#foot cowl

[sw5w]

Artoo-Detoo

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:25:57

[rootbeerrex]

girl I just finished reading contagion for the first time and all I'm gonna say is that I've gotta assume it would've been easier to enjoy pre-covid.

[clockwayswrites]

Part 1 Part 2

Danny & Cass, Black, Electric whirring @barbiethecryptid

cw: fear toxin

Danny is running. His feet are loud against the asphalt, loose toe of his bettered, red sneakers slapping the street loudly a moment before his foot hit hard.

They’ll hear him.

He has to keep running. He can’t let them catch him.

Why isn’t he— he can’t! He can’t change into Phantom.

If he’s Phantom they’ll know.

Molecule by molecule.

They can’t know.

He can’t be Phantom.

Never again.

Never—

A figure lands in front of him. Tall, broad shouldered.

“Dad,” Danny croaks out.

“It’s okay,” Jack says, hand outstretched as he comes slowly forward. There’s something in his hand. A syringe.

Danny stumbled back. “No! Stay away from me!”

“I’m here to help.”

“No! You’ll know and you’ll kill me and I don’t want to die again!” Danny choked on hims words as a sob tore out of him. “Please, Dad, I don’t want to die again. Please don’t kill me.”

His dad stilled.

Danny took the chance to run. He turned down an alley only for another figure to join him. But that was—

“Birdie! No, get out of here!” Danny grabbed her hand and pulled. “My dad’s here and he— I don’t know if their scanners will pick you up or not but you have to run.”

Black bird didn’t budge.

“Birdie, please,” Danny begged.

Something sharp bit into Danny’s neck. He legs felt like rubber. He clung to Birdie.

“Please, we have to run.”

-

“Cass, honey.”

Cass twisted to face Bruce. Batman. Or was he Bruce or Batman? His cowl was down, but the rest of the uniform was still in place. His expression was all Bruce though. Cass didn’t know.

She pressed back against the metal edge of the med bay bed, fingers still twisted in Danny’s. She refused to let go of his hand. She didn’t want him to wake alone.

“Cass, I’m not angry,” Batman Bruce said. His body was practically, purposefully screaming it; his arms were carefully relaxed against his side, palms empty and facing out. His shoulders were dropped so that he looked slightly smaller. His eyes were soft. “I’m not going to make him leave. I just need to understand a little bit of what’s going on.”

Cass searched his eyes. They didn’t lie. It’s why he hid them in the cowl, she thought. His eyes couldn’t lie.

Slowly, Cass shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, tucked next to Danny’s ribs and still holding his hand. She gave a small nod. Bruce could ask. The hums and beeps of medical machines loud in the silence as Bruce gathered his thoughts. He took the seat in the room and leaned forward to rest his elbows onto his knees, hands clasped. All of his attention was on Cass.

“Is he from your life before you escaped?”

Cass’s hand tightened around Danny’s and she shook her head quickly. She didn’t like to even think of Danny going through that.

Bruce must have felt the same by the breath he let out. “Alright. So he isn’t related to you? He isn’t a sibling?”

That was harder to answer. Cass tilted her head. Slowly, she tapped her finger tips to her chest and then motioned to Bruce and back to herself and then to Nightwing Dick who had come to stand in the doorway.

Bruce’s face softened. “Not by blood, but he’s family to you the same as we are— a family made.”

Cass nodded quickly. Yes. Yes that exactly.

“This is who’ve been visiting in the city, isn’t it?”

Another nod.

“Have you told him about being Black Bat? He knew who you were in mask.”

Cheeks puffed up angrily, Cass shook her head.

“Okay,” Bruce spread his hands. “It’s likely he’s a meta just from his readings. Does he have a home to go back to?”

In an aggressive motion, Cass pointed up at the ceiling, towards the manor.

Bruce just chuckled as he stood. “Okay honey, I’ll have Alfred make a room for him. You need to shower, we all were exposed to the fear toxin, but then you can stay with him.”

“Well this is going to be an interesting breakfast, I think I’ll stick around,” Dick said with a no good smile.

It made Cass’s own lips twitch into a little smile of her own.

“This one is not my fault,” Bruce said as he stepped around his oldest.

“Sure Bruce, like that matters. Can’t wait till the press release, he’s even got the right coloring,” Dick said and let Bruce past. Dick’s smile was wide as he looked at Cass. “You go shower, Cass. I’ll stay with him.”

Cass jumped off the bed and hurried off, wanting to be back with Danny quickly.

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce broke his foot (again) and now someone needs to fill in as Batman. Who's donning the cowl and who's making calls to get off the planet so they don't have to do it?

Bruce: Casting calls are now live.

Duke, nervously getting onstage: Hi.

*microphone squeaks*

Duke: M-my name is Duke Thomas and I'm auditioning for the role of Batman.

Bruce: Show me what you got.

Duke: *clears his throat*

Duke, reading from a script: "Stop right there, Joker! Your days of evildoing have come to a—"

Duke: Actually, I have some notes. From a writer's standpoint, this reads less like the Dark Knight and more like a 60s sitcom.

Bruce: Next!

Selina: What better person to be Batman than the woman who has him wrapped around her finger?

Bruce: You know that's not how it works.

Selina: I've been practicing my quick change so I can be both of us in one fight. Come on, Bat. Can't bend the rules for the love of your life?

Bruce: I love you, but next!

Tim: I'm auditioning for the non-dictator Batman.

Bruce: Not taking any chances. Next!

Cassandra: *flips onstage in a series of elaborate acrobatics*

Cassandra: *beats the training dummy*

Bruce: Impressive. Now, I'll give you a scenario and you act it out as if you're Batman, okay?

Cassandra: *nods*

Bruce: A lost child walks up to you. What's the first thing you say?

Cassandra: You will make an excellent Robin.

Bruce: Yes—I mean, no. No. Next person, please.

Dick: I don't get why I have to audition. I mean, I was Batman.

Bruce: Hm, you're right. Let's give someone else a turn. Next!

Jason, in an improvised costume: I am the darkness. I am the night. I am...

Jason: *whips out guns*

*BANG BANG BANG*

Bruce: Next!

Stephanie: Can I try out?

Bruce: Sure, why not. Let's say you're negotiating a hostage situation. What do you say?

Stephanie: I'll give you Bruce Wayne's credit card if you let these people go.

Bruce: Next!

Barbara: I have programmed an advanced speaker system that will project your grunt from every gargoyle in the city.

Bruce: Grunting doesn't send people to Arkham. Next!

Damian: *walks in*

Bruce: No.

Bruce: Last one left is Kate.

Kate: Don't look at me, I'm just trying to find my keys.

Bruce, groaning: Patrol's in an hour. How am I gonna find a replacement?

Alfred: Master Bruce, perhaps I can substitute for you on the field.

Bruce: Thanks for offering, but I can't let you put yourself in danger like that.

Alfred: Then might I suggest, as Ms. Kyle said, bending one of your rules?

Bruce: Hm...

[later]

Joker: With a push of a button, I'm going to send this entire street sky high!

Clark dressed as Batman: Not if I can help it.

Joker: What is this, some sort of flying device?

Clark: Some changes were made.

Joker: Like what?

Diana, dressed as Batman: Like this.

Diana: *lassoes the Joker*

Joker: There's two of you?!?

Ollie, dressed as Batman, perched on a gargoyle: A little more than that.

Dinah, dressed as Batman: And we have some new tricks up our sleeve. Like this.

Dinah: *screams*

Arthur, dressed as Batman, bursting from the sewer: And this.

Arthur: *catches Joker in a whirlpool*

Hal, dressed as Batman, pointing his ring: And this.

Hal: *traps Joker in a ball*

J'onn, dressed as Batman: May I?

Zatanna, dressed as Batman: I want in too.

Hal: Okay, all of us on the count of three.

Everyone: *bounces Joker back to Arkham*

Barry, dressed as Batman: *runs in late*

Barry: Aw man, I missed it!

[after-witch]

Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Just Feitan wanting to touch your nyloned feet.

Word count: 774

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, forced footplay, brief tickling

Feitan's grip on your nylon-clad ankle is not especially tight. His fingers do not press into your flesh, ensuring small printed bruises that will last for days.

Instead, he holds your ankle like it’s something precious and sentimental. Like you held your grandmother’s porcelain figurines when you were little, and she’d told you again and again that she loved those figurines so much that if you were to crack a single one, it would break her heart.

But, taking in the look in his eyes, perhaps sentimental is the wrong word. He looks more fascinated than anything else.

“Feitan?” You ask, shifting yourself on the worn cushions of the sofa. You don’t dare pull your foot away--he’d stop you, if you were stupid enough to try.You’re not that stupid anymore.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

You curl your toes, unused to the stretch of the thin nylon material over them--and his eyebrows actually lift up. Seeing any expression on him that wasn’t irritation or disgusted glee while he tortured people was almost astonishing enough to make your own eyebrows raise.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, almost husky.

It’s the question you wanted to ask him.

“Nothing,” you say. Right? You’re just sitting here. He’s the one acting odd.

“You curled your toes.” His answer is short. Factual.

Because well, you did curl your toes. But… you didn’t mean anything by it. They were stiff, you’ve been sitting here so awfully long, and Feitan hasn’t explained a thing.

He didn’t respond this morning when you asked why there were nylons on the bed with the outfit he’d picked out--a short white nightgown that you’ve had for ages, worn in the armpits, with a lace trim that needed a good bleaching--or where your socks had gone.

He didn’t give you a reason when you told you to sit on the sofa, or when he grabbed your legs and yanked them up, forcing you to pivot around to avoid an uncomfortable twist in your hips.

Nor did he offer up any explanation when he’d taken your ankle in his hands and placed your foot on his thigh and simply… held it there--is still holding it there.

“I… I didn’t mean to?” You lick dry lips. “I mean, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just going to ask you why you’re…” You trail off as his eyebrows go from high to furrowed. 

Slowly, his other hand moves from its spot on his thigh and hovers above your foot. Your heart begins to beat faster--you weren’t disobedient lately, or at least he hadn’t said so.

He wouldn’t break your foot without telling you the reason, surely. The lecture he’d given after he broke a few of your fingers the first (and last) time you’d ever slapped him was a testament to that.

His fingers descend--one, two, three, four, five--but he doesn’t break your foot. Instead he begins to massage it.

That should make your heart slow down, but instead it only speeds up, even as his fingers begin to press down harder, a firm pressure down the length of your arch, then up your sole, ending just underneath your toes.

The nylon material shifts under his fingers. It feels strange, like some kind of thin second skin that heightens the sensation of being touched. It feels warm from the rubbing, despite the vague undercurrent of ticklishness that makes you want to yank your ankle away.

His fingers begin to lightly massage your toes, which stretch and curl instinctively. It’s too light, too ticklish.

Your breath hitches.

So does his.

“Ticklish?” He asks.

You nod. Lying had been trained out of you long before this.

He hums. There’s a pit in your stomach that begins to eat itself as you watch emotions play out on his face. It’s harder with the cowl up, but his eyes can give enough away, if you know how to look. You’ve had lots of practice.

He’s delighted by something.

Which is rarely a good sign.

Still, you know better than to try to yank your foot away, even as his fingers return to your toes, pressing down harder. It still tickles, but there’s more to it, now. The warmth is back, an unexpected, unwanted pleasurable feeling.

He stares at you the whole time, gauging your reaction.

Your fingernails dig into the sofa, digging into the already frayed threads. You bite your lip. You don’t want to give him anything. But he’ll just take it anyway, won’t he?

It’s going to be a long evening, you think. And judging by the expression on Feitan’s face--he thinks so, too.

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Seventeen

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky and Jake rekindle their physical romance

WC: 1.6K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You fiddled with the strap of your dress. 

You felt silly. You had felt silly buying it – a silky midi dress that dipped low in the back with a folded cowl neck, a slit up the side that let you move seamlessly. 

And the fact that it was a deep, savory red. Like Jake had requested. 

You left your hair down, and applied a thin layer of pale pink lipstick, fingers shaking as you slipped on a pair of kitten heels, taking a deep breath before exiting your bedroom. 

Jake swiveled as soon as he heard the door creak open, green eyes wide with excitement. 

“Damn,” he whispered. 

You shook your head. “Stop.” 

“Woman, you’re hot, let me at least fawn over you for a moment.” 

“I’m wearing two pairs of underwear that go all the way to my boobs.” 

He grinned. “Stop trying to turn me on.”

You held out your hand and Jake took it, wrapping his warm fingers around yours. “Come on mama. Got a surprise.” 

***

Jake’s surprise was a restaurant where they put the tables in the ocean, so your feet dangled in the water. You laughed as he bent down, hiking up the edges of his pants before pulling your heels off, one by one. 

“Well?” he asked, taking a sip of his martini. Your mouth watered for gin as you opted for sparkling water. 

“This is just an excuse for you to show me your calves, isn’t it?” You nodded toward his rolled up trousers. 

He flexed his toes, forcing his calf muscles to contract. “You know it.” 

“It’s perfect.” 

“So you’ve got a foot AND calf fetish? I learn something new every day.” 

“Is this where you take all the ladies? Make them fall in love with your sexy legs?” 

Jake nodded. “Yes it is. And then on a second date I wear those cargo pants where they zip off under the knee to really get in a good show.” 

You tilted your head. “I mean it, Jake. Is this your spot? How many times have you brought girls here?” 

“Including tonight?” You nodded. “Once.” 

“Be serious.” 

“I am.” He reached across the table, folding his fingers over yours. “Nothing about being with you is like anything I’ve done before.” 

“So you don’t have ten baby mamas running around San Diego?” 

Jake slipped his fingers between yours, the heel of your palm resting on the cold table. It took every ounce of courage you had to look up at him. His face was soft, golden. 

And honest. 

“There’s no one else,” he whispered. “Not now. And I don’t think there will ever be anyone else.” 

“You can’t say that for sure.” 

“Maybe I can.” 

***

“Have you told mom?” 

You frowned from the passenger seat. “No. Did you?” 

Bob shook his head tightly, turning back to face the road. “No. But you should. You can’t hide it forever.” 

“We both know she doesn’t leave Tennessee. No chance she’s going to surprise us here.” 

“She deserves to know, Ducky.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, which was getting harder by the day. “Do we have time to stop for a milkshake?” 

“I see you changing the topic. And yes, if we’re quick. I told Sena I’d pick her up for dinner.” 

“Is it serious?” you asked as Bob pulled into the drive thru and ordered your favorite – a vanilla milkshake, extra whipped cream. The baby flopped around inside of your stomach, expectantly.

“I like her a lot,” he whispered. 

“I want you to be happy, Bobby,” you replied, laying a hand on his arm. 

He turned to you. “That’s all I want for you, too, Ducky.” 

“So give Jake a chance?” 

He grunted. “I don’t know why you had to choose Hangman of all people to have a baby with.” 

“Choice makes it sound planned,” you said, unfurling the straw from its paper confines and taking a frosty sip. “And he’s a good guy. I’d like for you to give him a chance.” 

“I think you forget he was my friend first.” 

“Friend? More like enemy.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Not whatever. Jake is going to be in your life, for the rest of time. Unless you’re walking away from us.” You placed your hands on your belly. 

Bob slid the car into stop at the red light and turned to you. “Walking away from you is the last thing I’m ever going to do.” 

“Then you need to figure out how to be OK with Jake being in our lives.” 

“Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth, pulling into the intersection and taking a left. “I’ll try.” 

“Are you ever going to tell me why the two of you have beef?” 

Bob refused to match your gaze. “That’s something Jake should tell you.” 

***

“Ow, ow, ow!” You rolled over, lifting the hem of your camisole. “Honey, please, I’m trying to sleep. Kick me tomorrow after I’ve had breakfast, alright?” 

Despite the fact that you knew from the books that babies develop ears by ten weeks, your daughter decided she was already having a teenage meltdown and wouldn’t listen. That’s how you found yourself pacing around the living room at three in the morning, hands rubbing your belly methodically. 

You were so caught up in the incessant kicking that you didn’t even hear Jake’s door open. “Y/N?” 

He stood in the doorway to the living room, rubbing one eye, ridiculous six-pack on full display in just a pair of gray sweats. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can’t sleep,” you huffed. “She’s kicking me.” 

“That’s a good thing, right?” 

“She’s treating my ribcage like it’s a goal and she’s Mia Hamm. No Jake, at this very moment, it’s not great.” 

“Here, sit down and I’ll make you some tea.” 

You sat down on the couch, wiggling left and right to try and get comfortable. Jake emerged a few minutes later, holding out a warm cup of peppermint tea that you sipped on gently, letting the steam open your pores. 

“What can I do?” he asked. 

“Distract me.” 

“With what?” 

“A story.” You flinched. “Anything. Your favorite vacation. Favorite ice cream flavor. Best sex.” 

“Greece, I was fifteen. Chocolate peanut butter. You.” 

You threw a pillow at him. “I’m serious!” 

He laughed. “Maybe I am, too. Did you ever think of that?” 

You frowned, the laughter dying in the air. “It was one time, Jake.” 

“Two times if I remember correctly.” You rolled your eyes. “And I think it means more when you care about someone.” 

“We didn’t even know each other.” 

“Well now I know you,” he said quietly. “And that makes it the best in my book.” 

Finally, the baby stopped kicking. You signed with relief, practically euphoric. “Oh my God, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome for the great sex.” 

You flopped back onto the couch. “Shut up. She stopped kicking. I can finally sleep.” 

“You should go back to bed.” 

“I can’t move. I’m a whale with no legs.” 

Before you could even protest, Jake had his fingertips rolled beneath your hips and lower back, tugging you into his arms as if you weighed five pounds. His green eyes never left yours as he carried you silently through the apartment, pressing open the door with his foot, setting you down gently on your queen-sized bed. 

There was a moment where Jake removed his fingertips from beneath you, but his golden face was hovering close enough. You reached out, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging him in closer, pressing his lips to yours. He practically groaned into your mouth as you slid your tongue between his lips. Jake’s hands slipped down, running over your bare arms, one hand palming your breast over your silky tank top. 

Before you could even think, you rolled over on top of Jake, straddling his hips, hands pressed against his bare chest. His fingertips found your hips, holding you in place. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

“I’m enormous.” 

Jake shook his head. “No, you’re fucking gorgeous.” He paused. “Can I?” 

You nodded and he lifted the hem of your shirt, pressing his large, warm hands against the stretched expanse of your belly. You watched his eyes widen as he traced across your stomach, holding you. 

“Jake?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Touch me.” 

He frowned. “I am?” 

“Touch me.”

His eyes turned into saucers. Gently, you rolled off of Jake, settling back against the mattress. He slid his lips across your throat. “Where do you want me baby?” 

“Everywhere.” 

You let out a breathy moan as Jake slid further down the bed, nails scraping gently at your skin as he tugged your silky shorts down your legs, exposing your wet core. And the second you felt his mouth against you, both of your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips, holding you down, you let go. Gave in to the waves of pleasure as Jake’s tongue worked you to a high, your moan delving into a screech as you came across his face, your hands threaded into his hair, holding him close. 

“Oh my God.” 

Jake grinned, his hands still holding your thighs apart. Slowly, he pushed himself onto his knees, your legs falling to either side of him. You could see, easily, through his sweatpants to how hard he was. It made your insides squeeze. 

“I’m scared,” you whispered. 

“Why are you scared?” 

“What if it feels different?” you asked. “Or God forbid the baby feels it.” You paused. “Or you hate having sex with me when I’m this huge.” 

To your surprise, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your belly. “It might be different,” he said softly. “I read that one book and it didn’t say anything about the baby being able to feel it, so don’t think you’re traumatizing our kid this early.” You smiled. “As for you? You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. Now more than ever.” 

“You’re just saying that to get into my nonexistent pants.” 

He shook his head. “Believe whatever you want, Y/N. But deep down, I know that you know I’m into you.” 

“Go slow, OK?” 

You had been so drunk the first time you and Jake slept together. Even now, it only came in small, fragmented waves of memory. 

This time, everything was different. The way he held your hip gently as he eased himself against your folds, the nudge of his cock against your entrance, your small gasp as he pushed himself inside, bare, for the first time in however many months. 

How gentle Jake was as he pressed against your walls, making sure you were comfortable before reaching down, sliding your butt closer toward him, his length hitting against your front wall, causing you to groan. 

It was the way Jake held your hand above your head as he pumped inside of you, slowly, methodically, his lips hot against your throat, his other arm wrapped around your back, holding you close. 

When you came around him, his eyes were glued on yours, his mouth open in a wail as he let himself go inside of you, thrusting hard, twice, before his chest was heaving, fingertips still gripping your hips tightly. 

The two of you lay on top of the bed covers, sweat drying across your skin. You turned to Jake, pressing one hand against his cheek. “Before we do this again,” you whispered, “before anything else happens, I need you to tell me something.” 

He frowned. “Anything.” 

“What happened between you and Bobby?” 

Jake froze. 

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[jjkamochoso]

Order Up!

Fluff

Feitan Portor x gn!reader

Feitan would do anything to keep you happy--including threatening a chef who messes up your order.

Warnings: mentions of violence and blood, some suggestive dialogue

"Feitan! Please, will you eat there with me?"

You and Feitan had been enjoying your free time without jobs lately. The last heist the whole Phantom Troupe was on had a huge payout meaning you could live more than comfortably for a while and you figured this was the best time to try the super fancy restaurant you had been eyeing ever since you stepped foot in the city you and your boyfriend were staying in. Feitan had his cowl pulled up but you could tell he was frowning.

"Why waste money? Good food for cheaper elsewhere."

You wore a pout, hoping to convince the stubborn man. "But it's our one chance to enjoy a nice date! We don't have opportunities like this often, you know."

Feitan couldn't disagree with that. There were times where you two had to survive on eating food from a trash can and now you were practically drowning in money. He still didn't like the idea of spending so much on something that wasn't tangible, though. He'd much rather save his money and steal you something nice that you could keep forever, like jewelry.

"I could wear that outfit you love so much," you suggested, turning on your charm the best you could. "What do you think, Fei?"

You heard him growl softly and you knew you broke his resolve.

"Fine. I take you there. Go get ready."

You couldn't contain your excitement as you gave him a quick hug and ran off to the shower in your hotel room. The person whose credit card you stole must've had deep pockets because you'd been staying here for about a month and haven't been kicked out yet. That, or Feitan tracked him down and killed him so he couldn't dispute the charges. Either way, it didn't matter to you since you were relishing the high life while you could. You took your time under the warm water, letting the smell of luxury soap wrap around you. When you were finished, you dried off with a big fluffy towel. As you applied lotion, you heard a knock on the bathroom door.

"Hurry up in there. I take shower too."

You were lucky Feitan couldn't see the shock on your face. He rarely showered and often had a scent of blood that trailed after him. This, of course, didn't bother you as you found him quite attractive in his greasy, metallic smelling state of being, but the fact that he wanted to show you he was taking this date seriously meant the world to you. You rubbed in the last of the lotion and put on your soft white bathrobe. It came with the hotel but it would definitely be leaving with you. You opened the door and hurried out of the way so Feitan could wash off. You let out a surprised gasp as his super fast reflexes caught you off guard, grabbing your hand before you could pass him by. His cowl and jacket were thrown on the floor and you were pulled into his t-shirt clad body, a rare moment of affection from the Spider.

"You smell yummy," he said, his nose rubbing against the crook of your neck, "I could just eat you for dinner instead."

"Feitan!" you whined, feeling your entire body heat up from his words. "As lovely as that sounds, we need actual food."

"Just one bite? A little taste?" he whispered, his razor sharp teeth grazing your now bare shoulder.

As much as you were enjoying this softer side of Feitan, you were getting to that restaurant in a timely fashion.

"Get into the shower or I'll throw you in the bathtub and scrub you like a dog."

He pulled away reluctantly, grey eyes ablaze with something less reminiscent of love and more akin to the blood lust of a predator toying with its prey. Whatever it was, you knew you wouldn't be leaving any time soon if you kept playing into his game.

"Go," you said sternly, pointing to the open bathroom door and pulling your robe back up on your shoulders. Feitan just cackled as he closed the door behind him and you knew tonight was going to be very interesting.

As he emerged from the bathroom, his hair freshly washed and styled, barely worn tuxedo gracing his small frame, Feitan caught a glimpse of you. He was often quiet, choosing to observe rather than speak his mind most times, but for once, he was genuinely speechless. Your outfit brought out your most attractive features and he couldn't stop staring. You felt his gaze from the corner of your eye and started to feel a bit self conscious being under such serious scrutiny.

"Is it too much? I think maybe I should change-"

Feitan cut you off with words in his native tongue. You were too afraid to ask what he said but he continued, effectively answering your question.

"Stunning. You perfect."

Self doubt threatened to overcome you but you swallowed it down. Feitan doesn't lie and certainly doesn't sugarcoat anything. If he said something, it was the truth. To him, you were everything he could ever ask for. To you, he was the whole world.

"You look handsome yourself, my love. Thank you for doing this for me."

"This for us. We deserve it."

You two put the finishing touches on your outfits, you attaching Feitan's bowtie while he clasped your jewelry. Walking out of the hotel lobby, you turned many heads as onlookers watched you with jealousy. You were a sight to behold, the true definition of a power couple. The walk to the restaurant was short and you were there before you knew it. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Feitan opened the door for you. The ambiance inside was like nothing you had ever seen. It was dark, no overhead lighting to be seen, and candles were lit everywhere your eyes landed. There was someone playing the piano in a corner of the restaurant and you overheard one of the staff members talking about a reservation for a big name celebrity that was going to be there later. You were almost overwhelmed by the whole atmosphere being completely foreign to you but were brought back down to earth by Feitan's hand barely resting on your lower back. You knew he wasn't into touching or PDA of any kind so you wondered if he was turning to you for reassurance in this strange place as well. You gave him a soft smile as you walked up to the hostess. Feitan told her a name the reservation was under, which surprised you. There was no way he could've gotten one without you noticing, especially in only a few hours. You were fully expecting to have to wait for an open spot so when she quickly ushered the two of you to a secluded table, you were taken aback. You thanked her as she left menus for you to peruse.

"Did you do this for me?" you asked, gesturing to the table.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Feitan didn't give you a verbal response but you knew he took your appreciativeness to heart. He didn't want to spoil the romantic mood right now but couldn't wait to tell you how he tracked down the maitre d' in record time and offered to help him lose some weight in the form of less limbs if he didn't secure the best table for you. You saw the menu didn't have prices and you knew you were in for one expensive meal, but you were practically vibrating with excitement to try one of everything. Feitan still didn't get the appeal of this place but he wasn't going to put a damper on your fun so he stayed silent as you rambled off your order. He put in his order as well and the waiter was off, leaving you to bask in the candlelight.

"This must be the life that boss lives every night," you mused, earning a slight smile from the man across from you. As you waited for your food, you both chatted about whatever crossed your minds at the time, enjoying the calm dining experience. Your appetizers finally came and you dug right in. You had never eaten anything so delicious in your entire life. You didn't even know food could taste like this! As you devoured your helping, Feitan was more apprehensive. The presentation of his dish was much too fancy. People eat like this every day? He didn't understand it but wasn't going to keep putting much thought to something that didn't really matter. When the food hit his tastebuds, he was pleasantly surprised. The composition may look silly, putting that much work into something that wouldn't last more than a few minutes, but it was so flavorful. You sneaked a bite off each other's plates, complimenting one another on your choices. You eagerly awaited the main course as Feitan was coming to terms with wasting his money here. When your new plates were set down in front of you, Feitan immediately put his fork into it and started shoveling. You, on the other hand, frowned.

"Aww man! I asked for no cheese."

You heard a loud clink of silverware striking porcelain. Feitan had dropped his fork and reached for your plate while you swatted him away.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes narrowed. "You no like it? They fix for you. I make sure."

"It's not a big deal, I promise," you sighed, but he wasn't having it.

"They mess up, they fix. You don't eat what you don't want. Not today, not ever."

He was usually headstrong but you had never seen him so adamant about something.

"Okay, if you want, you can let them know. Just, please, be nice about it? I want to be able to come back here in the future."

Feitan's smile did nothing to quell your fears; that made you worry even more about what he was planning to do. When he stalked off into the kitchen with your plate, you gathered your things to be ready to make a run for it in case the police were called.

Feitan was just beginning to not hate this place when they had the audacity to mess up your order. Of course he was going to fix it, he wasn’t going to let you eat something you didn't find enjoyable. He meandered into the kitchen, kicking open the doors loud enough to gather everyone's attention in there.

"Which one of you cook this?" he asked, showcasing the plate before resting it on the counter. A few of the staff rushed toward him, faces red with anger.

"You can't be in here!" one of them yelled. The staff member went to grab Feitan to drag him out but Feitan acted fast, grabbing a knife from the block and slamming the guy's hand down on the counter. He kept the knife poised over one of the man's fingers, drawing blood, as he addressed everyone.

"If you no answer question, man's fingers will be chopped like carrot. Who cooked this?"

One chef nervously stepped away from the others, raising his hand in trepidation. "I-I did, s-sir. Was it not to... to your satisfaction?"

"My partner asked no cheese. Cheese was there. You fix or your eyeballs end up in spaghetti. Got it?"

The chef, fighting back tears, shook his head and quickly re fired the dish. Feitan, now content, released the first man he apprehended and hurried back to you. He would never want to keep you waiting unnecessarily.

When Feitan came back, you were relieved that no one was screaming and his tuxedo wasn't covered in blood.

"I take it that it went well?" you asked.

"Yep. Your food will be out soon. Right, this time."

"You didn't have to do that for me. But thank you for showing you care."

You couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light or if his eyes actually softened for a second.

"You're welcome. I care all the time. I try to show more."

You reached over and gave his hand a short squeeze and he readily accepted it. When your main course came out again, the waiter dropped it off and practically ran away, leaving you happy with your correct order and Feitan happy at the fear he ignited in the staff.

"Better?" he asked, taking a bite of his own meal.

"Much," you replied.

The rest of the night went smoothly and the waiter informed you that the bill was being covered by the chef who messed up your main course. In addition, he comped two desserts as a sign of good faith and you were elated when they arrived at your table.

"You're not gonna have anything?" you asked, a big piece of cake dangling from the confines of your spoon. Feitan looked you up and down, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face.

"I'm saving room for my dessert at home."

[aangelinakii]

LIAR, LIAR.

— would i lie to you, baby?

summary : in a world where it's impossible to lie to your soulmate, you think you've finally met your match.

note : halfway through i got stumped on where to go with this so it kind of begins to lack quality as you go further soz guys

they say it's impossible to lie to your soulmate. being a cat burglar, you lied to everybody you met, never found a soul worth being honest to. in fact, lying had never been something you had a problem with.

until you met the bat.

thinking back on it, perhaps you should have been more thoughtful about secretly infiltrating bruce wayne's office in the middle of the night.

it had been a bucket list hit; unsure what you'd find, but knowing you'd find something.

until the alarm went off. where it had been, where you'd hit it, you didn't know. you'd blown powder into the office, no hidden lasers. you'd been careful touching anything before you could find the trap out of it.

turns out the entire office was the trap.

when the alarm began to blare, it didn't take long for back-up to show; not when it's bruce wayne's name involved.

and that's how you found yourself cuffed to a table in the gotham city police department, tapping your booted foot impatiently against the tile. it wasn't your first time in one of these things, but you always had your way of getting out.

the door behind you opened, and a heavy footstep hit the ground, causing your ears to perk up. with each step, the officer came closer, slower than any you'd ever met; each step more demanding. didn't know they were hiring.

but as the figure slumped down opposite you, you realised why they had left you alone for so long.

dark, a great contrast to the pale walls, tall. behind that mask, his eyes bored into yours, and all confidence drained from your pores like the pull of a plug.

there was no way you could lie to this man.

"i assume you know why you're here," his dark, gravelly voice thundered, sending a wrack of shivers down the line of your spine.

no, i was simply testing mr wayne's security system for him. you can ask him if you need. bringing in the names of the big people tended to do the trick, shut 'em up.

"yes." when you spoke, your voice wasn't your own; small, uncertain, truthful.

your hands clenched into fists, cuffs digging into your wrists, and molars ground together in the back of your mouth. what were you saying and why were you saying it?

"what were you planning to do in bruce wayne's office?" from behind his midnight mask, his dark eyes narrowed, and the lower part of his face — the only part visible — pulled into a heavy frown.

before you could even think about lying, the words flooded past your lips, and it was evident it was unexpected, from the way your eyes widened, and you flinched against your restraints.

"find something. anything." batman leaned in, eyebrows furrowing behind his mask. "don't know what he's hiding, but i know he is. a man like bruce wayne always has something to hide."

"he does," the bat responded almost too quickly, frame flinching slightly, so small you could miss it. he pulled away, sitting back in his metal chair, lips trembling beneath the cowl, like he was trying not to say something that was right on the tip of his tongue.

before you could ask any more, the shadowy bat rose to his boots, gloved hands firm on the table.

"what are you doing?" he asked, deep voice owning a barely-there tremor, and he balled his gloves into fists so tight his knuckles were probably ashen beneath them.

with a curt shake of your head and a crease of your brows, you gave a scoff. "what am i doing? i'm not doing anything. what's your problem?"

his firm gaze settled on you for a few long beats more. "tell me your real intentions at bruce wayne's office tonight," he repeated, some sort of desperateness in the undertone of his words.

"i already told you," you huffed back, making no effort to disguise your annoyance. "i just wanted to snoop around. i knew i'd find something. what makes you think i'm lying?"

"i don't think you're lying." now when he spoke, his voice was soft – vulnerable? "i just needed to..."

despite the batman's tall stature, one sigh seemed to cause him to deflate, and he stepped away from the table.

"i will discuss with the commissioner what should be done with you."

and he slammed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the gcpd's interrogation room, much more confused than you had intended to be when you were first brought in.

it was as if he knew something you didn't.

[descendantsramblings]

Hook and morgie Seperate x Fem!chubby reader who is insecure?

For the sake of this being easy to navigate by how I do my theme I’m doing this in two posts but I promise you, I am answering them both.

Find Morgie's half of this request here.

Red Dress

James Hook x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Summary: He just wanted to make sure that Castlecoming would be perfect, what would catch people's attention more than them perfectly matching? Who would have thought he'd upset her with his choice of dress?

Warnings: body image issues, Hook is a little possessive, Suggestive comments but they're meant to be playful and teasing not as something to take seriously, reader is implied to dress a touch alternative, she calls Hook baby + Hook canon pet names

Word Count: 1.7K

    “Just give me your size and I’ll buy your dress for castlecoming.” She should have known he’d do something like this. Hook wasn’t exactly blind when it came to fashion, the girl knew that. God knew he could spend just about as much as she could in a makeup store.  But he was also a man, even worse a teenage boy. She should have known letting him pick her dress would lead to her in something straight out of one of his fantasies. The silky maroon slip dress was exactly something he’d pick. Leaving the girl perfectly replicating the color of his signature jacket, knowing the pirate he’d held the fabrics up to his sleeve to get the best color match he could. He would eat it up, the dress being just another reminder to onlookers that she was spoken for. His, the lady of the Captain, not a treasure to be stolen. But the cowl neckline drew far too much attention to her chest, the silky fabric clinging far too closely to her stomach. She hated it, everything about the dress would bring your eyes to everywhere she didn’t want people looking with nothing to hide behind.

    The door behind her creaks open as she stares in the mirror, changing angles in hopes of finding a way to look at the thing that made her feel at least slightly presentable. “Alright, where’s my darling gi- Why aren’t you ready?” The boy cuts himself off, crossing his arms as he frowns. He looked near charming, decked out in a matching maroon blazer and a silky white button up. A black tie around his neck with red and white boutonniere pinned to the lapel of the jacket, fresh baby's breath and a carnation making up the little arrangement. She can see a clear plastic container in his hand holding a matching corsage that warms her heart a touch. With black slacks capped off by a pair of dress shoes instead of his normal boots. James Hook looked absolutely dashing tonight, and it only made her feel worse. “I can’t,” she nearly croaks, shaking her head as she gestures over herself. “You can’t what, Love? What’s wrong?” He places the container of flowers down on her desk walking over to rest a hand on her shoulder. 

    “James, look at me. I get your vision and maybe if I was smaller it would-” He puts a finger to her lips shaking his head, “Do not start with that. I don’t want to hear anything about you needing to be smaller. I picked that one because I knew you would look hot, and you do. The way that dress is hugging you makes me not want to take you somewhere some other bloke can see you. He’ll try to steal you right off of me.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, walking over to her closet, “Tell me what exactly is bothering you and we can find something to fix it.” “Hook we can’t fix all of me, the dance would be over by about two years if we did.” He turns, pointing the golden appendage at her, “Don’t call me that and stop talking badly about my lass. Now, chest, tummy, legs, what’s making us not like the super hot dress I picked out?” She huffs, crossing her arms over herself as she falls into her desk chair, spinning it ever so slightly with her foot. “My chest and stomach, this fabric clings to them in all the wrong ways.” 

     He nods, shuffling through the hangers in front of him as he searches for something, “I can help with that. Thank you for deciding to actually be helpful.” Her lips fall open and her eyebrows raise, “I can just stay here if you want to act like that.” Hook hums, pulling a hanger from the closet and setting something black out on her bed. “You will be staying here if you don’t start your hair and makeup. Now, chop chop, I want something pretty to mess up later.” He cuts his eyes to her as he says it, watching the way his lover’s face flushes at the filthy comment, her hands moving to slide open the drawer she keeps her makeup in. “You are vile, James Hook.” “Perhaps, but it got you to do what I wanted, did it not?” 

    As (Y/n) busies herself on her makeup, James continues to go through her closet, finding her signature black boots in the bottom of it and taking them over to where he’d laid her leather jacket, letting them fall to the floor beside the bed. Hook crosses the room swiftly, searching through her dresser drawers to find a pair of tights. He'd prefer those small hole fishnets that made it hard to keep his hands off her legs but he’d take what he could get. Something to make her look more her own style in the dress he oh so adored on her. He thought the way it hung on her made her otherworldly, but he needed her to feel beautiful in it. It doesn’t matter how he feels about the outfit if she hated it. After about ten minute of him searching through her sock drawer she speaks up, finished with her base by this point. “If you’re looking to steal panties, you’re in the wrong drawer.” His eyes roll, chuckling as he turns to her, “Where are those fishnets I like on you? The one with the little holes.” 

   “Top drawer, to the left of it. Black or red eyeshadow?” He moves to grab the handle, “Red, do eyeliner and a black lip with it though. And if you can add some white in there, do it.” He finally finds the stupid tights he’d spent so long searching for, throwing them over his arm as he slides the drawer closed. The little cherry wood jewelry box that sat on the girl’s dresser was overflowing, his own doing of course. Hook couldn’t help but bring her some sort of spoils every time that he came back from a voyage, the look in her eyes always seemed to be priceless, you couldn’t show him something better. He takes it over to her bed with him, falling onto the plush comforter and laying the tights on her jacket as he opens the box. He took a few ruby rings from the box, laying them with everything else he’d picked for her. A silver chain that hung close to her neck when it was on, a singular onyx stone embedded in it. A pair of silver hoop earrings join the ever growing pile he was building. And if he knew her, there would be a string of pearls in the second drawer, the one she considered her special section of the box. It was the first of many presents he’d given her, and by far the most expensive of them. She’d only worn it once, the first time he put it on her. 

     James smiles, getting up to stand behind her, necklace hanging from his hook. She was applying mascara, making a concentrated and wide mouthed expression in the mirror as he undoes the clasp of the necklace. “How are you doing your hair?” He drapes the delicate string around her neck, brushing her hair off her neck so he can clasp it. “Oh I don’t,” her hand comes up to brush over the pearls, black nails a stark contrast against them, “I’m not sure.” He hums, reaching for her lipstick as he kneels in front of her, “Well, I have everything else you need out, so how about you let me finish this for you while you start your hair?” She nods, mumbling a soft “please” as she moves her hands to mess with her hair. He can’t help the smile on his face as he looks at her, she’s gorgeous. 

                                 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆

      Hook sits in her desk chair, tapping his foot impatiently as she finishes getting dressed. He wanted to see her, knowing she looked good but not looking at her was driving him mad. “About done, Love?” She laughs, and he knows that she’s shaking her head at him. “You can turn around now.” (Y/n) was always stunning, but there decked out in his colors with that silk framing her just right, he was putty in her hands. “Have you seen how gorgeous you look yet?” He grabs the corsage from its packaging as he speaks, making his way up to his date. “I’m scared to look. What if I look silly?” James uses his hook to lift her hand, sliding the flowers around her left wrist with his good hand. “You, my love,” he kisses the back of her hand, keeping hold of it as he stands straight again, “Could never look silly. Now, turn around and look at my amazing handiwork so I can drag you out of this little room.” His hands spin her around as he speaks, the boy standing firmly behind her with his hands planted on her shoulders. 

     Her eyes flicker over her own reflection, looking herself up and down with a softly growing smile. “You know baby, I don’t actually think you should stay a pirate.” He hums, leaning over her shoulder to press a kiss to her cheek, “Is that so?” She nods, leaning back into the boy’s adoring touch. “I think you should definitely be a women’s stylist. Look at what you did.” “I have a perfect model,” he mumbles into her hair, letting his hand slide down her leather clad arm. The boy had perfectly managed to mask her insecurities. The jacket giving her a crutch to hide behind and shadow over her and her accessories made it feel more her. The string of pearls and onyx complimenting each other in such a way that you didn’t bother to look at the neckline of her dress, far too distracted by the jewels. It was a nearly perfect outfit. Who taught him that? She decided she probably didn’t want to know, that could be his secret. His lips move down to her ear, whispering, “Now, if you want anyone to actually see us, we have to go. I want to go wow the crowd.” She lets a giggle escape her lips, turning to kiss his cheek, smiling at the mark she leaves on it, “Thank you.” In response, he just smiles at her, grabbing her hand to drag her out of the room. She had been calmed down, now it was time for him to show his girl off- and he couldn’t wait.

[drabblesandimagines]

Happy birthday! Can I request some Vincent Valentine, perhaps a list or short of him slowly becoming more open to affection, little touches, more talkative etc. Thank you and have a good one!

Anon, I think I've gone waaay off ask with this, but I tried and this is where we've ended up. I dunno how best to describe this - head canons/weird short story bullet list? Anyway, please lemme know if you like it/hate it and thank you so much for your birthday wishes! xx

Fat Chocobo Vincent Valentine x female reader, fluffy nonsense as per

It would be a lie if you didn’t admit you were a little nervous at first in the company of the newest member of your party.

No-one could blame you either - the way the first meeting had ended with one Vincent Valentine in the basement of the Shinra Mansion…

He was silent, stoic and you could never quite tell what he was thinking, features obscured behind his red cowl, tight-lipped as the leathers he was clothed in.

He was, however, a gentleman with impeccable manners. If he was sat whenever you or Aerith, Tifa or Yuffie stood, he’d stand immediately, waiting for them to sit again or leave the room before he’d resumed a cross-legged position once more.

And always the first to offer a steadying hand when you’d hesitated at a jump or large step.

Not to mention all the times he’d darted in front of you, shielding you when a fiend attacked… even the times you weren’t on the front line and really in any danger.

Aerith and Tifa would share knowing looks – ones that caused you to roll your eyes and Yuffie stomp her foot at being “left out”.  

You’d had a nightmare, woken up heart pounding, in a cold sweat – being pursued by fiends, Shinra troops, Turks, Sephiroth - but managed to catch yourself before you screamed, clamping a hand over your mouth in fear of waking your companions in your shared room in the Haunted Hotel.

No wonder you were having bad dreams. You’d take numerous nights in the drafty rooms at Johnny’s Seaside Inn over this.

You’d got to your feet after an hour of trying to settle. Dawn wasn’t so far off now, you reasoned, sneaking past a snoring Yuffie and made it out to the hall.

At least the Golden Saucer was the place that never slept…

You decided to go watch the chocobo races, but soon found yourself at the souvenir stall, eyeing up a stuffed fat chocobo.

It would be nice to cuddle.

Entirely impractical in the lifestyle you now find yourselves in, though.

A cold weight on your shoulder causes you to jerk back in fright, nearly losing your footing when it moves to your waist instead, keeping you steady.

“Apologies.” Vincent has to raise his voice over the blaring music in the background. “I did not intend to startle you so – I called your name but I don’t think you heard.”

“Oh.” The pounding in your chest begins to settle. “No… I was miles away.”

“You cannot sleep?” His gauntlet leaves your waist.

“Something like that.” You clench your fists, unconsciously, in memory of the unpleasant dream. “How about you?”

“I do not sleep much.”

“Do you like the chocobo races?” Your eyes flit to the screens behind, another race about to begin.

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I do not mind them. Perhaps one of the more tolerable activities to observe around here.”

“I was gonna sit and watch some… if you wanted to join?”

A curt nod follows as he steps aside, waiting for you to lead the way to one of the benches and the two of you sit in companionable silence. It’s nice – not having to make forced conversation, his presence feeling reassuring by your side.

“Happy birthday!” Aerith throws her arms around you in a hug as the two of you return to the hotel lobby an hour or so later. You swear you feel Vincent’s eyes burn on you at her comment.

“Where did you go?” The flower girl pulls back with a smile as she looks between you and Vincent. “I wanted to give you your present as soon as you woke up!”

“Wait, present?” You shake your head in disbelief. “You didn’t need to get me anything, it’s-”

“Uh-uh. Come on.” She grabs your hand and tugs you in the direction of the stairs. “The rest of the boys aren’t awake yet. Could you check on them, Vincent?”

“Hmph.”

Vincent watches as Aerith drags you up the stairs towards the elevator, the girl mercifully waiting for the doors to slide close before she assaulted you with questions.

“Were you two on a date? Did he take you out for your birthday?”

“What? No, Aerith! I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk and bumped into him.”

“Suuuure,” she nods, bouncing on her heels.

Everyone is too sweet – receiving a number of thoughtful and practical gifts, given your current situation.

Cloud gifts you a new booster pack of Queen’s Blood, mumbling something about how it’s a duplicate he had, but Yuffie loudly declares she saw him deliberately buy two at the Card Carnival in Costa del Sol, causing Barret to laugh heartedly and slap the ex-SOLDIER on the back.

You don’t see Vincent again until the evening, everyone bidding one another goodnight when he emerges from the shadows.

“Could you…?” He pauses to clear his throat, his eyes cast down. “I’d be grateful if you would wait a moment.”

“Erm… sure. Aerith, I’ll see you up there.

Aerith giggles as she heads off, waving at you over her shoulder.

Vincent pulls out a chair from one of nearby tables, gesturing for you to take a seat. You sit down and watch as the raven-haired man strides over to the reception desk in, soon talking to the concierge who pops down from the ceiling in his usual manner.

You drum your fingers on the table – a nervous habit.

Why would Vincent want you to wait?

He appears in your peripheral vision soon after – an odd shape tucked under his cloak.

“If you’d close your eyes.”

You do.

Something is placed in your lap.

Something… soft?

You open your eyes, finding one of the fat chocobo plushies.

“Happy birthday.”

 “You… you bought me this?”

“I was under the impression you wanted one – given how long you stared at it last night.”

“Vincent, I…” You stare up at him, a little in disbelief, clutching the soft toy to your chest. “Thank you. But how did you…? Wait, what game did you play?”

Vincent taps his nose, keeping his secrets. He offers you his hand, pulling you up to your feet. “Come – you need to sleep.”

You’re escorted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the elevator door soon sliding open again.

“Thank you. Really.” You step in, expecting him to follow but he stays in place. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“It was my pleasure.” The corners of his eyes crinkle – you hope it means he’s smiling – one to match the dumb one on your own lips. “Sweet dreams.”

The elevator doors slide shut.

And, with the fat chocobo squished in your arms, smelling a little like Vincent from its brief time in his cloak, your dreams are certainly sweet.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[mysterycitrus]

kory for the character ask if you're still doing it/she hasn't been asked already!!

Headcanon A:  realistic

the same as clark, flowers turn to face her as she walks by. standing in her gaze is like being basked by the sun. as she cradles seeds in her palm they sprout to life, unfurling into lush green buds. her hair shimmers, like aspalt on a hot summer's day. when it rains, the water catches on her skin and casts tiny fractals of coloured light in the air. the world is in awe of her. when you stand too close, you feel you hair stand on end. when you kiss her, it is like drinking liquid gold.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

if she wants to, she looms. she's six foot four on a bad day, and even taller with heels. her hair adds another half foot. she is honest and has nothing to hide and it's easy to mistake that for naïveté, but she takes great pleasure in standing over people and peering down at them from her great height. to bruce wayne, especially. he recoils from her light, glaring at her beneath his cowl. she steps on his toes, hits him with the shoulder of her armour, throws her hair back in his face.

"sorry," she says so sweetly, and smiles with all her teeth. "i didn't see you there."

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

when she looks up at the sky, she can still see tamaran burning. its light will not disappear for the next ten thousand years. everything that ever was now must live through her. the weight of it threatens to swallow her whole. she loves earth and its people, she loves the titans and her new family and the people who care for her here, but she is still so afraid - what do they truly think of her? do they look at her and see someone subhuman, someone undeserving of respect, someone whose passion and rage is less-than, and unworthy of honour? is she a creature so hurt from her time in the citadel, so consumed by everything she has lost, that they fear what she is unafraid to do? the action she will take to protect those she cares about?

they do not, of course. they see her as someone so full of love.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

on tamaran, braids were a sign of status. hours were spent weaving gemstones and beads and crystals through the strands. stories of victory were told through the woven patterns. it is so important that this history is not lost. donna is the first to learn, then dick, then rachel and karen and lilith. she'll sit on the floor in the tower as they patiently brush out her curls and begin to weave. one hot afternoon, she walks into a quiet salon and leaves with twists piled high on her head. as she pays, the stylist kisses both her cheeks and holds their hands together. it is not forgotten, is said unspoken, here, it lives on in you.

she makes sure to leave a tip.

[ggomos-maribat]

10 | in which Marinette Dupain-Cheng submits her resignation

Part 10 (Last Chapter) of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Marinette ticked off her mental checklist. Lights? Here. Stage? Ready. Food? All served. She clenched her jaw. Bruce Wayne, her boss, the single most important person for the night?

Missing in action.

She tapped her heeled foot on the ground. It was twenty minutes already, but the entire night's schedule was officially in disarray. Sooner or later, the guests would be asking. She had relentlessly called Bruce's phone over and over again that she didn't even know how many times it was. Even Damian she called a few times yet there was no answer.

She had a guess on what the reason was, but she expected more sense from Bruce—even if it was late at night, he would not be out there fighting crime.

Soon, she waved the figurative white flag and called Alfred after sneaking off somewhere quieter.

"Where is he?" she asked. Straightforward and simple.

"I'm sorry, Miss Marinette. I understand Master Bruce has an event today but . . ." Alfred trailed off. "He is currently unavailable at the moment."

"No, Alfred. Where exactly is he?"

A long pause followed. Then the elderly man spoke again. "I'm afraid he's caught up in a situation. They went out for patrol and seemed to have underestimated their targets. They are currently in a warehouse right now."

"What?" Marinette rubbed her head. Bruce, just. . . how?! "They, as in, all of them?!"

"Yes, Miss Marinette."

"Can no one get them right now?! The event was supposed to start ages ago!"

"Master Duke, Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie are all out of town unfortunately." Alfred sighed. "Actually, may I trouble you to rescue them? It will be faster than calling for backup from the Justice League."

Marinette bit her lip. Kwamis. How could all of them get captured?! What's stopping me from walking out from my job right now, huh, Bruce? I could leave you to your kidnappers all night long.

"I apologize, Miss Marinette, but they cannot seem to get out themselves. I will personally make sure Master Bruce gives you a bonus within the week—"

"Okay, send me the coordinates."

Marinette changed into a dark vigilante-type outfit as fast as she could. Alfred sent an auto-driven ride to her location and she floored the pedal all the way to the warehouse. Relax, Marinette, she told herself, you asked Tam to stall the guests. If we finish this in fifteen minutes and Bruce gives some sort of half-assed excuse to the attendees, it'll be fiiiine.

She pulled down her mask when she arrived at the warehouse. Going into it, she exercised a little bit of caution. But later on, she realized that taking down the men was a piece of cake and maybe the boys just got a little but unlucky.

She slammed the doors open to one room and saw the vigilantes all tied up.

"MMmmf mmff mmm?" Batman asked, but his mouth was duct-taped.

"That's not important right now." Before Marinette cut off their binds, she threw them one by one into the car: Batman at the passenger seat and Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin at the back.

"Who . . .?" Batman started again. The rest seemed speechless with shock (except Damian perhaps, who likely already figured her out).

"How, just how?" Marinette slammed the driver's side door loudly and twisted the ignition with her pent-up rage. "How did all of you get caught up in that?! Did you decide to play along with your kidnappers?!"

". . . Marinette?"

She huffed and drove, calculating the shortest possible route to the event venue. "Did you forget what was tonight, huh? Couldn't resist getting into your fursuit before a big launching event at WE?"

"But . . .but—"

"You literally have no excuse!" Marinette expertly swerved around cars, even nearly running a red light.

Batman reached for the car radio, which was playing a news update covering the WE event but she slapped his hand away.

"I thought I could make it in time," he helplessly explained, pulling his cowl down. "How did you know?"

"No, in case you didn't know, you're not making it in time." She instantly honked the car when another vehicle cut in in front of them. "Don't mess with me tonight, fucker!" She cried out the half-open window.

She swore she saw the boys at the back visibly gulp.

Marinette exhaled a steady breath. "Look, we'll talk about this some other time, but for now, you will go into that event, be a good CEO, and get treatment for your bruises the minute you get home, comprendre?"

"Com—comprendre . . ." Bruce repeated.

Marinette halted at the back of the venue, pulled out a formal outfit from a compartment and threw it at Bruce. Thankfully, he seemed to get the hint and bolted out of the car without complaints.

Marinette directed a glare at the boys through the rearview mirror. "Damian, switch with me. Jason, don't move and keep pressing on that wound. I'll give you first aid but we have to take you to Alfred to get that checked out."

"You got stabbed?!" Tim exclaimed.

"Um yeah." Jason sucked in a breath as Marinette hopped into the back and Damian took the wheel.

"Why didn't you tell us?!"

"You'll make a big fuss out of it." Jason rolled his eyes. "It's no big deal."

Marinette flicked his forehead while Tim helped get Jason's clothes out of the way. "It is a big deal; it looks pretty serious."

"I've had worse." Jason made a face as she treated his wound.

"Okay just because you died once already it doesn't mean you can get overconfident," Marinette sassed.

Tim stared at her with wide eyes. "How the hell did you know that?"

"I know everything." She finished off by wrapping the bandages around Jason's torso. "Sorry Dames, can you drive faster?"

With a nod, Damian sped up, replicating the rush from earlier. Jason also had his jaw hanging. "Demon spawn listens to her."

***

"How long have you known?"

They finally had the chance to sit down and talk the following day in the office. Marinette had her hands calmly folded on top of her lap, while Bruce was looking at her intently on the seat across.

"Ever since I started working for you."

Bruce blinked a few times, as if getting his identity discovered easily was news to him. Marinette continued, "You're not exactly sneaky about it, you know. It was very obvious. Who do you think was covering up for you?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bruce asked.

She sighed. "I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted to help you from the sidelines like Alfred does and I thought you'd fire me if you knew that I knew."

By the look on his face, he was probably doing a quick flashback to all the times she messed with him as Batman. Bruce opened his mouth for a reply but she interrupted him. "And before you start suspecting me of doing anything bad, I want to let you know that you can trust me with your secret. If I had any ill intent, I would've acted on it a long time ago."

"It's—it's not that I don't trust you . . . it's—well, what made you break last night?"

Her gaze was glued to the floor. "I called Alfred and he told me where you were. I just . . . uhm, aside from the money he offered, I was really upset. The company prepared so much for the event and I put so much time making sure it was perfect. Then you don't show up."

When she looked up, the sting of guilt was evident in Bruce's eyes.

"I'm not faulting you for trying to fight crime," she added. "I just thought you'd be more responsible with your priorities."

"I'm sorry, Marinette," he said softly. "I didn't mean to disappoint you like that."

"Are you mad at me? For not telling you?"

"Mad—? I . . . I'm just surprised, really. But I should've known better. You helped us escape last night and you treated Jason's injury. I shouldn't be angry for that."

Marinette nodded slowly, satisfied with the apology. "I appreciate what you're doing for Gotham, so I'll make sure to keep you and your family's identities safe." She pulled out an envelope. "On a completely unrelated note, I think it's time I give you this."

Suffice to say, Bruce looked like he went through a storm of emotions whilst reading the piece of paper. "Your resignation letter?" He set it down. "If this is because of last night—"

"Nope, it's not because of last night." She smiled. "I just think it's time for me to look for a different career path. I do love my job right now, but I don't see myself as a PA forever."

Bruce's shoulders sagged. "Where will you go?"

"Hmm, recently Queen Industries sent me a good offer—"

"How much did Ollie offer you?" He sprung from his seat. "I'll pay ten times that!"

"Mr. Wayne," she motioned for him to sit back down. "I really do want to explore other options. I think I can get more experience with another company."

"But you'll need to leave Gotham."

She shook her head. "Mr. Queen allowed me to work remotely from Gotham. I'll be a consultant of sorts for their fashion department."

"But . . . but . . ."

"I'll be leaving in about a week. Don't worry, I'll make sure everything's in order for your next PA."

He's really sulking, Marinette observed. I feel a little bad . . .

"Any chance I can still adopt you?"

"Mr. Wayne."

"Fine." He raked a hand through his hair. "Then, will you at least join our family brunch this weekend? As a last 'thank you' to you."

Marinette thought for a moment, remembering a similar invitation from Alfred that Damian relayed earlier. "Sure, I'd love to go."

***

"Are you sure about this?"

Marinette checked her reflection on her phone. They arrived pretty early, but that meant she could help Alfred out for the food prep. Damian parked the car right in front of the manor. "Why? I already submitted my resignation."

"You were forced to quit your job because of me."

"I chose to resign not only because of you, but also because I did want to take Oliver's offer." She reached over to squeeze his hand. "If I stay as your father's assistant, there will always be a professional boundary I can't cross regardless of what's in the contract. You'll always be my boss' son, and I’ll just be your father's assistant. Without that now, I can actually act freely around you. I can even help with vigilante stuff if you need me."

He squeezed back. "Are you not worried about what people will say?"

The headlines flickered in Marinette's head: Bruce Wayne's former PA nabs the billionaire's son.

"Are you?"

"No. I couldn't care less."

"Then I'm not." She beamed. "I've already seen how harsh the media can be. If all goes to shit, we sue the hell out of them."

"Father will be devastated when he finds out."

She shrugged. "He should've seen this coming, honestly."

"Hmm."

"Why?"

"When I marry you, he will have the satisfaction of having you as his daughter however."

"M—marry?" Marinette squeaked. "You're already thinking about marriage?"

"Is that bad?"

"No . . . wait, sorry I was just caught off guard." Her chest fluttered at the thought of their future. "Of course Damian, I'd love to marry you someday."

A small smile played at Damian's lips, the subtle kind that she loved so much. "Now that you're not bound by contract, does that mean I can kiss you anytime I want?"

Marinette answered him with her lips, softly kissing him as his hand lifted to hold her cheek. They parted for a second before he started peppering kisses on the corner of her lips, on her nose and her forehead. She pressed a long kiss on his cheek in return.

"It looks like we won't need to break the news to Father anymore."

"What?"

When Marinette turned around, Bruce was just at the front steps of the manor, disheveled and clad in pajamas and an old bathrobe, plus Robin-themed fuzzy slippers. At his feet laid pieces of a shattered mug, which he had seemingly dropped out of shock.

Marinette laughed. "Oops."

She pressed the button to roll her window down and waved at the dumbstruck Bruce Wayne. "Morning, Bruce! Cute slippers!" 

End AN: That wraps up NMWYCAM! Thank you for reading, commenting and kudos-ing this fic; I didn't expect it to blow up this much😮 If you want to know about my next upcoming fic, check out this poll of mine in Tumblr🙂

[goldenraeofsun]

The Dad Who Stepped Up

For @elegitre!

Bruce puts the Batmobile in park. With a heavy sigh, he pulls down the cowl and glances over at Dick, sleeping soundly in the passenger seat. Twin dark purple bruises bloom across his knees – Bruce almost hadn’t caught him in time, but he grabbed Dick out of freefall at the last second, wrenching his right arm out of its socket in the process. His ribs ached as his torso absorbed most of Dick’s weight, but, worst of all, the landing slammed Dick’s knees against the unforgiving asphalt.

Bruce reaches over, his gauntlets hovering over Dick’s bare knees. He really should work on convincing his ward to add pants to his uniform. Dick has proved himself remarkably stubborn, but Bruce is an adult. He’s Batman. Nobody can out-stubborn him – not Deputy Chief of Police, James Gordon, not his butler, Alfred Pennyworth, and certainly not an eight-year-old who thinks bad puns are the height of sophistication.

Dick will be wearing pants on the next patrol. End of discussion.

With that resolve, Bruce slips out of the Batmobile. He soundlessly opens the passenger-side door and carefully unbuckles Dick. With his good arm, he lifts Dick against his left side and ignores the way his ribs throb. Dick’s head lolls, his sleepy breathing heating the hollow of Bruce’s throat.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred says as they pass the Batcomputer.

“Bedtime,” Bruce says in an undertone not to wake Dick.

“I should say so,” Alfred says. “Shall I take care of everything down here?”

“Yes, please,” Bruce says gratefully as he heads to the stairs.

Dick only starts to stir as they make their way down the family wing. “Whazzat?”

“We’re back at the Manor,” Bruce says. “Patrol is over. You’re safe.”

“Oh, good,” Dick murmurs as he settles back against Bruce’s side. “’M tired.”

Bruce smiles. “I never would have guessed.”

“Hmph.”

Bruce nudges Dick’s door open with his foot and gently sets Dick down on his bed. As Dick flops back, apparently dead to the world, Bruce slips off his green boots and sets them down quietly on the floor. He unzips the scaled bottoms, leaving Dick in his underwear, and slowly unpeels the mask from his face. 

“Dick?”

Dick unleashes an almighty snore.

Bruce chuckles. “I know you’re awake, chum.”

Dick cracks an eye open. “What now, Bruce?”

“You need to roll over,” he says, twirling his finger to illustrate. “I don’t want you strangling yourself with your cape in your sleep.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Dick grumbles as he nevertheless turns over so Bruce can unlatch the cape.

“You never know,” Bruce says as he slings the cape over his arm. “Sit up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Dick groans, still face-down, his voice muffled.

“Tough,” Bruce counters. “Sit up, or I will make you.”

Dick doesn’t move an inch.

“Dick.”

Dick buries his face further into his pillow.

“I warned you,” Bruce says as he wraps both hands around Dick’s torso and bodily heaves him up.

Dick, because he is a menace when he is this tired, just slumps back over like a puppet that just got its strings cut.

“Unbelievable,” Bruce mutters as he lets Robin’s cape flutter to the floor and grabs at Dick again.

“Go ’way. ’M tired.”

Bruce levels him a very unimpressed look that Dick doesn’t see because his eyes are firmly shut. “Fine, if you want to sleep like this, Alfred will just have to change the sheets again,” he pauses, “even though he just changed them two days ago. I’m sure he’ll be so pleased with the extra work –”

“Ugh!” Dick pushes himself into what might charitably be called a sitting-position. He’s listing almost 90 degrees to his left side and so slouched over, Bruce can’t see what he’s doing with his hands as they fumble with his uniform top.

“Here,” Bruce says as he falls into an easy crouch and reaches over to help, “let me.” He makes quick work of the hidden fastens and slides the whole thing off Dick’s now limp arms. “There,” he says as Dick falls back against the bed, “that wasn’t so hard was it?”

Dick hums in agreement, all of his fight now gone.

Bruce just smiles as he reaches for the duvet at the end of the bed and tucks Dick in. “Sleep well, Robin.” He hesitates before carding a hand through Dick’s hair.

“’Night, Dad.”

* * *

It takes Bruce an embarrassingly long time to leave Dick’s room, long after Dick’s breaths evened out with deep sleep. Only his arm, still dislocated, jolts him out of his trance with a particularly fierce throb of pain.

In the morning, Dick only sleeps in until ten.

“Good morning,” Bruce says as Dick appears in the doorway of the kitchen, looking far more awake than he usually does at this hour.

“Bruce,” Dick says stiffly as he takes his usual seat.

“Master Dick,” Alfred says, appearing out of nowhere to fill his glass with orange juice. 

“Hi, Alfie,” Dick says, subdued.

“We weren’t expecting you for some hours more,” Alfred tuts. “Did you get enough sleep?”

“Yeah.” Dick sneaks a glance at Bruce before he continues, “I slept fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alfred says, patting Dick’s arm as he leaves to put bread in the toaster.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.

“Fine.”

Bruce turns to Dick, his concern growing at Dick’s uncharacteristically taciturn responses. “How are your knees?”

“Fine.”

Alarmed, Bruce leans in. “What’s wrong, Dick? Tell me.”

Dick inhales a sharp breath, and Bruce nearly has a heart attack. Eventually, Dick says, “I called you ‘Dad’ last night.”

Bruce blinks. “You did,” he says slowly.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dick rushes to say. 

Bruce swallows, his throat tightening with disappointment. “I understand –”

“I know – I know I’m not your kid,” Dick stumbles over his words as his cheeks turn an impressive shade of red, dimples nowhere to be seen. “I’m not your son. I’m just your ward, and there’s a difference. I know that. I’m just – I’m sorry. I was so tired last night, and I wasn’t thinking – I didn’t mean to call you that. I know you’re not my dad,” he finishes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce listens as Dick lets it all out, mentally scrambling to make sense of his very confusing child. 

Into the loaded silence, the toast pops, and they all jump. 

Eventually, Bruce starts, “I admit, you caught me off guard last night.”

Over Dick’s shoulder, Alfred shoots him a don’t muck this up glare as he deposits toast, jam, and a butter knife in front of Dick.

Dick ducks his head, shoulders hunching over his plate. 

“But I can’t say your actions last night deserve any sort of apology,” Bruce says, reaching out to tap Dick on the hand. “I didn’t presume to think you thought of me as your dad, but there’s no way on Earth I wouldn’t ever welcome it, chum.”

Dick’s head snaps up. 

“You had a father, a wonderful one by all accounts,” Bruce says, his tone solemn. “I don’t want to take his place. It would be an insult to his memory.”

Dick squints at him, a slow smile breaking over his face. “How old are you, B?” he asks, his tone all faux-innocence as his grin widens. “You know loads of kids have two dads now, right?”

Bruce puts his head in his hands.

[citrus-writing]

yandere feitan- the arch of your sole

NSFW, feitan has a thing about your feet, but no warnings other than that??

---------

Your body is stretched out on the bed- your bed, and it's so rare for him to come to your room that it's almost a cause for anxiety to see him at the foot of the bed. His eyes are dark, betraying no intention, but without his coat and cowl his face is much more visible. By now the sight isn't foreign, but it's rare nonetheless. His lips are pressed tight in what you can only assume is unhappiness.

You move to sit up, shaking off the weariness of sleep to give him your full attention, knowing he wouldn't settle for less. But when you move to press up from the mattress he frowns, eyes growing colder and his lips twitch into a discontent frown. You freeze, "feitan?" He looks at you for a moment, two, then comes forward to join you on the bed. "Is everything alright? Is something wrong?" You try again, anxiety rising in your voice.

"No," his voice is hard to place, almost forced. He was thinking about something. He reaches to pull the blankets from you, letting them slip off the side of the bed onto the floor. It wasn't the first time he'd woken you up in the middle of the night, but it was the first time you hadn't woken to a boot against your ribs or his fingers threaded in your hair. He looks at you and reaches out a hand to wrap about your ankle. Oh, that's it. He's going to break your ankle- and while it's not pleasant, he's certainly done worse.

Instead, he brushes his thumb along the arch of you foot, eyes fixated on you face. You suck in a breath at the ticklish sensation, toes flexing slightly. The anticipation of whatever he's doing makes your legs shift nervously, one kept in place by his hand but the other moving to retract towards you body. He laughs, "ticklish?" You nod, "yeah."

He holds your foot in one hand and let's the other trace over the skin- fingers brushing over you heel and tracing the arch of your foot, pressing into the skin below your toes. He seems almost nervous, but you don't believe that because he has no reason to be, afterall, you're helpless to whatever he chose to do.

He seems to settle those nerves as he continues to touch and you don't fight or speak. His hands touch with more force, fingers working against the sole of you foot in a way that almost feels good- like a massage almost. And to be honest, you could use it, as unwelcome as it is, because months of fear and tension and neglect have left your body aching. He presses the heel of his palm against the arch of you foot and the sound it draws out of you is involuntary- something between a gasp and a moan. A noise part "oh" and part "ah".

Panic rises in you, and your eyes dart to his. But he's not meeting your eye, cheeks almost pink, and he doesn't let up with the way he touches you. In fact, it seems to spur him on, movements shifting from deliberate to desperate. was he enjoying this? Was he getting off to this? Would you mind it if he was?

He pulls your body closer by the ankle, just enough that he can pull your leg off the bed and towards him. One hand holds your foot still as he leans in to lick along the length of your foot. You shreik out his name, a startled "feitan!" That would make you wince if you werent so caught up in his newfound fervor. You watch in shock and horror, not sure what else to do. But he continues, tounge sliding wetly over your skin, pressed flat against your arch.

Your eyes are so transfixed on the sight of his lips and tounge that you miss the way he shifts his hips a bit, searching out friction to combat the discomfort rising in him. What you don't miss is the way the effect of this perverse act shows on his face. The color on his cheeks is more evident now, as is the way his eyes are closed and his eyebrows slightly scrunched in either focus or pleasure.

His other hand snatches your other leg back towards him, pulling you closer still, his hand wrapped again your ankle to press you foot against the front of his pants, and you draw in a fast breath at the feeling of how hot and hard he is. He holds your foot still and presses his hips against you over and over, the roll of his hips almost frantic. He manages to bite back a little sound, but cant hide his breathing growing heavy. It's so disturbing and disgusting and weird, gross in every sense of the word. But you're unable to look away.

His tongue has left your other foot absolutely soaked in his saliva, dripping down onto the bed, and you try not to think about the fact that whatever was happening right now had your panties soaked as well, your body burning with arousal despite itself.

You watch him, still fully dressed and somehow more debauched than even the filthiest pornography. And worse still is that you're a part of this, no matter how much your stomach churns at the thought, it's you that's caused this display of pure desire, unadulterated pleasure free from consequence or judgment.

Because you're helpless to whatever he does to you.

[fuumiku]

Day 2 : Role Swap

Ok I have thoughts for this one bear with me. He’s a mage with a half-foot guild still but his activism is especially targeted towards half-foot mages specifically since they’re rare and so looked down upon (and the two are correlated).

Marcille scouts out places all Tomb Raiser style for lost treasures and knowledge, keeps maps and written info etc in her book. She’s still much of a scholar but more in an archeologist sense, she wants to discover the truth of dungeons and see if it could revolutionize the world. She’s a buildings and engineering nerd instead of magic nerd. She hypes herself up as a passionate cool rogue adventurer like in books✨ Chil thinks it’s a silly and unstable profession. All her um, grace and agility when doing headstands and dancing are coming through with this new role of hers.

Chil does need to borrow mana and so they hold hands a lot. I am so taking advantage of the mana transfer thing. "I’m out of mana, you’re an elf and you never use magic, give some to me! You have so much, don’t be selfish!!" -inparty fight breaks out as he chases after her and she runs away- I imagine that’s just kinda how he and half-foot mages roll? Dunmeshi-typical worldbuilding monologue that explains how "Most people don’t even use their mana, they don’t even learn magic. If you give me your mana I’ll be able to do more magic, win-win, no harm done." I imagine you have to be magic-savvy to be able to transfer mana to someone but it’s fine he can just steal it methinks 🌟 So he gets to be the one who’s very casual about physical touch. He does NOT want to be a healer it stresses him out but ah shit there Falin goes.

More AU details under cut

You’ve heard of onion knight now get ready for onion mage Y’know the saddest part of mage Chilchuck is that he wouldn’t use explosion spells

You know how Marcille uses her staff to grab people by the neck or head sometimes… Chilchuck would have a free choking stick he can use to make people listen to him. He can REACH THEIR NECKS . It doubles as a walking stick for his old man back… /j And a weapon, sort of. I think staff more than lance, but long weapons like that suit him I think. Holding the monster at bay with a 4 feet long stick like "Stay BACK!! Go for my party members shoo shoo!!!!"

From my observations, staffs for magic all have a ‘hole’ at one end, oh size, shape, material and form varying. For example both Marcille and Rin have a similar hoop, but Falin’s is a lantern which imo the metal frame of it and the glass form this hole I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like, the staff condenses the magic inside the hole and helps channel it and give it form? What I’m saying here is I didn’t decide what it was made out of but I like to think it’s carved wood so it can be homemade but unique to him.

Marcille and Chil both fight in battles, but he stays where it’s safer and does long distance spells only. Marcile uses daggers probably… But yeah her role’s more being a scout rather than a fighter, while Chil’s role is being a magical fighter and his expertise on magical creatures and such.

I think he’d be self-taught, where it’s his own magic system… I think he likes theory more than vibes and working at the whims of creatures, so maybe elven with an half-foot script? He doesn’t seem like the type to get buddy-buddy with spirits much A bit like his cowl it’s like he always has a part of home with him a bit with his half-foot magic… He’d have sucked at the beginning, it’s pretty experimental magic, but he made it work and tbh he’s a Big Deal for it. Learning on the field ofc ofc he’s no honor student

I think the racial prejudices tension would be worse, because he’d be nervous of the whole ‘half-foots who get too curious about dark magic get taken away’, and I think as a half-elf who doesn’t do magic it might be uncomfortable for her to deal with how the half-foot is better at it than her and how her mana would have had better use with him instead of her? Idk brainstorming. I def think she’d habe more of a complex about being a half-elf… Still with existential dread and still Hopes to find a cure to death, but she goes about it through artefacts etc rather than magic. I’m unsure how her career would turn out that wqy exactly because job stability and academia are important to her, but yeah I think she went to school on an agricultural and history level and focused her research on that front? And then she could become that adventurer scholar who explores to pierce secrets of the world and ancient civilizations trope yeah I think that’s the angle.

Maybe his plans for the future after quitting being a dungeon diver would be teacher/mentor instead of shopkeeper 🤔 One one hand oh god have mercy on his blood pressure, on the other he likes contributing to his community and would want to encourage half-foot mages and pass down his knowledge and expertise I think. Empty nest syndrome where…- OHHH mage Meijack……. I was thinking becayse Meijack followed in his footsteps in canon but it could suit Puckpatti and Flertom too… Their dad would have shown them some magic tricks hehe. They can be a magical girl trio in my heart, Powerpuff Girls energy…

A rogue has gotta be able to make intricate af braids and updos with their fingers (ignore how in canon Chil is just barely decent at them nvm). I was thinking maybe one of Marcille’s lockpicks is Ambrosia-shaped… Or maybe it’s an hairpin. Maybe she keeps her lockpicks as pins in her hair but they’re easy to grab… Getting more gimmicky by the second but my heart yearns for it I cannot lie. I ended up doing something close to canon for Marcille’s outfits but at first I imagined she’d wear stuff more akin elven fashion, short dress with pants, light material, though also with a leather armor breastblate. She has long gloves like the ones that look fancy, maybe even up her upper arm rather than just forearm ooh… Also her little pouch, which actually contains stuff this time around (lockpicks). They still have matching pouches yay

In that last doodle Chilchuck weaved her a little familiar with twigs… So it is magical but it’s hers, and it’s a second stand-in for Ambrosia. Maybe a golem… It’s very silly and prob not real in the au but the thought of it is really cute. Someone on the discord said Fantastical Beasts Pickett which yesss lmao, it’s like a pokemon for "(lock)pick it!" I love arts and crafts Chilchuck so much. Sew clothes. Weave twigs. Woodcarve. Necromance a frankenstein. He can make himself a new wife (/J I AM SO /J)

Also for Izutsumi: I think the reverse of a ninja is a bard. Take that as you will. Angry bard who grew up in a troupe……

[toulousewayne]

Catching Strays Pt:11🐈‍⬛💎✨

Red Hood x male!reader who’s a cat burglar with a similar M.O. to Catwoman who’s on a crime spree.

Summary:Your a Cat Burglar who’s dressed similarly to Catwoman. You enjoy the thrill of the chase.

————

"A long time ago, before I put on this mask, I was afraid of everything."

“Would you hurry up already, I would bleed out if you go any slower.” Jason threw his head back against the kitchen cabinets. Y/n scowled at him but finished the last stitch.

“You’re welcome asshole.” He cleaned up the counter as Jason placed a bandage on his arm and turned back to the cat burglar.

“Thank you, though I wouldn’t have gotten shot if someone wasn’t snooping in Black Mask’s office. And why were you even there?” He pulled back on his armor chest piece.

“I needed something, I didn’t rob him of that’s your concern.” He grabbed a laptop and put a flash drive inside it. Jason walked toward him and leaned over his shoulder.

He smirked leaning closer,”No way you got ahold of Rommie’s shipments and business transactions. Maybe you’re not so bad Cat.”

Y/n didn’t responded he continued to skim and scroll until he read a file. He pressed a few keys before abruptly standing.

“Going somewhere?” Jason grabbed his helmet and jacket as Y/n reapplied his cowl and goggles.

“Yes, somewhere you’re not going to be.” He opened the window and his wrist was grabbed my Red Hood.

“You could get killed, Black Mask isn’t someone who takes lightly to unwanted attention.”

He scoffed trying to pull his arm free but Jason wasn’t budging. “What’s to you, you’re just in a hurry to give my intel to the Bat and then throw me in a cell.”

“I don’t work for the Bat,I would with him and even that’s a stretch.” Y/n rolled his eyes and grew more frustrated.

“Look I don’t care about your relationship with the other vigilantes in the shithole of a city, I have things to do.” He kicked Red Hood’s shin which gave him the perfect opportunity to get free and climb through the window. Red Hood gets his footing back and goes after him up the fire escape.

“Stop!” He grabs his shoulder and is kicked again.

“Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.” He uses his claws to strike his chest.

“Damn, you normal kick a guy out after the second date?” Red Hood teased countering his attacks.

He hissed, “Most don’t make it past dinner. Look Red you’re cute but you’re getting on my nerves.” He back flipped out the way of a punch, then sidestepped Red Hood. He checked him to the ground while his balance was off. With Red Hood flat on his back he climbed onto him with his face inching from his red helmet.

“I don’t need a babysitter,and I don’t need a partner. I’ve done fine on my own.” Jason chuckled which made Y/n move a bit. He goes to move and is held down my Red Hood.

“Watch the hands pal.”

“I’m going with you, I know how Black Mask operates and plus you’re in no position to go anywhere.” It’s true he’s pinned my Jason’s arms.

“Fine Red you win.” He sighs. They get up and Red Hood presses a button on his belt. Soon the sounds a motorcycle stop below them.

“Your chariot awaits you.” Red Hood hopes on and motions for Y/n to get on.

“Such a gentleman.” Y/n wraps his arms around his waist.

“Hold on tight.” Red Hood barrels down the road and towards the highway.

“Where am I going Cat?” Red Hood moved between cars and continued past rush hour traffic.

“The Docks, there’s a shipment coming in tonight. Dock 23.”

———

The pair leaped over crates until the found several cars at a dock. Black Mask emerges from a van as it begins to rain lightly.

���Where is it?” He growled. Stray took his goggles and looked at the scene below.

“Don’t move yet.” Red Hood instructed. He too watched the scene unfold.

“We’re sorry boss, the shipment was supposed to be here.” Black Mask took a pistol from his jacket and shot the two goons in front of him.

“The rest of you idiots find that shipment. NOW!” Stray took Red Hood’s wrist and led him down the crates. The took turn the corner and three of Black Mask’s men are searching the crates with crowbars.

“Shall we?” He purrs,Red Hood cloaks his pistols and nods. Stray backflips into the light.

“Hiya boys.”

“It’s the fucking theif!” Stray cracks his whip knocking their weapons away. Red Hood drops down and makes quick work of two out of three. Stray quick slashes another’s back and knocks his face into a crate.

“To slow Red, we’ve got a lot of places to search.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that Cat, come this way.”

—-

The two enter a warehouse full of shipping containers and crates. Stray swiftly moves past rows of containers until he stops and walks down a long hallway.

“How do you know where to go?” Red Hood follows. They stop at a crate in the middle and he quickly opens the lid and removes a sliver briefcase.

“The intel I stole, I made sure to wipe it off their servers and meanwhile the shipment was brought in hours ago by the graveyard crew.”

Red Hood crosses his arms at him,”You slight cat.”

He tugs on the lock of the briefcase and opens it inside is a green vial.

“This is what he wanted?”

“And I’ll take if from your dirty paws Pussycat!” Black Mask and his men surround the pair.

“Fuck.” They both swear.

——

The two are tied to chairs back to back. Black Mask stands a few feet away eyeing the vial before placing it back into the briefcase.

“Who knew I had a cat problem and not a rat. It doesn’t make a difference now I’ve got what I need. And soon the fucking city will be back in the hands it needs.”

“By a murdering lunatic.” He slap Y/n which made Red Hood tug at his restraints. Black Mask sneakers.

“Don’t worry you just red bucket, I won’t hurt him to much, though I should break his fucking hands.” His henchmen had been pouring gasoline around the place and they quickly left as Black Mask grabbed the briefcase as the hanger door was left open.

“Well boys it’s been nice but I got a city to take back from freaks.” He took out a lighter and tossed it. Flames roared and grew swiftly engulfing the building.

“We*Cough* gotta get out.” Stray choked on the smoke. Red Hood had managed to get a knife out and cut his rope. He turned and freed Stray.

The tried to run toward the door but metal and structural damage collapsed and blocked it. Stray scanned the room and noticed the skylights.

“There.” He pointed having a much stronger cough. Jason took his hand and led him further in the building. Jason wrapped an arm around his waist and grappled them to the rooftops. They made it to the rooftop and laid there for a moment catching their breath. Jason took off his helmet and took several deep breaths.

“Are you hurt?” He asks. Stray took a few short breaks before sitting up.

“I think I’m fine. You know considering the circumstances.” Jason nods. He presses a button on his watch and he sighs.

“I’ve got some friends there on Black Mask’s trail.” Stray gets to his feet and walks over to the edge.

“This is my problem Red not yours.” Jason was on his feet and turned Y/n to him.

“This isn’t your fault unless you blacked out the last hour here. Black Mask did this—“

“Well it was my job to stop him!” Stray goes toward the ladder but Red Hood grabs his arm.

“Why,is taking him down suddenly your crusade?” It started raining again and this time Y/n couldn’t run out of Jason grasp.

“Because..Roman Sionis killed my Mother.” Tears began forming in the thief’s eyes. Jason watched him carefully and pulled him closer.

“Stray,I’m..I not sure what to say. I’m really sorry.” Stray wiped his tears.

“Please, don’t I don’t want your pity.” He pulled away from him and walked towards the edge of the roof.

“It’s not I understand what you’re going through.”

Stray chuckled, “Really? How about another curveball. Black Mask is also my Father. That’s why he killed her, he didn’t want anyone to know she found out a lot of stuff about his operations and rather than paying her off he killed her and made it look like she killed herself. So, No Red you don’t know what I’m going through. I’m going to kill him and you and your family aren’t going to stop me.” He leaped off the roof leaving Jason stunned for amount before he sighed.

“You heard that didn’t you?” He turned around to see Batman emerging from the shadows.

“I heard of enough, do you know where he’s going?”

“Nope,but I have to find him.” Batman nods and Jason leaps off the roof toward his bike. Batman watches as he races out toward the city as the lighting and thunder clash in the sky.