didn't want to kneel in a skirt. Was this about her heels? Sure she didn't wear four inches like everyone else; she preferred something that was easy to move in. Especially if something had gone wrong and she needed to hurry to the other sde of Wayne Enterprise.

Damian's eyes roamed over Marinette. Her clothes were the same as they had been for the last six months, they hugged her curves. When she took off her blazer, he could see how her neck curved, especially when her hair was puled up in a messy bun or ponytail. He had seen her hair that way, too many times, when she was busy designing. Not to mention how her pants accentuated her when she yelled at an employee for ordering the wrong fabric. Those stupid tops that she crossed her arms under her chest when someone contradicted her.

"Well, Mr. Wayne." Marinette called out, "I'm waiting. Tell me which part of my outfit is the problem, right now. I'm buttoned up and tucked in. My pants go all the way down to my ankles or are my ankles distracting someone? I certainly can't be distracting someone with a foot fetish, as I don't wear anything open-toed. There are many more employees, here at Wayne Enterprise, that dress provocative."

"Are you sure?" the Wayne heir questioned.

"I can name five ladies on this floor alone!" Marinette growled, "Two are wearing corsets with a blazer. Another is in a mini skirt and if she sits, you can see the garter straps. Another is wearing the same outfit as yesterday and reeks of cigarettes, sweat, nd bad cologne. The last one is wearing last seasons Belmere cocktail dress with tulle bishop sleeves! Thy are sewing a collection and if that sleeve gets caught, we have to destroy that fabric and her sleeves will be ripped off. I am not losing product because someone decided to be stupid this morning, Carol!"

Marinette glared at Damian Wayne, "So, tell me how innapropriate I am or you can fuck off!"

"The clothes you wear demean you and suggest you are welcoming others to join you for a night." Damian stated.

Marinette felt all the rage bubble over and she punched him in the face, sending him across the floor.

"I quit!" she snarled.

Damian looked on as Marinette walked away.

'I won.'

What he didn't expect were the not so hushed whispers of the fashion department.

"I think Mr. Wayne had a crush on her."

"I wish she would seduce me."

"You and me both."

"Apparently, she was very popular in Paris with both genders."

"Wait, what?"

"Really?"

"I heard she dated Jagged Stone's only son."

"Wasn't Adrien Agreste trying to date her?"

"So was Zoe Lee."

"The actress!"

"Mmhmm and she's the second daughter of Style Queen."

"Damn! Why is she here then?"

"She could have gone with one of them and likely inherited a fashion label!"

"Marinette always yells at us when we dress innapropriate."

"Carol."

"I pushed my sleeves up, okay!"

"I think she wrote this years dress code herself."

"I wish that I could see what Mr. Wayne saw."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding me? Stuck up Dupain-Cheng as some sexy thing and not yelling a us? Talk about a perfect fantasy!"

Damian sat there blushing as the employees talked amongst themselves.

'Did no one really see what I saw? They hadn't seen the way her clothes accentuated her? They didn't see the way her body called out to others? Was I the only one who wanted to pin her down to gain control?'

Damian stood up, admitting defeat. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the person who irked him for months, hadn't been at war with him or seducing him; he liked her. He couldn't tell until the evidence was stacked against him. As the other employees said, she didn't even need to be there. She could marry into money, likely immediately, and run a corporation against them.

'She's not going to get away from me that easily.'

By the time Damian found Marinette, Tim was already on his knees begging her to stay and his father was apologizing about his attitude.

"I can personally guarantee that Damian will be moved departments and you never have to see him again." his own father pleaded.

Tim noticed Damian out of the corner of his eye and stood up.

"You!" Tim shouted, stalking over to his younger brother, "What the hell? Marinette is dressed perfectly fine for her job!"

"Please reconsider, Miss Dupain-Cheng." Bruce spoke.

"I will work from my own home." Mari stated, "I will come to the office only for meetings; everything else will be paper trailed through emails and run by one of you."

"That is perfectly doable." Bruce answered, "We can send any equipment you need and-"

"I have everything already."

Damian looked on confused. He had never known them to suck up this badly, not even to board members.

"You don't even know who she is; do you?" Tim exclaimed.

"An employee by the name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Damian answered.

Bruce sighed. Apparently his son had never read her file and background information as to why she was the head of her own department.

"She is Jagged Stone's personal and exclusive designer." Tim snarled, "She designs for many different celebrities world wide. She is known throughout Paris! You can obviously see why we wanted her here."

Damian had no clue that the she was that well known or that his family was that desperate to have her.

"What can we get you to continue to work here?" Bruce questioned, "We can pay you how ever much you want."

"I'll bump your salary to $65,000 a design." Tim offered.

Marinette shook her head, "I only want one thing and I want Damian Wayne to apologize to me."

"80,000 a design!" Tim quickly shouted.

Damian could clearly see his family was horrified. They had zero faith he would apologize or admit his mistake. Damian swallowed his pride and bowed down, as he would to his mother.

"My apologies for making my own personal assumptions." He began, "They were baseless and you truly did nothing wrong. It was my own assumption that you were attempting to seduce me that caused this."

Marinette's cheeks turned red as she listened to his in shock.

"My parents did not conceive me naturally. My mother drugged Father. I was raised and taught by her, from an early age, that women will use any means necessary to seduce who they value as someone of interest; even wear revealing clothes. They will cling to those they desire. They will feign innocence when confronted." Damian continued, "I only observed what I was told, but my family is alos correct. Your clothing is appropriate for the work place. You have never touched me inappropriately. You also have never tried to suede me. You treated me as everyone else in your department and yet-"

Damian was smacked upside the head by Tim. Damian turned to glare at him, but when he looked up, she saw Marinette covering her face with her hands and her ears were bright red.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng?" Damian spoke softly.

Marinette looked between her fingers at him, nervously.

"Miss Duapin-Cheng?" Bruce questioned, cautiously.

"I-I don't understand how-how you can like me." She stammered.

"Well, for one thing, you have a killer right hook." Damian stated.

Out of all the things, he could have answered, that was not one of them. Marinette began laughing and her hands fell away from her blushing face.

The Wayne heir smirked, "I'm also not use to people telling me to 'fuck off'."

Marinette snorted as she thought back to the first day they met. Bruce and Tim nodded as they slowly made their way away from the young adults.

"Everyone back to work." Bruce commanded, "If I see this online, I'll personally make sure whoever posted it, is fired."

The fashion department was quick to get back to work, leaving Damian Wayne to confess to their blushing designer.

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events@animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

[bedoballoons]

Taking a break from Christmas event cause it's wearing me out a little, gonna work on requests so I can hopefully get them open soon!!

I have been so excited for this one, like it's just such a creative idea and I'm so so sorry you had to wait so long for me to write it @delicatefestivalcreator , I hope you still enjoy anyway! >///<

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️

{༻~Courage and cowardice~༺}

CW: GN! Reader, mentions of the reader being a little bit scared at first, but growth and bravery in the end~

(Includes: Lyney, Neuvillette, Freminet, and Wriothesley!)

𑁍༄Lyney:

"L-lyney, are you sure they aren't following us? What if they are secretly a assassin? They were sent out to kill as many fatui as they can because one fatui agent killed the assassins brother! They could hunt you down and Lynette and Frem-"

"Oh love, they are just out to get some coffee, look." Lyney chuckled at you, pulling you close so you could follow his line of sight...upon closer inspection, the person really did just seem like they wanted a nice cup of coffee.

"Oh..my bad..."

"Sweetheart, the worlds not always out to get you, I promise and even if someone tried...I'm here to keep you safe and I can protect myself too. I appreciate your concern, but you don't have to be so scared. I will never let anything bad happen to you." You turned to face him, letting his words sink in as he kissed your lips softly. Somehow, knowing that he'd always keep you safe...it made all those worries seem nonexistent...even made you feel a little braver.

𑁍༄Neuvillette:

"What if I get trialed...it's a false accusation, but they have fabricated the evidence and convinced the oratrice of my guilt. I get the death sentence...or if I don't, they find a way to kill me while in the fortress!" You shuddered at the thought, scooching closer to Neuvillette as the two of you sat in the opera house. You'd asked to see it...even planned to talk with him about how trials go, but being inside the place made you more aware of how terrifying it would be to be in the guilty persons place.

"Please, do not fear such things. I would find the means to prove your innocence, even if it meant resigning from my place as chief of justice." He kissed the top of your head, silently wondering what it would be like if he did resign..if all that time that normally went into trails was spent with you instead...perhaps there wouldn't be so many rainy days.

"I could never ask you do to that!"

"...I don't believe I ever said you'd have to. Just know that I would never loose you so easily."

"...never?"

"Never."

𑁍༄Wriothesley:

"Has he killed someone? W-what about her?? Wrio, are you sure I should be here? What if someone sees us together and tries to kill me to get to you?! Or what if they use you to get information out of me, like tell us his the code to his safe or he gets it!" Your bit your nails, your eyes frantically scanning every prisoner that walked by you, why had you come to the fortress again??

"Actually, hes here because he beat up a man who'd bullied multiple Melusines and she's here because she stole a bag for her sibling cause she couldn't afford to buy it for them. Sometimes, people do bad things for the right reasons, that doesn't make them good, but it doesn't necessarily make the bad either." He waved at them both as you followed close behind, seems your mind had gotten the better of you yet again...but knowing they weren't murderers didn't make the fortress less scary.

"There are killers here though...how can I not be afraid?"

He paused midstep, making you bump into his back...had your words stumped him?

"I'm a killer, but you seem perfectly content being around me." Those words were on your mind all day...he was a killer, but you seemed perfectly content around him. Others were easily afraid of him and yet you never were, so maybe the fears you had were never really that scary at all.

𑁍༄Freminet:

"Freminet! I-im scared! What if something's under my feet!" You struggled to keep yourself afloat on the oceans surface, suddenly regretting joining him for a swim...he always made the water sound like home, but the idea of something lurking beneath the waves or getting stuck somewhere and never being found..."F-freminet!!"

"Hey calm down, it's okay." He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you afloat while his cheeks turned a rosey hue, "Do you trust me?" You bit your bottom lip, staring into his eyes as you contemplated that question...of course you trusted him, but the rest of the world was up from debate..

"Yes...I, I trust you."

He kissed your forehead and softly pulled you under the surface of the water, for a second you thought you were going to panick...but you forgot all about your worries. Fish of every colour and plants you'd never seen...bubbles floating softly to the surface and sparkling shells catching your eye. It was more beautiful than words could describe...and for once, not a single thing scared you.

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day!~*⁠.⁠✧

[mysticalsoot]

tomorrow you can fly

A/N; thanks to @poraphia 's post earlier tonight w photos of will in eyeshadow- we now have this fic I wrote in an hour- soooo- go check out their blog and maybe like take a read here- FYI this is so incredibly self indulgent, reader is just me. this is what its like with my dr s/o. he calls me bunny, I love it. let me be happy.

summary; reader does wil's makeup and helps him get ready for a show!! a bit of anxiety ensues but nothing a bit of soft wilbur can't help!!

tw// anxiety, seperation anxiety, wil is shirtless briefly, barely suggestive but slightly, will gets his makeup done?? very autistic coded reader and kinda will too!! reader is called bunny and bug, very cutesty petnames, fukin sue me

words; 3k

pairings; cc!wilbur x gn!reader

pronouns; none!

masterlist

—★—

"wilbee?" you call softly for your boyfriend, humming and swaying around the flat as you try to find where he's getting ready for his gig-- or rather where he's hiding.

"mm, yes baby?" he calls after you, and you peak into your bedroom, hurrying to stand behind him and wrap yourself around his body as he looks through his side of the closet. you place a kiss on his back, your fingers running over his stomach.

"whatcha doin, lovey?" you hum, resting your cheek against his back as he stops, looks down and chuckles. he turns in your grasp, smiling down at you and holding your face in his hands. you note how small your face feels compared to his grasp, it's nice.

"im trying to get ready, bunny."

a soft smile on his lips as he leans down, practically bent over to place a kiss on your lips before another lingering kiss is placed on your forehead. you grasp at his sides, hands grabbing hold of the fabric of his shirt as you stand tall on your toes to reach him better.

"can I help?" you tilt your head to the side, knowing the answer is yes.

"of course, lovebug," he smiles and turns back to pick out a few tops, you grab onto his free hand, wrapping yours around his finger as he walks over to the bed and places the shirts down, "which one, hun?" he looks over at you as you inspect each one, thinking deeply and searching your brain for each memory of him wearing the choices laid in front of you.

the one on the left is his favorite doomed sweater, everyone knows it. but it's August, and much too hot for a sweater, let alone when he'll be all sweaty. you hand it to him and shake your head.

"aww, but it's my favorite?" he whines playfully, a gentle smirk on his lips as he tosses it aside in the reading nook you both put together. he'll deal with it later.

"I'd rather you not get heatstroke," you hum as you glance between the two other options. one is a white button up, the other being a tighter fitting white tshirt. you point to the Tshirt and nod up at him, "that one, can I get you a jacket, baby?"

he nods, smiling as he takes the options you dismissed and puts them away. you follow him to the closet, almost like a lost puppy, which isn't uncommon for either of you. you're attached at the hip, even at home.

you look through his jackets for a moment or two, while he's deciding on jeans and shoes. he'll get you to pick socks out for him, you like to mismatch them and make sure they're nice and colorful for him. you glance between a green jacket and a black one, both of which are decently light and shouldn't make him sweat much more than he would on his own. you him as you try to grab the green one, pulling it off the hanger and bringing it to him, where he stands in front of the dresser.

"this one," you hum and put it on top of the dresser, the shirt and jeans picked out.

"socks, darling?"

you nod and quickly pick a pair of Minecraft socks.

"love--"

"stick to your roots, wilb."

you smile and look up at him as he shakes his head and kisses your cheek, holding you against him for a few moments before he breathes in and sighs.

"can I do your makeup?" you look up at him, chin rested on his chest as his hands find your hips and rub the bone with his thumbs.

"how do you plan on doing it?" he leans down, a few soft kisses being placed and drug along your neck. gentle, loving motions not meant for anything but to say 'i love you, I'll miss you'.

"eyeshadow, your waterline eyeliner aaaaannd maybe some highlight?" the list is light and would look decently natural, besides the eye makeup, but getting to make him all pretty before a show sounds beautiful. getting to sit on his lap and practically draw on his face with powders and eye pencils, his hands on your hips--it sounds like heaven to you.

"I think we can agree on that," a kiss to your cheek and a quick little peck to the lips and he's across the room and in the bathroom. the water starts and you take that as a cue to move, going over to your vanity and setting out what you'll need.

you decide to take out some of your lipstick too, just a small idea you feel like springing on him. you sit there for a few moments before you quickly jump into bed and look out the window for a bit. just watching the tide go in and out, he's a quick shower guy so doing anything that could take more than five minutes, wasn't the best deal. so looking out the window, from a distance might I add, was a good deal. you don't like being too close to the large windows by yourself, you prefer when wil is there behind you. then, if you fall through the big glass windows, he'll fall with you. morbid, but sweet in a way. or that's what your sister Grace, says. either way, you don't mind.

it isn't long until Wil is out of the shower and bathroom, a towel wrapped around his torso and another towel drying his hair.

you look at him for a moment, trying not to gawk as you notice his stomach, the small bit of fat he has there. soft and squeezable and wonderful for laying on, the v-line just below that makes you blush. then your eyes dance to his waist, where it comes in a curve, a small dip that drives you crazy. you glance away when you see him smirking and he shakes his head at your silence and rosy cheeks.

you look back at him a moment later after a loving little scoff leaves his lips and your eyes widen when you see him about to shake his hair out.

"wil! no! you're not a dog, babe!" you squeal out as he shakes his hair out, right in front of you as water droplets shake off everywhere. you're squealing and giggling until he stops and he laughs, lunging over you and attacking your face in sweet kisses, his damp curls tickling your face.

"how's that, hm? better now? you've forgiven me?" he smirks as he pulls back, finger running down your jaw and resting under your chin. he pulls you in for a quick kiss and you pout up at him.

"I've told you no dog shakes. it's mean."

he simply chuckles and shakes his head, letting the towel drop and quickly changing into his clothes. his hair dries quickly, so he doesn't bother with the hair drier. plus, he knows you hate the noise, and with how quiet you've been today, he doesn't want to agitate your nerves any further.

after he's dressed, he sits down in the chair at the vanity before patting his leg, "c'mere, baby," he smiles and you oblige quickly, easily slipping into his lap facing him.

you hold his face in your hands for a few moments before a kiss to his forehead, and then you twist back to grab the concealer you keep for him, he's much too pale for anyone else's.

this isn't your first time either.

you smile as you scoot forwards, his hands landing onto your hips, holding tightly and covering more space on you than you thought was possible. you dab a few dots of concealer in a few places where he gets more blemishes, and then a couple quick swipes under his eyes. you recap the concealer and put it back on the vanity, grabbing the sponge and dabbing it around. he shuts his eyes and sighs softly, fully content in the domesticity of the moment. you've both been awfully quiet today, he's been so pent up and stressed about the night's gig that he hasn't had much to say, and you on the other hand, aren't always the most talkative. at least on your bad or mediocre days. on good days you'd be smiling and talking wil's ear off, which he loved. it reminded him you trusted him, and felt safe to freely speak your mind.

today was a more anxious day for you, so silence was resorted to most often. nothing happened in particular, you just sort of woke up uneasy, sick to your stomach and messages you had gotten from some of wil's acquaintances didn't make you feel better. as always, he'd hum and kiss your nose, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs and muttering 'youre worthy, you're smart, you're beautiful. no one else's words dictate your self worth, mkay?' it's sweet, how much he loves you. how desperately he loves you and how far he is willing to go for that to be known. you've never felt so loved and appreciated as you have when you're in his lap, or his arms or simply in the same room as him.

when wilbur is there you are safe, loved and appreciated and those are things you haven't always felt, and for that, you're thankful to him.

after the concealer is blended, you move onto the eyeshadow, tapping the brush out after you dipped it in one of the green tones. you apply it to his eyelids as he tries not to giggle at the way it tickles, his lip being between his teeth to help keep it contained. his fingers tighten on your hip bones for a few minutes as you finish up with the other eyelid. then you add a bit of shimmer shadow to it, for some sparkle. you're quick with the eyeliner, dragging the pencil gently on his waterline, knowing it's his least favorite part.

as you add the highlight to his inner corners, nose and various other spots on his face, you hum with a smile, "I have an idea, could I tell you about it?"

he hums as a yes, smiling as he looks down at you, just slightly.

"what if I put some red lipstick on me and then kissed all over your face and neck and a bit on this white tshirt here?" your words are spoken slower than most times, partly because of the exhaustion of being anxious for a whole day and partly because it insinuates a bit of mischief to your words.

"yes, please, my love," he smirks, loving the idea of going on stage with kiss marks all over his face and neck. what a way to show who's he is, hm?

"wonderful," you're quick with finishing up the base, before you apply the lipstick marks. his cheeks and jaw are heavier in the kisses, and then some more are placed on his neck. you have to reapply the lipstick a few times and after youre done you pull back to look at your work, smiling in satisfaction at your job. Wil looks in the mirror, smirking before kissing your chin.

"it looks beautiful, baby. you did such a good job," he coos softly, a kiss to your cheek as you step off his lap and he stands. you press your hand to his chest as you shake your head.

"almost forgot, lip balm."

he nods and quickly dabs some on his lips, shaking his head and chuckling at how thorough you are.

you help pack his bags and carry them down to the van, and after his guitars and other things are up, he steps aside with you, holding your face and leaning down to meet your eyes.

"promise me you'll be okay? you won't be bored at all?" his eyebrows are all knitted together and you giggle at how worried he seems. you'll be fine after all.

"I'm gonna be fine, I promise. you need to have fun at your show, wilb," your smile is sweet and genuine, and you giggle at every kiss his lips leave on your face. his thumbs rubbing at your cheeks when he pulls back makes you smile even wider.

you didn't want to go to the show, but you didn't tell him that. you simply said you were much too tired and thought staying back and resting was a better option. in reality, his fans scared you a bit. and sometimes you felt judged. it was best to stay at home with your current state of mind anyways.

a few goodbye kisses and a long hug where he picks you up and spins you and then he's off and you're going up the stairs back to your flat.

you're putting away the makeup from earlier, and then head out to the kitchen to put together some leftovers for yourself, bouncing and swaying on your feet, a stim you enjoy most when you're alone. or with wil, but sometimes being with him is like being alone, in an oddly cathartic way. he makes you feel safe, like you can truly be yourself, in the same way you can when there's not a single prying eye. because his brown ones never pry.

you spend your time busying yourself, crocheting different projects you've had going, playing stardew and putting some of wils vods on the TV to help with background noise, and your separation anxiety.

sometime between then and now, you fell asleep on the couch, curled up in pillows and blankets, all nestled in and comfy.

long hours are spent asleep, until the very late hours of night, 2 or 3am and the door is creaking open, shutting and locking. you smile to yourself in your half sleepy daze. you try to pretend to be asleep, knowing that wil would cuddle you if you were awake or asleep, but hoping he'd carry you to bed with him too, if it was the latter.

"love?" he calls softly, dropping his things by the door and shoving his shoes off before hurrying over to you, kneeling down by the side of the couch and pushing hair out of your face. you look up at him through your lashes and he smiles, you broke.

"hi, bee," you hum, reaching out to him and hugging him close, "how was the show?" you speak against his neck, breath fanning over the skin and lifting goosebumps across it.

"very good, the crowd was wonderful. really wish you were there, they would've loved you," he sighs, nestling his face into your neck as he slowly crawls onto the couch with you, laying half on you and half off.

"you have good fans, I don't doubt it," you avoid the other comments, and Wil notes this for later as he rubs your hair and hums to you. you lift your head to look at his face, noticing how his makeup is gone and you frown. he notices and speaks up;

"took it off at the venue, means I can cuddle you immediately," he smiles and you giggle, nodding happily as you stuff your face into his chest and let him embrace you, "ready for bed, bug?"

you nod and he holds you close, before sitting you up. he stands and picks you up by your waist, wrapping you around him and carrying you off to bed. he lays you down, tucking in beside you and kissing your temple.

"were you feeling okay while I was gone?" he asks with a quick chirp. he nibbles at your ear, before a kiss is placed under it.

"yeah, i just crafted and napped," you tuck your head under his chin, hands grasping at his shirt and his covering the top of yours, "you've got big hands," the words are blurted out immediately, without thought. it makes you reel into yourself, hiding your face as it burns red when you realize what you've spoken aloud.

"yeah? well, all the better to hold you with, mm?" he chuckles, shaking his head with a smile and looking out the window for a few seconds. he notices your stillness and reaches down to pull your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, "your comment didn't make me uncomfortable, I liked it. do you need to breathe with me?"

you shrug and he takes that as a yes.

he holds up his hand, outstretched, and takes a deep breath, putting a finger down for each second he breathes in. you follow his lead. he then does the same for holding, 4 in, 4 hold, 4 out. he does this with you a few more times before he notices your body more relaxed and less tense than before. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you closer into his chest as he cradles the back of your head with his hand. his fingers scratch and massage at your scalp as you sigh in contentment.

"i didnt mean to say it," you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"doesn't mean you didnt mean it,"

"i meant it," your response is quick and he smirks at how fast you respond, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back to look at your face.

he leans down, face in his hands as he kisses you ever so softly on the lips, love and care seeping into the touch and when you pull away, a slight tingle is left on the skin he touched. it's nice, like an echo of his love gets left behind with every graze of his fingers or lips or simply his touch. its addicting.

"sleep?" you whisper softly, a yawn seeping through your words.

he nods, and you curl up in his chest as you both shuffle and adjust in the bedsheets.

"goodnight, bunny," he smiles, eyes shut as he kisses your forehead.

"goodnight, bee," and with your words and his touch, slips away any worry that weighed on your chest, and now you feel light. maybe tomorrow you can fly, you hope its with him.

taglist; @ella-fella-bo-bella @lillylvjy @sleepyburs @lotusanonymouse @lcvejoy

as a gift, here are the photos<3

[deluxewhump]

Seeing their names on here makes me crave Carlo and Max content soooo much. Do you have anything you can share with us?

Well it’s from an AU not the OG story, but this was in my notes app :)

For the Max is Erik’s nephew au:

Cw: Pet/slave whump, cold whump, someone give whumpee a coat, Max is pretty young in this so Carlo is a teenager

-

William and Max Holstrom left the warmth of the Christmas party to look at the new toy Erik had bought recently, some fancy imported car. It wasn’t yet six pm but getting dark quickly. A hard crust of snow lay on the ground and the sky was blue with dusk as they made their way across the yard to the sprawling garage. The rectangles of yellow light cast on the ground from the first floor windows fell behind them and the muffled music and laughter of the party faded, replaced by the distant hiss of an unseen highway to the south.

Max and his father hung back two yards waiting for the dark-haired boy Erik called Carlo to punch a security code into a silver keypad. Max looked up and found the big dipper in the frozen black dome of the sky. It was brighter at home, but not quite blotted out by the city’s orange lights here, either. The garage door groaned as it lifted, snapping a thin layer of ice at the base. Carlo flicked on three rows of fluorescent ceiling lights that showed the puffs of their breath on the air as they entered.

The boy wasted no time pulling the canvas cover from his master’s new toy, backing off quickly to be out of the way. Max’s father circled it once and nodded approvingly, raising his cognac glass to his lips. Max stood with his hands in his pockets surveying the car— small, low to the ground and obsequiously sleek. He didn’t get the hype, but he never really had when it came to these types of cars.

He glanced at his uncle’s pet— the only one in the family and seldom talked about— sent outside without so much as a coat. He was in a thin cotton crewneck, and clearly cold.

William didn’t seem to notice. He said something about the vehicle to Max and Max gave an automatic lukewarm response. Carlo must have felt Max’s gaze because he lifted his chin but glanced away sharply when their eyes met, hands tucked under his armpits and jaw clenched so his teeth wouldn’t chatter.

Max shrugged out of his lined wool coat and held it out towards the boy. Immediately, the winter air bit fiercely at his skin through the fabric of his shirt. His uncle’s pet eyed the offering warily. Max nodded and raised the coat another inch like a question. The boy came forward and took it, sliding it on while taking several instinctual steps back from him.

The coat was too big, but Max thought maybe that was even better. It went to his mid thigh and the sleeves hung off his hands. It was warm from his body heat and he watched the boy’s lips part in a little shudder of relief. He turned the collar up and cupped it at his throat with one reddened hand to keep the biting air off his neck.

William had opened the driver’s side door and now leaned into the car, inspecting something about the dash. He hadn’t noticed the exchange his son had initiated.

Carlo met Max’s eyes gingerly, with something between a thank you or a question in them. It was Max who found himself looking away this time.

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

The Hunter, a baby and the unexpected forming of family in unlikely places

Summary:

Hunter Lyssa Williams finds a baby abandoned outside her apartment complex. The 24-year-old is way over her head and does not know the first thing about looking after a tiny human. However, as the saying goes, 'it takes a village to raise a child' and in her case a group of unlikely men come along for the ride.

Genres: Slice of life, comfort, eventual relationships, eventual romance, enemies to friends, frenemies, fluff...

Word count: 2772 words

Eventual Relationships: Xavier/MC/Rafayel

Zayne/Sylus/Lyssa

Chapter One: The Introduction to It All

It was one of the worst days of her life. Work was hell having to battle high level wanderers—just thinking about it made the cut on her arm burn. Then Tara and her bestie could not shut up about their last shipping escapade.

Their captain was in one of her moods as well, despite the woman trying to mask it well, Lyssa always had a way of picking up the slightest twinge of facial muscle and body language that speaks otherwise. Then finally her motorcycle refused to work, keeping her stranded in Linkon city.

“This day couldn’t get any worse than what it already is.”

Like a preferable middle finger sent her way from the Deep space tunnel, the sky opened sending a heavy shower of rain. The biggest fuck you were shouted to the sky as she stormed off, ignoring the shell-shocked looks from a few co-workers that exited the building at that moment.

Lyssa disliked the busy city life and only ventured in it due to working for the Hunter’s Association and its necessities that she couldn’t get from her home that was located on the outskirts of the city before it crossed over to the N109 zone.

The scowl on her face deepened knowing that her only option now was having to use the apartment she had on standby for emergencies.

Cursing profanities under her breath she continued along, too angry to care about the rain soaking her clothes and temporarily obstructing her vision.

Within fifteen minutes the doors of the apartment building came into view, and she hurried along, shaking the water from her hair as she finally took shelter. Lyssa sighed, leaning against the wall and willed herself to start her deep breathing exercises recommended by her therapist whenever she felt overwhelmed.

It took a while, but she came back to herself as her breathing regulated. The hunter slowly made her way to the door when her hearing picked up on soft whimpers and the rustling of fabric.

Years of training sharpened her senses, and her eyes zoned onto a few boxes that were left out. At first, she thought maybe it was a trick of her ears until the whimpering became a little louder. Moving forward she squatted and inspected the boxes.

Stuffed to the back of the wall was a box of medium size, slightly opened. Lyssa was expecting a puppy or maybe a kitten, the shock of finding a baby blew her mind out of the water.

Like who the hell leaves a baby in a fucking box, outside a building were anyone could either steal it, kick it or heavens forbid, the garbage disposal unit fetches it away unknown to anyone. There were orphanages for crying out loud, child protective services… just why? Why?

Wasting no time, she scooped up the box, punched in the building’s security code and raced to get to her apartment. The child needed to get warm and fed. Oh God! How long were they in the dam box?

The whimpering stopped and Lyssa panicked, peeping inside to make sure the child was still breathing. She let out a relieved sigh at the steady rise and fall of the child's chest. Only a few minutes ago she was angry at being stranded in the city and now was appreciative of the inconvenience.

She refused to let her mind think of what if. As the hunter entered her apartment, she knew making decisions on what next raised her anxiety, and so she needed a second opinion. It was time to call an old acquaintance.

“The number you’ve dialed in currently unavailable. Hang up and try again or leave a message after the beep.”

This was the third day in a row they were unsuccessful in getting on to Lyssa. Dr. Zayne looked at his phone as the call disconnected once again. A week ago, his colleague Dr. Waverly came to him in concern that one of his patient Lyssa Williams missed a very important appointment which was unusual for the young woman to do; there was no call, no correspondence.

Why the doctor told him this left him a bit puzzled. Zayne and Lyssa—even though they have been acquainted with each other for a few years—rarely spoke to each other and sometimes on visiting the hospital she would exchange pleasantries and nothing more.

Dr. Waverly stated that Lyssa did not have a next of kin or emergency contact listed on her record, making it difficult to make any contact. Even her place of employment hasn’t seen the young woman for the same duration and being unable to make contact. Dr. Waverly came to him with hope that might find a way to contact the woman.

The light rapping on his door brought the doctor from his thoughts. Looking up his gaze met his friend and patient Jasmin.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I can always come back.”

Zayne cleared his throat “No. That won’t be necessary, you are scheduled for a checkup, and it would be counterproductive if you rescheduled.”

Jasmin entered the room taking a seat. She was about to speak again when her eyes landed on the file on Zayne’s table, recognizing her co-worker’s face even though it was upside down.

“Have you gotten on to her?”

Zayne took a moment to understand who Jasmin was referring to. He looked at the file once more before closing it.

“I take it no one has been successful on your end?”

“No and it is concerning. Lyssa is not one to go AWOL. As much as she complains about hating having to work in the city, she is always present. I swear her attendance is almost perfect, works even when sick but this sudden disappearance is so unlike her.”

“Has no one taken the initiative to visit her home, to see if she is there?”

Jasmine huffed “Tara and I have but the only problem with that plan is no one knows where she lives. The address in the Hunter database is fake. She was so crafty about it, using an address that wouldn’t be suspicious if you don’t know what you’re looking for. I went to it to find a bakery.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. He never realized that Lyssa was such a private person that she would lie about where she lived.

“I even went to our Captain, but she said Lyssa was away on a mission which I don't believe. I just hope she’s alright.”

The good doctor couldn’t help but nod in agreement, yet he felt he was missing something. “If you don’t mind, can you give me that address.”

A week and change ago

“At this point I should stop being surprised every time I get a call from you. Yet again, the only time you do call is when you’re in a predicament. So, what is it this time?”

Lyssa groaned in exasperation, her nerves were already in a state of turmoil and this jackass wasn’t helping “Dox now is not the time. You have experience with babies, right?”

The voice on the other line went silent “What the fuck did you do this time? You pregnant or something? Dam Lyssa, I know we haven’t spoken in a while but the last thing I expected was you popping out kids. Wait didn’t your doctor say that doing that would--”

“WOULD YOU STOP TALKING! IT’S NOT MINE! I NEED YOUR HELP CAUSE I’M WAY OVER MY HEAD HERE.”

The child in her hand squirmed before letting out an ear-piercing scream. Lyssa dropped the phone in surprise, hearing it clatter to the floor but did not try to pick it up, her focus entirely on calming the crying infant.

“Shh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout but I have no idea what I’m doing. Shh… it’s alright.”

“YO LYSSA! PICK UP THE PHONE AND PUT ON YOUR CAMERA.”

She glanced down, hearing Dox shouting and carefully retrieved the phone.

“I have you on speaker give me a minute to boost up the computer and switch the call over to that device.”

Lyssa did that quickly while simultaneously rocking the now fretting child. The exasperated expression of Dox popped on; his eyes swept over her person before landing on the child in her arms. He grinned like the cat that caught the canary.

“Well, well, well. Child theft is a new low even for you Dove.”

“I called for your assistance not your judgment and if you must know, I found them outside my apartment building, abandoned and left in a box. What was I to do? Leave them there?”

The cheerful look in Dox’s eyes left almost instantly “In a box? Don’t people know about orphanages or child services—whom you should have contacted. Why are you taking on this responsibility Lyssa?”

“My thoughts exactly. Why I haven’t called them is because I don’t want to. Have you forgotten my own experience or Alexandra’s or what about Rose?”

“That was years ago, the system has improved, you know this.”

“I don’t care. I refuse to let this child go through even a smidge of what we experienced and the thought of any organization raising a child sickens me.”

“Your bleeding heart is raising its head. Here I thought you locked away these emotions.”

“You are such a jackass Dox.”

Dox laughed “The jackass you called for help. Anyway, you should come to my place. I have tons of space, and the gang will be happy to see you again.”

“I refuse to come to the N109 zone. I think you’ve forgotten who I’m employed with.”

“Something you shouldn’t have done but I guess at the time you didn’t have much of a choice but be honest, is there really anything holding you back from quitting?”

“Not really,” she said without hesitation “But I don’t want to right now.”

Dox groaned “Girl, it’s not like you have to work. You got a shit ton of money than most people left by—”

Lyssa hissed angrily, being careful not to wake the child that fell back asleep “which I will not touch.”

“Lyssa, we spoke about this already. The money is yours. You deserve it after what happened. If you’re going to keep and raise the child which I know you will, your hunter salary wouldn’t last. Looking from here, they don’t look older than 5 months and you can’t return to work unless you hire a nanny which I advise against.”

Lyssa scowled “I hate when you’re right.”

“Saved you tons of headaches over the years because I’m mostly always right. Now, take my advice like the cute Dove you are and tell me what you want for dinner, Rose and I will be there in under an hour with some things for you and the kid.”

“I really need a crochet hook and wool of every color. This apartment doesn’t have any of my supplies and I feel out of place without seeing wool around the house.”

“You are such a granny.”

“Fuck you, Dox.”

“Sorry Dove, I am spoken for but thanks for thinking of me in that light.”

“Eww. Get off my computer. I’ll see you in an hour.”

True to his word, Dox arrived just under an hour, hands filled with bags of all sizes. Rose followed behind with several boxes.

“Where’s the wee babe. Let me get a good look at ‘em,” Rose asked excitedly. She was a petite woman, three years older than Lyssa, with red curly hair and soft features.

“That babe is sleeping so please don’t wake them.”

Dox snorted “Relax Dove. Rose is a baby expert; she is a Pediatric nurse after all.”

It was at that moment that Lyssa noticed Roses’ medical bag.

Rose gave her a reassured smile “Get something to eat, you look like you haven’t eaten all day and for the love of sake get out of that Hunter uniform.”

Dox gently pushed Lyssa to the direction of her room “You heard the nurse, get going, I’ll dish out dinner.”

Thanking them she did as was instructed. The warm water did wonders for her aching muscles and as she stood under the shower, a list of things that she had to take care of rushed through her mind.

Dox was right, she couldn’t rely on her hunter’s salary alone and speaking of work, being a Hunter wasn’t a safe career if she was going to be raising a child. She would have to request time off. Lyssa didn’t think it was smart to just up and resign, it would raise suspicion which she didn’t want.

She would have to call Captain Jenna in the morning. Next would be getting a crib and stocking up on formula and baby items. Then there is also the issue of making sure the child is not found out by Child services which shouldn’t be an issue with Alexandra and Dox involved.

Then there is her upcoming doctor’s appointment with Doctor Waverly which she would have to miss. Dam, it’s only been a few hours and already her whole life was being reshuffled.

Stepping out the shower, she hurried to get dressed and rejoin the others not wanting to keep them waiting.

When she stepped into the living room, Rose was in the process of putting a new outfit on the baby, cooing and looking excited.

Not too far from the couch stood a crib and a baby swing. Then on the center table had a pile of clothing, diapers, wipes, some books and other baby things.

“Lyssa come join me. Dox is in the kitchen putting away the bottles and formula.”

“When he said he was bringing a few things I wasn’t expecting all this. Saves me the hassle of getting them myself. Thank you.”

“None of that, we weren’t going to leave you headless about this. I think what you’ve chosen to do is admirable, and I agree with your decision to raise this child. Now, you will be pleased to know that apart from a few diaper rashes, she is a healthy baby. Dox wasn’t off about her age either; she is five months old. Poor thing being left alone the way she was.”

Lyssa sat down and observed the way Rose clothes the child. The delicate movements and soft touches. It was a relief knowing the baby's gender since it will help with research.

“To be honest I wasn’t sure whether or not you guys would help, after all, I stay away.”

Rose raised a brow “We know your personality. We know you little one. Even though you act like you’re better off alone, we’ll always offer a helping hand despite you being a stubborn arse.”

That made Lyssa laugh “Thank you regardless.”

“You’re welcome. Now let’s leave this other little one to sleep since I’ve given her a feed and we can move this conversation to the kitchen. Dox and I have a few things to discuss with you.”

Present day

Lyssa rouse from her nap at the sound of rapping on her door. The night before little Ella refused to sleep, extremely fussy and did not want to be put in her crib. The little girl was now puckered out, fast asleep on her chest, fist clutching the shirt she wore.

The rapping persisted and Lyssa had a good mind to ignore whoever was at the door. All she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep deprivation was no joke.

Carefully putting the babe to her shoulder, one hand on her back and the other supporting her bottom, she slowly got up and walked to the door.

Blame it on her state of tiredness because she opened the door without checking the peephole.

“I guess I should be relieved that you’re alive, but this was the last thing I expected.”

All traces of sleepiness left her body at the voice of Doctor Zayne. If he found her it means that Doctor Waverly will find out and Jasmin, who will then tell Tara who will tell everyone at the Association, and they will get up in her business. She should have returned home when Dox offered to.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I’m sure you have your reasons for disappearing.”

Lyssa groaned at the absurdness of it all “How the hell did you find my apartment?”

“Jasmin gave me the address from your workplace and your Captain helped with the rest.”

Cursing, she turned and told him to get inside. The day was starting and already turning out to be a pain. She really didn’t want to talk to Doctor Zayne.

A/N: A new chapter will be out every weekend, on Sundays. If you wish to read it on my AO3 account, here's the link.

[ratteni-da-rotten]

A Mouse Among Owls? - Chapter 01

Fandom: Murder Drones

Warnings: Background Character Death, accidental baby acquisition

Characters (so far): Serial Designation V, Uzi Doorman

┈┈┈┈

A vibrant yellow cross stared at the small thing on the floor. The feathered beast’s head tilted slightly to the side trying to figure out what it was. She felt her tail gently swishing behind, disturbing the ever-so-frigid snow. Serial Designation V’s thermal sensors detected heat emanating from it, the object’s red-yellow-green colours contrasted against a sea of blue.

Pained and terrified cries were still echoing near her. Their source was a worker who was in the process of dying. The disassembler lacked any care for its pathetic whimpering. In her opinion, their suffering made great background music. Maybe she would record it and add it to her internal audio collection folders so she could listen to it during boredom spells.

There was no need for pity; the gashes inflicted on the lesser drone’s chassis would make it soon go into FATAL ERROR by oil loss. At least, it wouldn’t be a lonely death since the rogue machine would join their fallen peers around them. Dark liquid haphazardly painted the cold surroundings, its tantalising smell as if seducing the killer angel for a taste.

No need to rush things, the workers wouldn’t return to life and flee nor would the winged lass allow any other rival disassembler to steal her sweet spoils. Normally, V would be playing and taunting with the remaining worker on its deathbed but her focus remained on the mysterious item. By reviewing her recent memory files, the metallic beast recalled it had been thrown near her feet when she dove from the sky and attacked the wandering group of toasters.

Perhaps it had been a distraction attempt? SD - V doubted the workers were smart enough for that, they were nothing more than mindless machinery. Maybe their rudimentary AI had come up with the conclusion that less weight meant it could run away faster.

The interesting oval-shaped object was wrapped by a purple and white rabbit-themed blanket, what was once snug around the thing now had noticeably loosed but still concealed the small hidden item’s identity.

She kneeled and leaned forward, both clawed hands on the snowy ground, as if essentially cornering the motionless mystery would improve the inspection. Carefully, a finger-blade lightly tapped the fabric only to feel something solid underneath. V licked her chops and removed the blanket just enough to reveal its contents.

It was like her servos had frozen; even Serial Designation V’s tail stopped dead in the air. Neon purple eyes, hollow and shaking, adorned with stress lines, stared back at her. The stare remained locked into each other’s visors until the nearby sound of sobs stole the smaller robot’s attention. Mangled worker drone carcasses were on full display, and the twin moons’ tender light made their spilt oil gleam beautifully. One had yet to pass away, its off-putting sounds worsening the situation tenfold.

A strangled whine escaped the pill baby’s voicebox, momentarily restraining itself, before scaling into full grating wailing. V’s stringy tail lowered to the ground and curled up around one of her pointy legs, the toxic yellow cross on her visor quickly was replaced by normal drone eyes. The disassembly machine had an unreadable facial expression, her body was as still as a statue except for her quivering claws.

“Shit shit shit shitshitshit,” were the words the murder bot gal started to scream within the confines of her mind. Mind, core, and code began to caterwaul against each other as if trying to bend the rivalling wants to its will by being the loudest.

Drones like her were made to adapt to every environment and situation with the sole goal of completing their mission. Yet this scenario was new; she had no prior experience, and the expected outcome would surely leave a bitter taste in her jaws. What was she supposed to do when every part of her was in conflict?

Serial Designation V’s gaze briefly wandered to the suffering, bleeding, worker not far from them. Its suffering was finally reaching the end, the rogue machine would be of no help if it was dead. The untrained neural network wouldn’t last long if V allowed them to “flee” together, other predatory robots would be attracted by the dark sweet liquid leaking from their wounds. She doubted the thing would even make it very far, a few metres and the drone would undoubtedly collapse back on the polar desert’s cold surface.

“Maybe… maybe I could just leave it he–”, the usually fierce disassembly machine shook her head. Starvation would claim the tiny aluminium infant, a drawn-out demise if not found by others, and terribly agonising for a being who isn’t familiar with neglected hunger pangs. Stabbing through its CPU would be quicker and, hopefully, less painful. Furthermore, it was unlikely another disassembler would terminate the thing if they stumbled on it. “Too little oil, not worth the effort,” they would probably think to themselves.

V lifted a single, trembling, sharp blade ready to spear through the artificial baby’s visor. Seconds passed by, the deadly claws hovering over its smaller form, and she couldn’t compel herself to do what was supposed to be her job. The ferocious hunter, the one who enjoyed prolonging her prey’s misery and experimenting with how much damage it could sustain before permanently shutting down, was reluctant to tear a UNN to shreds. If other squads became aware of this, they would surely crack up at this fact.

Poor thing was crying its speakers out, scrunched LED eyes, wiggling erratically on the ground. So utterly defenceless, they couldn’t even try to turn tail as it lacked any limbs, under the claws of an oilfeeder. Looking closely at the thing, it resembled the– Nope, not thinking about that right now!

No living being stays young forever, untrained neural networks get older and moult from their infantile shape. When this one achieved the milestone, it would die by her claws or by her teammates. And if the pill drone died before that due to someone else’s actions, that would still be alright. V will turn a blind eye, as long it isn’t her fault.

SD - V swapped her claws back to her ordinary hands and gingerly cradled the robot infant close to her chest. The embrace was warm, so different from Copper-9’s freezing winds. For that moment the taller being’s fans were audible to the pill drone, the proximity allowed so. Her cries decreased in intensity, the gentle back rubbing and the ceasing of death gurgles lulled the tiny one into quietness. Bawling took a toll on the pill baby, making it enter SLEEP MODE. Dormant in a monster’s arms, killer of her kind, it was comforting nonetheless.

[tirsynni]

Nivannedy Week Day Three

Not feeling hot and not recovered from my trip, so apologies for possible crappiness. ^^;;

DAY 3: “How do you feel?”

Untitled 2/2

Piers didn’t have a lockpick, but Leon was disturbingly skilled at directing him how to free him with a knife. Piers had asked him once about his abilities with a knife. It had been more the dark shadows in Leon’s eyes than Leon’s overly cheerful “Classified” which stopped Piers from pushing.

“How much time do you think we have before they return?” Piers asked. 

“Unknown,” Leon said. He didn’t look at Piers, instead rubbing his wrists. Leon was wounded and battered, and Piers felt guilty for admiring the curve of his jaw when he should have been assessing the man’s wounds. “Is backup coming?”

“At least Chris,” Piers said. “How do you feel? Are you okay to leave?”

Leon’s wrists were bruised from more than his cuffs. Piers saw the shadow of a handprint before Leon shifted and his sleeve hid it again. “More than. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He looked past Piers, and his eyes went dark and distant. “There’s nothing else here now.”

Question after question tumbled behind Piers’s teeth -- who did this, what happened here -- but getting Leon out of there and finding medical treatment was more important. He gave Leon a spare pistol and tried not to bask in Leon’s thankful smile. The movement reopened the cut in Leon’s lip and killed the brief spark of pleasure.

Leon Kennedy was a legend in the field, a veteran long before Piers had killed his first BOW, but that didn’t erase the blooming black eye or the slender trail of blood on his face. Nothing could have stopped Piers from staying close to the man as he limped out of the room. Piers sent an update through the radio, adding a request for a medic to be waiting for them outside. Leon rolled his eyes at Piers when he heard it, but Piers only made a face back. Being a legend didn’t stop someone from being a stubborn idiot, after all.

It was more telling than anything else that Leon didn’t protest Piers’s close proximity. Leon even bumped his shoulder as they slowly moved toward the exit. “How are you holding up?” Piers asked quietly. 

Leon’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Classified.” He bumped Piers’s shoulder again, almost apologetically, and his weight lingered against Piers as he looked around again.

No Tyrant or Licked put Leon in that room and provided him with lunch. Was it the same being who killed the others?

There was no point in asking. Leon had made that clear. Piers looked away from their surroundings to study Leon’s pale face. Leon’s jaw was clenched, face tight, and Piers hated it. “After we patch you up, maybe we can find you a coffee. I could use one myself.”

Leon paused in his tense perusal to raise an eyebrow at Piers. There was a healing scrape there that Piers hadn’t noticed before. “If Hunnigan doesn’t kill me first,” he said.

Something creaked in the distance. Leon tensed and his eyes grew sharp. Leon aimed his pistol down the corridor and Piers copied him, mind flicking through possible threats. He knew all of his attention should be on this possible threat, but he found himself noticing Leon’s bloody sleeve, obvious with Leon’s arms extended like they were. A clean cut through the fabric. A familiar cut.

“Piers! Leon!” 

Leon exhaled and lowered his pistol. “Here, Chris!” he shouted back. “About time!”

They didn’t have a medic, so Piers found himself being the one to bandage Leon’s wounds while another team swept the building. Leon checked in with Hunnigan, using clearly coded language as Piers inspected Leon’s bruised wrists. 

Yeah. That was definitely a handprint. Bigger than his own. Another mental box was ticked.

When Leon was done, Piers assessed the bruises on his face. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Leon wrinkled his nose at him, aware that Piers had asked that before and just as aware that he hadn’t ever answered. Then he smiled, warm and bright. “How about I tell you over coffee? I don’t have to debrief until tomorrow morning.”

They hadn’t moved far. Just to the BSAA trucks outside the rusting factory. From their vantage point, Piers could have sworn he saw a shadow watching them from one of the high windows. Piers was willing to bet that he knew who possessed that shadow.

Piers didn’t say a word about it. He smiled back at Leon and carefully touched the skin beside his black eye. “It’s a date.”

[davekat-sucks]

Oooh! I have my own headcanons as well!

John Egbert, movie critic and professional prankster, has a small Youtube Channel named EctoBiologist_143 that does a lot of skit based comedy reviews, think Nostalgia Critic without the scummy business practices. John also tries to code personal birthday card files for his friends, they work half the time, if unzipping the .ath file is recognized on the computer’s software.

Rose Lalonde loves to overanalyze kids media, especially squiddles as it’s a way for her to bond with Jade, and Rose notices quite a lot of references to the deep sea and hidden realms in the media.

Dave Strider, as much as he loves to remix and produce beats, he also learns the drums as a traditional instrument to play band, he made one EP with John Rose and Jade, he says he doesn’t want to publish because it “sounds too normal to be indie” bit really he wants a piece of his second family to keep as a memory. His first family was him and bro, and yeeeeeeah, he doesn’t like puppets, except Randy Feltface.

Jade Harley prefers to be a vegetarian, but her Bec side loves meat, she treats herself to black bean burgers and tofu sausages. Her mostly veggie diet comes from her gardening, making all-organic foods. Her Bec side also makes her droop when she’s near nuclear reactors, that’s why her job is reactor designer and not inspection.

Jane Crocker made an MSPFA called Professional Charlatan, an adventure about a hard-boiled prankster, an Adventuring Dandy and a Populist Ingenious work as a team with intelligensia from Master Kernel to defeat the insidious and undersea work of the MERMAID MOB. It is very obvious this is loosely based on Jane and her friends fighting the Condesce.

Jake English dabbles in the art, and takes from Pablo Picasso’s blue period. Rose has a very psychoanalytical idea for why he likes to draw so many blue landscapes, and round, wavy feminine shapes. Jake also draws Robots, a lot. He even gets commissions to draw corny 1950s sci-fi book covers!

Roxy teaches John how to make code in .ath that does not suck. She and John love to share simple code that range from ripoff arcade games to ascii gifs. She takes a lot of the wine her mom stored to be sold in a wine store she owns. Roxy likes to taste wine, but declines anything more than one glass to drink, modesty is policy!

Dirk Strider works with a lot of felt and soft fabrics. He actually makes quilts as therapy for living on his own for 16 years. He also likes to hang out with Dave, he looks up to Dave and how he turned out even with the worst Dirk in all of Paradox space. Dirk still has a manipulative streak where he tries to subtly convince Dave to binge The Muppet Show with him to grow a tolerance for non-smutty plushes. Dave still can not watch any scene with Gonzo without getting sweaty and tense.

This is a lot of text for 8 characters so if I ever do troll headcanons they are in a separate batch.

[agirlunderarock]

Consequences

Summary: Obi-Wan gets protective of Ahsoka after finding out Anakin plans to use her to get into the Zygerrian slave camp. Some people are more willing to roll with the changes Obi-Wan wants to make to the plans than others.

Pairings: Obi-WanXSas (original female character)

Warnings: None- written for general audiences

A/N: This fic was inspired by artwork by @agingerpanda so please go show the post some love her artwork is wonderful!

Read on Ao3

“Alright, that should be everything,” Sas said to herself as she inspected the neat stacks of disguises she had put together for Anakin’s most recent “just crazy enough to work” idea for the mission to Kadavo. She placed her hands on her hips, whether with satisfaction with her handiwork, or an attempt to keep from fussing with her back brace, she wouldn’t admit to either. She would however admit that she was proud of the effort she put into putting the disguises together. Scrounging around for oddly specific helmets on the black market, or going through the trouble of buying a dress, taking it apart and making something completely new, weren’t exactly the skills she was pulled into the Grand Army of the Republic for, but she found she did enjoy the change. At least it was better than sitting around the Jedi Temple training halls or the clone barracks and running through her monotonous physical therapy routine.

“As our resident shapeshifter, recon consultant, and biggest critic of armor functionality I’m putting you in charge of our disguises,” Anakin had said. Sas had rolled her eyes at the time, but now as she rubbed the soft but stretchy teal fabric of the captive disguise, she felt really pleased with herself. She really did try to keep it simple, almost all functional, the dress being the exception. Well, Sas made it as functional as she could, with as little fabric as she had.

Anakin, Obi-Wan and Rex would be getting to her ship soon to try on their Zygerrian slaver disguises. Heat creeped its way up the back of her neck at the thought. She didn’t want to dwell much on why.  These were just mission things that had to be taken care of, and this time the mission included her shifting into a Togruta woman and being barely dressed. No big deal.

Sas took one quick breath to shake off the pre-mission jitters, and went to change. 

Okay so Sas actually did like the way the disguise fit her. She turned in the mirror, grinning as teal color complimented her green skin and dark hair. The fabric had some give at the top, so it was form fitting, though not tight. She had even managed to leave enough space that she could wear her back brace under it. With the gold necklace and the belt, all she would need to do is ask Anakin or maybe Boil if they could paint her brace the same gold color. She could make it look like the necklace, and the long spinal support was connected to the belt at her waist. She might need a second opinion on it, but truthfully the thought of heading back into the field after being out so long filled her with a nervous excitement.

At least that was what she told herself when she heard the ramp to her ship lower itself. It really shouldn’t have surprised Sas that Obi-Wan and Anakin were early, or that they came onto her ship without knocking, and yet she felt warmth inch its way up her neck again.

“You seem to know your way around here,” Anakin’s voice echoed down the metal halls.

“Only about as well as you know Senator Amidala’s apartment,” Obi-Wan replied. Sas could practically hear the smile in his voice. 

“You two are early,” she called down the small corridor as she walked to the ramp, “For once.”

“If we were going to be late, it would have been Anakin’s fault,” Obi-Wan called back, punching in the code to close up the ramp again. “Lucky for us I know how to keep to a schedule.”

“How would it be my fault? We came from the same place.”

Obi-Wan just ignored the question, “Rex will be here soon. I believe he was having lunch with Pyrrha-” He stopped for a moment as Sas met them in the main storage hold.

Sas watched the two jedi for a moment, Anakin averting his eyes to Obi-Wan, and the latter taking a moment to fuss with his beard under his chin. She wasn’t a jedi; she couldn’t read their emotions, but she could tell Obi-Wan was trying to figure out something to say.  “That's fine,” she started, “Pyrrha knows the code, they can just drop in when they’re ready to. I’ve got your gear sets on the table. Let me just walk you  both through everything. It’s not going to be nearly as comfortable as the duraplast you wear with your robes, but it gives more coverage so that should be good.” Sas was acutely aware of how cold her legs felt as the teal fabric swished with each step. Neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin were the kind to keep their judgements to themselves, so their silence felt heavier and awkward as she continued to ramble on. “So I also needed your opinion on this,” Sas continued, as she gestured to her back brace. “It fits well enough under it, but I thought if we spray painted it gold or something it might look like part of the costume or something-”

“Sas, what are you talking about?” Obi-Wan said at last.

By now the trio was standing in her small mess chamber, Sas leaned against the table as she turned to Obi-Wan, his brows furrowed low over his blue eyes. To anyone else, he might have looked frustrated, but Sas had found over the years it was a face he really made when he was more concerned.

“I just thought it would be better to work my brace into the costume, Anakin or maybe Boil could help me paint it. It wouldn’t take long,” she said. “Figured that would be better than me going without it. I’d be fine to go without it-”

“Sas, you’re not going on this mission,” Obi-Wan interrupted again. 

“What are you talking about Kenobi?” She challenged. “If I’m not going, what was the point of having me put all of this together? Having me put together the disguises?” She looked between the two jedi in confusion.

“So you could feel involved again-” Anakin quickly answered. “You have the best eye for things like this. I didn’t think you would take it to mean you were coming with us.”

“Regardless, Anakin, you could have done her the courtesy of telling her,” Obi-Wan said.

“Honestly, Sas, you’re still my first pick for this mission.”

“Anakin-”

“What? Sas has done plenty of undercover missions for us before. She’s perfect for this!”

“She was undercover as Padme, not being sent to a prison camp. What makes you think those two missions are comparable?”

Sas just crossed her arms and let them bicker back and forth. That was how these sort of things usually went. Truthfully, Sas thought she would have been medically cleared to return to the field by now. She wasn’t surprised though that Anakin hadn’t bothered to check or clear any of it with anyone. While she could say that her physical therapy had been going well, and she was infinitely stronger than she had been a few weeks ago, the implications of getting wounded or looking weak at prison camp, in the event she was rejected as a “gift,” didn’t give her much confidence in making it through the mission in one piece.

“Do I get a say in any of this?” She sighed. Both jedi stopped and looked at her. “Its fine, alright. I misunderstood. It’s fine. I don’t know who you got to fill in, I can see if I can make adjustments for Shaak Ti, I’m assuming you asked her-”

“Eh, Ahsoka is only a little shorter than you, she can make it work,” Anakin said with a shrug. “These my things?” he added as he picked up a stack of gear.

Sas blinked, once, then twice, then looked to Obi-Wan who seemingly turned to stone as he stared at Anakin before speaking again. “Anakin, am I to understand that in your eyes, the next best person to pretend to sell into slavery is Ahsoka, not just your padawan, but a child?”

“She’s a tough kid, and we’ll be there to keep an eye on her. She’ll pick up on the plan quickly. Ahsoka is used to our improvised plans. At least more than Shaak Ti or anyone else would be.”

Sas pressed her palms together, took a deep breath as she brought her hands up to her face before slowly letting out the breath and dropping them. She opened her mouth to call Anakin a few choice words, but stopped abruptly as Obi-Wan reached for his pile of gear with one arm, and with the other guided Sas away from the table by her waist. 

Sas told herself her stuttering was because she was abruptly cut off as Obi-Wan led her away. It definitely was not a reaction to the way his war worn hand sent a shiver of warmth through her when his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of her exposed waist. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched her before, and yet she felt her heart fluttering with each step she took as he led her back to her cabin. There was no reason for her to feel so worked up. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to race as he adjusted his hand to the small of her back, just where her brace ended.

“My dear, I should apologize for the confusion,” Obi-Wan said as they stopped outside her door.

Sas furrowed her brows. Her mind was still ringing with him calling her ‘my dear’. She felt more warmth creep into her face, He had done it plenty of times before, but something about the way he said it coupled with his hand once again adjusting its position on her waist, left her brain buzzing.

His own blue eyes widened for a moment as he realized what he had done and abruptly pulled his hand away. “For the miscommunication,” he clarified as if he didn’t know he set every nerve ending across her skin ablaze.

“Oh that,” She said, giving a tired roll of her eyes. “It's just Anakin being stubborn. I should have known better than to try to squeeze my way onto the mission so soon.” Outwardly she gave a small teasing smile, “You know its probably for the best I sit this one out. You seemed so distracted when you walked in. I’d hate to mess up the mission because you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

To her surprise she heard Obi-Wan chuckle to himself  as she walked into her room. She looked back at him only to see a small smile of his own tugging at his lips from under his beard. “Yes, well fortunately for me, if you were going you would have shifted into someone else. Someone not nearly as distracting as you claim to be now.”

“I’m not claiming anything. Your silence spoke volumes Pretty Boy,” Sas teased. “It's fine, I understand. I’m just too hot for this mission. I get it.”

Obi-Wan just shook his head, but she could still see the small curve to his lips. He looked down the corridor for a moment before letting her door close behind him as he stepped further into her room. “Sas, it's alright if you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

He raised a brow in answer.

“Using the force to read my emotions is cheating,” Sas countered sitting on the edge of her bed. “I know I’m just too gorgeous for you to handle right now, but you could pretend to misread my body language like anyone else would.”

Obi-Wan let out a breath as he moved to sit next to her. “I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are-.” “Its not a joke, I’m a legit snack.”

Sas hadn’t even realized she moved, until she felt Obi-Wan shift next to her and wrap his arm around her shoulders. Her throat closed up around half formed words as she tried to protest that she wasn’t upset. That she wasn’t disappointed, that she wasn’t worried about him.

“Sas, its okay. You don’t have anything to prove by going, or trying to hide that you’re upset.” She felt his chin rest on top of her head. “While I agree, you made a disguise that accentuates your beauty, I would prefer to have you well rested and in one piece. There will always be another mission-”

Closing her eyes and leaning into his hold, Sas let his words sink in for a moment. Of course she knew there would always be a next time. Even if she wasn’t serving on republic funded missions, there were always supply runs  that needed to be made for her home planet. Part of the problem was that there was always another mission and it had taken more than a few tolls on Obi-Wan and Sas. Physically and mentally they were drained, even if they tried not to show it.

“Maybe the next mission will be for us to take a vacation,” she whispered.

“That would be nice,” he hummed. 

They sat in silence for a while, neither in much of a hurry to change their clothes. It was comfortable and Sas was in no rush to disrupt the small moment of peace.

Anakin however, was eager. “Rex and Pyrrha are picking up Ahsoka, they’ll be here soon,” he called from down the corridor again.

Obi-Wan stiffened next to her. “He just doesn’t want to ask anyone else.” With his free hand, Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay but how many Jedi do you both actually know that would put themselves in that situation with you guys?” Sas asked as she slowly sat up.

“You’re not seriously defending him?”

“No, no I’m not.” Sas said quickly. “I just…understand only wanting to work with people who get your- uh preparation methods. That's why I was contracted through you and really only your unit for the GAR.”

Obi-Wan turned to her fully then. His blue eyes scanned her face, for what though Sas couldn’t say. She always understood those little extra moments of staring as Jedi things, that Obi-Wan just sometimes did. “Darling, you’ve just given me an idea. Take off the dress-”

“Excuse me there should be a please sprinkled in either before or after ‘take off the dress.’” Sas said.

Obi-Wan just blinked at her.

“I just mean, I’m not sure now is a good time for that- We can do that but i don’t think right this second is a good time-”

“Sas-”

“I get it, I look good in this disguise,” Sas was grinning at this point, as she thought she saw some red creeping around the edges of his ears.

“Sas, you know that's not what I meant.”

“No, I know, but it did get you to laugh.”

***

“How do I look?” Obi-Wan said at last. He held out his arms as Sas circled and inspected him in his new disguise.

“Honestly you look better than I did-” Sas said quickly as she adjusted the teal material stretched over his shoulder. She had added some fabric to the metal belt and necklace so that it would fit him. She hadn’t anticipated just exactly how the disguise would fit him. Truthfully she didn’t think the teal disguise would fit him at all. “There's a part of me that says I should be offended but,” she stood in front of him and reached out to adjust the top over his shoulder, “it makes your tits look better than mine.”

“Sas-”

“Fine, your pectorals, is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“This is barely going to cover your nipple-” Sas thought out loud as she reached to adjust the fabric but then quickly pulled her hands away. Fixing it over his shoulder was one thing, something about this felt different. This wasn't a necessity like when they trained together, or occasionally had to put and check each other's bacta pads. She took a step back studying the way the fabric clung to him, accentuating his muscle definition that usually hid under his robes.

“So we’re leaving it out? I suppose that would add to the appeal,” Obi-Wan said looking down at himself and then to Sas with a small grin. “But you would be the best person to speak on that, right Darling?”

Sas had to look away for a moment. She needed air. She felt warmth flood her face as she tried to look back to him to attempt to counter his teasing. All it took was a glimpse of his little teasing grin and the mischievous glint in those pretty blue eyes to make her heart flutter wildly in her chest. She had to look away again. He was only saying that because she was in charge of the disguises. That was all. Any flirting or comments before, even now, were just both of them being silly. That was all. Her ears burned. She spotted the last of the matching jewelry on her dresser, and took her chance to escape.

“I would be, if I was the one you were supposed to be charming and distracting,” She said once she could clear her head of his grin. She gathered up the head piece and the few rings she had found to match the belt.

“I suppose this would be good practice for me then?”

“The day you need to practice being charming, is the day Tatooine floods.” Sas held up the jewelry. “Besides, you need the finishing touches.”

 She offered him the rings and waited for him to slide them onto his fingers before holding up the head piece. She had expected him to just take it from her hands but instead he tilted his head down and leaned in toward her. Sas stopped breathing.

“Would you do the honors?”

Sas blinked. For half a second she thought he was going to kiss her cheek. He was close enough. She let out a breath and gave him a grin. He was just messing with her that was all. It wasn’t often that she got flustered and he was just taking advantage of that. Maybe even trying to get her mind off the disappointment of not going with them.

“Of course, Love,” she finally answered as she set the crown on his head. She did her best to set the small combs on the edge in his hair without making it look silly. Once it was securely in place she dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at him. “All done. Are you sure you want to do this? Rex, Pyrrha and Ahsoka could show up at any second.”

“Anakin only wanted people he knew well on this mission. Who better to take this role, but me?”

Sas just laughed. “Well if you change your mind, at least we know your other disguise fits too.”

“You did a wonderful job with both Sas,” Obi-Wan assured her as he clasped her shoulder.

“You want me to go ahead of you, make it more dramatic?” “If you would be so kind.”

“He’s going to be so mad.”

“Maybe he should have done what we agreed on then.”

Sas let out another laugh before composing herself and stepping back to the mess table. Anakin had apparently just decided to try to fit the armor over his robes, which worked, but anyone who knew Jedi robes would be able to see through the disguise. Sas felt less bad for him as she watched him slide the helmet over his head.

“What was the point in having me put together actual disguises if you were just going to put the armor on over your robes?” Sas asked as she plopped down on the bench and propped her head on her arms on the table. “It would have saved me a lot of time, you know.”

“Well its about time you’re back. What happened, the old man couldn’t dress himself?” Anakin said, turning to look down the hall waiting for his former master still.

“Well…something like that- You laced up the shoulder piece wrong by the way.”

“Can you fix it for me then?” Anakin asked, turning his back to the hallway again.

“I don’t know, last I heard only old men couldn’t dress themselves.”

“Sas, come on-”

“Fine, stop your fussing. Come here.” Sas shifted so she was kneeling on the couch and motioned for Anakin to stand in front of her facing the hallway again. “Just sit still, this will only take a second.”

“Then what’s taking Obi-Wan so long?”

“Well he’s wearing everything exactly the way I said to so-”

“Obi-Wan, what are you wearing?” Anakin exclaimed.

Obi-Wan stood at the edge of the room,standing a little taller and straighter, really attempting to test how well the fabric of the disguise would hold together. Now that Sas had a moment to catch her breath and clear her head, she took a moment to fully appreciate the lengths Obi-Wan went through to get back at Anakin. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but Sas thought she was starting to understand why.

“Anakin stop moving-” Sas tried not to laugh as she yanked on the armor making him face Obi-Wan as he tried to look away from the Jedi Master.

“My disguise Anakin, I thought it was obvious,” Obi-Wan answered.

“Why are you wearing Ahsoka’s-”

“Oh no, Sas and I agreed this disguise was much too big for Ahsoka. We’ll just let her know she won’t be accompanying us on this mission.” 

Anakin tried to lift one of his arms to shield his eyes, but Sas just pulled on another one of the ties in the shoulder armor to get him to lower his hand. “Fine I’ll send holo to Shaak Ti, I’m sure-”

“Are you kidding?” Sas started, “You think she has time to make it all the way from Kamino? You leave tomorrow and you can’t pick her up on the way.”

“After all Anakin,” Obi-Wan cut in, “You did say you would prefer to work with someone who was familiar with- how did you describe it- your preparation style?”

“Fine, I’ll find someone else!”

“Frankly Anakin there's no one in the Order who knows you better than I do. It only makes sense that I should take this role.”

“I think it's a bit late for that, Ani-'' Sas said, finally letting go of the armor straps and letting him step away.

“Come on, Obi-Wan take it off. You’re not posing as the slave,” Anakin said, though he still wouldn’t look directly at Obi-Wan.

“Oh no, I believe I fit your requirements better than Ahsoka could.”

“I’ll find someone else, it won’t take me long.”

“No, you said you wanted someone with more experience following your plans, and these are the consequences for not making a proper plan.”

Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose. “There's gotta be someone else-”

“Someone else for what-” Ahsoka’s voice trailed off as she stopped in the opposite entrance.

Sas kept her grin contained as Rex, Ahsoka, and Pyrrha stood in the main hall staring in shock at Obi-Wan. Even though they were all struck differently, it was nice to know she wasn’t the one. Rex and Ahsoka shared similar wide eyed expressions of complete shock, Anakin still wouldn’t look directly at his former Master, and Pyrrha, clutching her helmet, was trembling as she tried to contain her laughter.

“Oh nothing,” Obi-Wan answered the padawan as he crossed over to lean against the couch next to Sas. “Anakin was just thinking I should be replaced. He should know better than that though.”

“Besides, General Kenobi here would get a much better deal than anyone else  we would pretend to sell,” Sas chimed in, as she shifted to give him a high five, only to have him clasp her hand in his. Her heart stopped for just a second, but she kept her hand in his.

“It’s not going to make any sense- we need a Togruta to get into the camp,” Anakin complained.

“Well, you do like to improvise, so we’ll improvise,” Obi-Wan answered calmly.

Ahsoka’s brows knitted together as if she were finally starting to make the connection. “I’m definitely not going to wear that,” she muttered, eyeing Obi-Wan skeptically.

“No, you’re not,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “It was already settled. I will be sold off, Anakin and Rex will be the ones to do that. Pyrrha, you may need to take Sas’ place as the third guard since she’s not medically cleared for the mission.”

Pyrrha finally wheezed out the giggles she had been trying to contain. “Wait, I thought the plan was to have four keepers.”

“I mean I have extra gear but that's going to be up to Anakin and if he can stick to the plan this time,” Sas teased.

Anakin sighed, “Yeah sure let's have four, Pyrrha you can switch with Obi-Wan, or maybe Jankari will do it-”

Before Pyrrha could answer, Obi-Wan spoke up again, “No, you just said he had to have a Togruta to get in the prison camps. A human woman isn’t going to get us any closer. I’m your best chance.”

“Master Jedi, Republic High General, makes him a valuable catch, on top of you know the look he has going for him,” Sas added, earning an eye roll from her friend across the room.

“Unless of course you’d like to volunteer to be the captive,” Obi-Wan continued looking pointedly at Anakin. “I’m sure Sas could make some last minute modifications-”

Anakin threw his hands up, “NO.”

“Then it’s settled,” Obi-Wan said, his grin growing wide under his beard.

“Wait one more thing,” Pyrrha started. Rex just tensed up next to her. Clearly the captain just wanted to grab his gear and go. “We gotta get a receipt for Kenobi when we sell him. They might try to get a refund for him after having him around for a while.”

“Oh no, there's no exchanges or returns for this sale,” Obi-Wan said with a small head shake.

“ Is that why Sas hasn’t been able to get rid of you yet?” Pyrrha added with a snicker.

Sas looked up at Obi-Wan, who was looking back down at her, and their hands still clasped together. She couldn’t get rid of him even if she wanted to, is what she wanted to say and she even offered him a small smile. He could probably tell what she was thinking anyway, nothing she said out loud would really matter. So instead she turned back to the group, Anakin had already disappeared down another hall to remove his armor, and said, “Hey Ahsoka, you wanna take Pyrrha’s place as a guard?”

“Does it mean I have to deal with more of,” Ahsoka gestured to the general area between where Anakin walked off and where Obi-Wan was still standing, “this?”

“Probably.”

“I think I’d rather deal with the younglings all week.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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