#and the goons are all so proud of their boss

[azsazz]

In Safe Arms

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2390

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“I said back the fuck off!” Azriel growls, and you know for a fact that the paparazzi who’s been steadily inching closer and closer throughout the night has landed himself on your bodyguards shit list.

Azriel’s hand doesn’t leave the small of your back, no matter how much he wants to lunge across the sidewalk and knock the fucking camera out of this goon’s hands. The man’s been harassing you all week, from the moment you stepped off the plane in New York, getting testier and testier with his shots, following you from your hotel to your shoots, to parties and bars and back to your hotel late into the evening hours. He doesn’t know how the man finds the time to sleep, honestly.

And he knows it’s the same one following you around, not only because it’s his job to remember people that might prove to be a threat to you, but because he’d never forget this fucking scumbag’s face.

You duck your head lower, pressing Azriel’s handkerchief tightly to your eyebrow. There’s blood dripping into your eye from whatever it was a fan tossed your way as soon as you’d stepped foot out of your SUV. Azriel had been turned toward you, lending you a helping hand from the vehicle when it struck. He whirled around, but it was too late, the coward had slunk off into the crowd before he could sniff them out like a bloodhound.

And Azriel was livid.

If your father had just hired two bodyguards to protect you instead of one, this wouldn’t have happened.

Not that Azriel isn’t qualified to keep you safe by himself. With six years of training with the Royal Marines under his belt, he’s more than capable. He’s carried injured men across his back for miles when there was no hope of getting out for fuck’s sake. But this is a new playing field entirely. You’re the most well-known celebrity he’s had the pleasure of working with, and when your father didn’t heed his advice that one bodyguard was not enough, he knew he was going to be in for a challenge.

A challenge that he’s failed tonight.

You let him lead you blindly, trying your best to block out your surroundings: the screaming fans begging for a picture or autograph, the stream of liquid you’re desperately trying to blink from your eye and soak up with the rag. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest, breathing shallow pants, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing right onto the concrete outside of your hotel is Azriel’s strong hand at your back, guiding you to safety.  

“Almost there,” he murmurs at your back, and your shoulders slacken slightly at the familiarity of his voice cutting through all the other noises that pierce your ears. “Only a few more steps and we’ll be in the lobby.”

He’s right, the concierge is holding the door open just enough for the both of you to slip through, and when it shuts tightly behind you, muffling off the loud wails and camera flashes, you release a shaky breath.

“Miss, are you okay?” The man asks, concern lacing his tone, like his job is on the line because someone decided to toss something at your face. “Do you need me to call the polic—”

“No, no,” you blurt frantically, waving him off. “That’s not necessary.”

“(Y/N)—” Azriel tries to cut in, and you know that this is something he’s going to have to report to his boss. Concern laces his tone, not for his job, but for you, because you’re injured and shaking in the middle of the lobby, looking like an abandoned puppy left to wilt in the rain. “I think you should—”

“No, Az,” you choke out, finally lifting your gaze from the floor to meet his. The look he wears makes your breath catch in your throat, but looking at him always does. He’s beautiful. And completely off limits.

His thick, straight brows are the only thing that gives his concern away. There’s a wrinkle between them that you want to reach out and smooth with the pad of your finger. His mouth is set in a firm line, not unusual for the stoic man. And his eyes, well his eyes are roiling with anger, hot coals ready to combust.

You don’t even care that you’ve called him the name you shouldn’t. You’re not supposed to address him by his name at all, let alone the nickname you’ve secretly become fond of. Right now, though, you’re much to shaken to realize your slip up, and he’s too worried about your wound to correct you.

“Please,” you beg, tears brimming your eyes. His tall, built frame conceals you from the people still lingering outside, and he spots that fucking paparazzi from the corner of his eye, smirking in the window as he cranes as far as he can to be the first to get a shot at your injury. “I want to go to my room.”

You’re already pulling the cloth from your face, and he’s quick to reach out and press it back, all too aware of the people around. Any one of them could spill the beans, could secretly be listening or recording, ready to make a quick buck off your horrendous night. Fucking assholes, all of them.

“Okay,” he consoles, glaring harshly at the concierge when he opens his mouth to protest. The man’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and he scurries away. Returning his attention to you, one hand pinning yours and the cloth you’re clutching to your face, he urges you toward the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

The doors chime open, and after getting you on safely and pushing the button to the suite on the top floor of the building, Azriel shoots one last menacing look to the paparazzi that’s still standing out front. He’s going to have a few phone calls tonight, with the hotel security and the local police, because he doesn’t want that fuck anywhere near you ever again.

The sleazy pap has the gall to wink at Azriel before the doors shut between you and the man he knows will be standing in that exact spot come the morning when it’s time for you to leave again.

The ride is long, and with the adrenaline draining from your system, you’re exhausted. Azriel lets you sag against him, and you trust him so fully that you let your eyes drift shut, allowing him to guide you through your room and straight into the bathroom so that he can take care of your wound.

You crack your eyes open when he lifts you to rest on the counter before dropping to his knees and helping you out of your heels. Your feet scream happily, and your body ignites at the sight of him on his knees before you.

Standing, he shoves the sleeves of his thick, black shirt up over his elbows, exposing those strong forearms you’d had the pleasure of peeking at for the last few months. That’s not the only thing you’ve noticed about Azriel. There are scars on his hands, bad ones. You don’t know what they’re from, but you’re aching to know. To learn anything about the man who’s been your bodyguard for the better part of this year.

“I think you should go home,” Azriel says softly. Or, as softly as someone like him can. It sounds harsh, gruff, but you know he doesn’t mean it like a demand. He’s concerned in his own way.

“I can’t pull out of my appearances, that’ll only make me look worse,” you argue, sliding back onto the counter he guides you to. People already hate you enough for the rift that Azriel has caused in your relationship with superstar Tamlin Oleander. Having an attractive man protecting you has not only made the man your team is paying to be with you insecure, but he’s been twisting this story for too long already. Pulling out of your appearances now will only give the fans another reason to pick and tear at you.

He scrubs his hands hard with the bar of soap in the sink before toweling them off and looking at your injury.

There’s a split above your eyebrow. Face wounds bleed a lot, he tells himself, smothering the memory that rises at the sight. Except that that injury was about an inch lower, and his comrade didn’t make it out alive.

“Who cares about looking worse,” Azriel scoffs. This time, he speaks harsher, but his movements against your face are still soft. The sting is barely there because you’re focusing on the buzz his fingertips brushing your skin provide. You’re focusing on the soft spot in his hazel eyes as he examines your wound, his breath against your skin. It’s dizzying. And not from the blood loss. “You should care about being safe.”

Neither of you brings up that it’s his job to do just that, but it sits heavily in the room anyway, sucking all the air from the expansive bathroom.

He swallows harshly, refusing to look at you. He busies himself with plucking a few butterfly bandages from the first aid kit beside him. The split skin above your eyebrow aches when he pinches the slice together to apply the bandage. “I’ll call down to the lobby to see if there’s someplace more private we can meet the car to take you to the hospital. You’re going to need a stitch or two.”

“Azriel, wait,” you call, grabbing for his hand when he turns to leave the room. You know exactly what’s going to happen when he crosses over that threshold. “Please don’t call him.”

He allows you to stop him, but he doesn’t turn to face you. He can’t. Can’t bear to look at you when his failure is staring right back at him. He let you get hurt, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

Azriel’s body is too still, and his tone is too even when he answers. “I have to.”

“You don’t,” you plead, clutching him tighter. If he calls your father and tells him about what happened tonight you know you’ll never see him again, and if you never see him again, you’ll be fucking miserable. You’ve found comfort in Azriel’s presence throughout the time you’ve been working together, and he’s the only one who’s been able to see through the façade you put on, the personality you’ve spent so long pretending to be. He sees you.

“I do.”

“Why?” You don’t care that you’re getting worked up, that you voice is becoming louder with your desperation. That your nails are biting into the skin of his arm because you refuse to let him walk away from you.

Azriel whirls, and you startle back a step. But you don’t let him go, you never want to let him go. You take him with you, and he goes tripping forward with how you’ve caught him off guard.

He stumbles into you and his hands find your waist, steadying you against the counter. His grip on you is tight. His eyes defeated.

“I couldn’t protect you tonight,” he admits, and you can hear the heartbreak in his voice, you can almost see the memories that resurface, threatening to drag him under. “You need someone who can.”

“You can, Azriel! It’s an isolated incident!” You’re desperately trying to get him to see reason, scrabbling your fingers at his shirt, dragging him even further into you. Tears slide down your face, and for the first time of the night, you’re afraid. You weren’t scared when Azriel was the one there, jumping into action, but now, thinking that he might leave you, you’re terrified.

“It won’t be,” he sighs, brushing his fingers softly over yours, trying to calm you down lest you reopen your wound. “Now that it’s happened, other will try, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart. I can’t protect you like I thought I could.”

Neither of you catch his slip of the tongue, too caught up in the emotions for it to register.

You can’t swallow back the sob. You try to bury your face in his shirt, but Azriel catches you gently around the shoulders, keeping you from hurting yourself.

His hands are calloused and strong, you can feel the ridges of the scarring that paints them. So tender, so cruel, so soft.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you admit, blinking your tears away to meet his gaze. You don’t care that your makeup is probably a mess with your tears and whatever’s left of the blood, and Azriel doesn’t care because he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Azriel presses his forehead against yours, swiping your tears with his thumbs. “I won’t,” he promises, “I can’t.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and just like that, you’re staring up and him and he’s staring back at you like you’re the most prized possession in this hotel, in this world.

He doesn’t know when he fell for you, if it was the way you tried to find the cracks in his stoic exterior between photoshoots and interviews, or if it’s the way you opened yourself up for him only, showed him the real you.

You’re nothing like the way you’re portrayed in the media. None of those fucking people know how big your heart is, how much you’ve been hurt, how much you care.

And he’d lie down his life to keep you safe and whole.

“Promise me.” You breathe. Your lips brush his as you speak, and the gentle touch sends shockwaves up your spine. You follow their current, lengthening your spine, pushing closer to Azriel. His hands tighten on your hips, and you spread your legs wider for him so slot himself between.

He does with a jagged breath, like he’s trying to hold himself back but is unable. His hazel eyes bore into yours and you see the war there, how he wants to go against everything he vowed not to do with you. He shouldn’t be anywhere near you like this…but he can’t help himself.

“I promise,” he says, along with ‘fuck it’ in his head, and leans down to capture your lips against his.

[blog-moved-lol]

What I think the Batfam's love languages would be:

This is not necessarily canon, you can take this as the love languages of my personal versions of the characters if ya want-

Bruce Wayne -

How does he show his love?: I think that if you two were casually going out, seeing each other on occasion for a date but not actually officially dating or anything, he would show his love through giving gifts. I mean, it's the billionaire thing to do—just dump a bunch of money on you and let you buy stuff. Then when you started officially dating he would continue to give you gifts, but I also think he would use acts of service.. Whether that be dressing up as Batman and beating up someone who threatened you, or being Bruce Wayne and making your boss give you a promotion. Then if your relationship got extra serious, like you were moving into Wayne Manor serious, I think he would finally start to warm up to physical touch and would slowly get more touchy with you over time.

What type of love does he respond best to?: Quality time. Just having you around while he's doing mundane things, you sitting with him in the Batcave while he's working a case, going grocery shopping together. Depending on his mood he'll also respond well to words of affirmation, but if you catch him in the wrong mood he'll get annoyed and upset by them because he'll feel patronized.

Dick Grayson -

How does he show his love?: No matter what stage of the relationship, his biggest love language is always going to be acts of service. He's a people pleaser at heart, he loves doing things for others even if it's detrimental to him. If the two of you were casually going out I think that he'd use a lot of words of affirmation on you, just being really sweet to you in general. When you started officially dating he'd make an effort to spend as much quality time with you as possible and get a little more touchy, starting to get used to hugs, cuddling, sleeping in the same bed, etc. If you got extra serious he'd become much more comfortable with physical touch, and start to lay more heavily into his acts of service.

What type of love does he respond best to?: Words of affirmation—but only if you do it right. Dick, being the people pleaser that he is, lives for praise and being told that he's helpful and good. Words of affirmation in the sense of 'I'm proud of you', or 'You did great out there tonight,' work wonders for him. However, words of affirmation in the form of compliments about his physical appearance have an adverse affect if you're still early on in the relationship. After all, Dick gets his looks complimented a lot and most of the time it makes him uncomfortable. He'll feel like you're only looking at his body and not who he is as a person. However, he's more accepting to physical compliments when you get into a more serious relationship.

Jason Todd -

How does he show his love?: Well to be honest if you're casually going out, he.. Doesn't- I mean that early on, he has no real reason to believe that he should. After all, he's never had any experience with this sort of thing, and why would you ever want to date a literal crime boss/murderer? He thinks that you're totally a spy and that you're going to betray him or something. If you manage to progress to the officially dating stage, he'll start to open up just a tiny bit. He'll become a little more protective of you, making sure his goons won't attack you if you're out in Gotham late and 'taking care of' anyone who gives you trouble. He might get you a gift here and there, pay for dinner, but he'll still stay somewhat distant. And if you eventually manage to get to the serious stage, he will become incredibly attached, lots of quality time, lots of gifts, lots of acts of service, and SO much praise over any little thing you do.

What type of love does he respond best to?: Physical touch, but only if it's serious. To get through the first part of your relationship you pretty much just have to stick around and not be an ass, because he'll be absolutely flabbergasted that you want anything to do with him, but he'll eventually get used to it and become attached because you're the only person(that isn't the Batfam) who's been with him this long. But if it gets serious, he'll love physical touch. Hugs, cuddles, sleeping in the same bed, putting an arm around your shoulder, massaging your thighs.. Just touching you whenever he can.

Tim Drake -

How does he he show his love?: Quality time, and by quality time, I mean he stalks you. You won't know it, at least not until much later into the relationship, but if he actually likes you he'll stalk you from the beginning. Stalking your social medias, tracking your phone's location, watching you in the Batcave on the Gotham security footage. Maybe hacking into your security cams and watching you in your house/apartment if he's particularly lonely. Aside from that, early on he'll pay for dinner, buy you flowers, maybe get you some little trinkets that he finds cool.. As you start dating he'll start to help you with school/work, putting his smarts and skills to the test to help you out with things. He always seems to know when you need help, somehow? (It's the stalking). When you get serious he'll warm up to you fully and start just being his weird lil' self, no longer masking his odd behavior around you.

What type of love does he respond best to?: Physical touch(but usually only when he's sleepy), and words of affirmation. He doesn't mind physical touch usually, but it won't always do much for him except for when he's feeling sleep deprived, in which case he craves your warmth and touch. He especially needs the words of affirmation, because he's sort of lacking that in his life right now (Though, his family[-Damian lol] are trying hard to make up for that, they're working on it), and it makes him feel useful and wanted. And like his own person for once.

Damian Wayne -

How does he show his love?: In the first two stages of the relationship he won't really show that he cares, he might be a bit less aggressive to you then everyone else, but he's still not exactly the nicest. However, if you manage to get to a serious relationship, you'll have proved that you're actually there for him, and you'll notice a more dramatic change. He'll become much more open, start smiling more often, get a little more touchy, shower you with beautiful art he painted of you.. You were the one who helped him learn to be less violent, so by extension he's willing to rely on you.

What type of love does he respond best to?: Words of affirmation, because he has an ego that needs to be stroked. Even when you get serious and he becomes more open, Damian is still at his core a pretty narcissistic and arrogant guy, and he still acts on impulse thinking that he's better and smarter then any of his enemies. So, if you want him to be all flattered.. Just compliment his fighting skills.. Or, y'know, tell him how much better then Tim he is.

Y'all can add the others if you want, I don't know enough about the other characters to do them yet :]

[satoshy12]

Adult Dan, Baby Danny and Dani

Poly Dan x Harley x Ivy

Jason x Jazz

Harley heard how someone new had killed the Joker and made her way to thank them; after all, he took all that the Joker had in money and goons. She saw the "Crime Boss" trying to feed two toddlers a bottle and failing…

That was how Harley and Ivy ended up as Mom Ivy and Mom Harley to the toddlers.

Don't ask how; Ivy was just so happy she could touch the four without them dying or being poisoned so she moved in. + Dan just gave up on the world.

What has he done to be punished that way? Tell me, Clockwork!

First, he turns him more human!

Then he sent him here with his younger self's clone, his younger self, and sister to this dimension!

And then he meets a Clown who tries to kill him only for him to rip out his head (think of Gojo taking Jogo head).

Then he has to try to find a way to take care of two babies and a teenager, only for that crazy lady to walk into his life!

The next thing he knows, he is living with her and her girlfriend. Somehow being together with both! + Both Ivy and Harley think that Dan was bad at naming children, who names them Daniel/Danny and Danielle/Ellie. At least Jasmine is a different name, but then she is his little sister. + Robin Jason. Jason was pretty proud to tell Batman that the Great Robin had found the one who killed the Joker. "He was a Dad who Joker attacked and he killed him in self Defense. Case Closed. Bonus He has a cute sister!"

Not that anyone would put him on trial in Gotham, even if Batman or the police tried.

So Batman and Jim made sure that the Joker was really dead and didn't fake it. GCPD: " His head is 10 meters away from his body!" James Gordon:" Just to make sure of it. We will Burn the body now." + And Jason in school talked to the sister of the one who killed the Joker, for a mission he says. 

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

How would Joker feel if Y/n died? Can you write something for this?

My Everything

Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, mention of suicide, violence

Summary: Y/n is killed by one of Joker’s many enemies and as we can all predict, J loses his everloving mind

Author’s Note: Thank you thank you thank you for this request beloved anon!!!! This has been my favorite thing I’ve ever written so far. And also the longest I’ve wrote in one sitting. I’m so proud of myself, I wrote almost 4000 words! I need to do that more often.

This is going to be an angsty one. But it’s not all bad. My oc Matilda makes her debut and there’s a ton of bromance going on between J and his right hand man. As always, enjoy! <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @unholiiness

“She’s gone…she’s…she’s…” Joker mumbled to himself.

The phone slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. He sat down on a chair and stared out into space, disassociating. 

Frost noticed his boss from across the room. He knew those distant eyes from anywhere. It only meant trouble.

“Boss! Boss! Snap out of it!” He shouted.

Joker jumped up out of the chair. He grabbed Frost by his shirt collar and shook him in anger.

“What the fuck happened, Frost?! How did they get to her?!” Joker thundered.

“I-I don’t know! There’s no way they could’ve gotten past the security we set up. I’m just as shocked as you are!” Frost pleaded his case.

Joker grumbled and released him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Frost was right. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The security and all the cameras J had set up for your apartment were all working fine that day.

Joker stormed into the control room with Frost tagging along right behind him. He scanned the footage from that day and stopped when he saw movement around 2 pm. No wonder the cameras didn’t catch anything. You had left the apartment.

He felt a sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. If he had been home or nearby he could’ve saved you. 

Frost’s phone dinged and he glanced at it. He looked up at Joker gravely.

“They found her body. She’s in the boardroom.”

Joker didn’t say a word and marched straight out of the control room into the boardroom. He pushed open the double doors and walked up to the table. His henchmen backed away in fear. 

Your body was placed carefully on the table. You looked so pale, your hair was a mess, and you were splattered with blood. Clearly you didn’t go down without a fight. Joker felt a lump form in his throat. He hated himself for letting this happen to you.

As Joker observed, Frost came into the room behind him and motioned for the goons to leave before things got ugly. The men cleared out and Frost walked up to Joker. 

“Um, boss, what do we do now?” He asked.

Joker turned and looked at him solemnly. “I don’t know…”

They stared at the table in silence for a while. Joker couldn’t stand it. A surge of rage swept over him and he slammed his fist on the table, causing Frost to jump.

“Keep her here. I’m going out. I’ll figure out what to do with her later and give her a proper burial and all…” Joker trailed off.

Frost nodded.

Joker grabbed his jacket off of a hook on the wall, threw it on, and rushed out the doors. He had no idea where he was going but he had to get away from this. He ran down the sidewalk, his brain moving a hundred miles an hour. His worst fear had come true. You were taken from him in cold blood. 

The crisp Gotham night air burned in his lungs as he ran. Long before he donned his Joker persona, running had always helped him clear his head. The adrenaline was a temporary relief from the pain.

It was dark, not many people lived in this area, and he was wearing casual clothes so he didn’t have to worry about being seen. Not that he cared. Nothing mattered anymore.

Joker gave one last burst of energy and stopped, panting. He ended up on the west side of Gotham harbor. A bridge was a few feet ahead. He walked up to the railing and gazed out over the water. The moon cast a shimmering reflection on top.

He sighed. Nights like this reminded him so much of you. You loved to go on walks through the park or other scenic spots in Gotham on cool, clear nights, holding his hand and skipping down the sidewalk without a care in the world.

You were his light in the dark places, his rock, his everything. You showed him real genuine love and compassion. You made him feel alive again. Now you were gone and he would never forgive himself. 

He breathed heavily as he felt the intense emotions weigh down on him. His first response to your death was shock and then fury but now the reality of the situation hit him and he broke down. He felt his breathing hitch and tears form. He blinked them away with a snarl of disgust. He would not succumb to such weakness!

But he underestimated the effect you had on him and felt the anguish come surging back. Then Joker did something he hadn’t in years. 

He began to cry. 

It started out soft but the more the tears fell, the louder he wept. These tears were long overdue. So much pain over the years but he could only think about you. 

“Oh God, why? Why her?” Joker sobbed.

He looked out over the water again, letting his misty eyes wander down to the base of the bridge. The waves crashed against the stone pillars holding the bridge up. Clusters of giant rocks lined the two banks. It was at least 30 feet down.

He felt the sudden urge to jump. He rejected it at first. He wasn’t done yet. He still had many years of causing chaos left but then he thought of how different his life was going to be. 

No more beautiful smiles to come home to after a gruesome day’s work. No more warm cozy mornings spent cuddling with you. No more late night strolls at the park. No more shared laughter. No more y/n…

A life without you wasn’t worth living. So he went for it. He turned his back to the water, spread his arms out wide, looked to the sky, and fell backwards. He closed his eyes as he went over the railing. 

The sound of the crashing waves got closer and closer until…silence.

…

Joker opened his eyes and looked around groggily. He was strapped to a bed and hooked up to several things in Arkham’s infirmary. At first he didn’t fully grasp what he was seeing. Then it hit him. He regained his senses and jolted as upright as the restraints would allow him. He wriggled around and struggled against them.

A nurse came running in and grabbed his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Joker recognized her as Matilda.

“J, relax. It’s alright.” His favorite nurse said gently as she eased him back. 

“No, no, no! It’s not alright! It’s…it’s…” He struggled to get his words out and panted.

Matilda rubbed his back in another attempt to calm him. 

“You have got to calm down, honey. You’re hooked up to a heart monitor. It starts going off and they’re all gonna come running in here like chickens with their heads cut off.” 

Joker breathed in and out and tried to think clearly. His head was spinning with a sensory and information overload.

“Why am I here? What happened?” He blurted out.

“They found you at the bottom of the bridge at the harbor last night. You jumped.” Matilda responded calmly. 

Joker groaned as the events from the previous day came back to him. He woke up thinking it was all just one horrible nightmare but once again reality came crashing down. 

“Why did you do it?” Matilda asked.

Joker looked up at her with sorrowful watery eyes. The older woman had never seen such a look on his scarred face before. 

“My sweet girl, my y/n, she’s…she’s dead.” He mumbled.

He was delirious with grief. Matilda could see that now. Under normal circumstances, he would never have shown such emotion. 

And hold up, the Joker in love with someone? It seemed so unbelievable. Throughout all of his time in Arkham he’d never once mentioned this girl to Matilda. Most likely to keep her safe and hidden.

“Who was y/n? A lover? A girlfriend?” Matilda questioned him.

“She was my everything…my special treasure that made me feel again. She never hurt anybody. She didn’t deserve this.” 

“I’m so sorry, J. She sounded like a wonderful person. Listen, I know you’re still grieving but try not to think about it too much. You need to rest. You hit those rocks pretty hard. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. It feels like a part of me has been ripped out of my chest.” Joker whined.

“I know dear, but you mustn't dwell on it too much if you’re going to recover. Just lay here and rest. Your body will thank you for it.” 

“Okay…” Joker murmured as she pulled the blanket resting on his legs up over his chest and then left the room to finish her rounds. 

The rest of the day Joker laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could think about was you. Your absence felt like a gaping hole in his heart.

A few other nurses came by throughout to check on him. He didn’t speak a word to them. They didn’t either. He let them do their job and get out. Normally he would torment them by being difficult or teasing them but this time he just didn’t have the energy. 

That evening he grew restless. 

What am I doing here moping around? I should be out there getting even!

It had just occurred to him that by giving up he was letting your murderer go free. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He would not allow that. He was extremely glad he didn’t die. Even if he didn’t think of it when caught up in the moment, it would haunt him forever that your killer got away.

Sofia Falcone and her lackeys would pay. But first, Joker needed to escape.

He waited until a young nurse came in a little later to give him a sedative that would help him sleep. Before she could prepare the syringe, he looked up at her innocently. 

“Um, nurse, can you loosen these straps? They’re really botherin’ me.” He asked nicely.

The nurse laughed to herself. “Ha. You think I’m gonna loosen your restraints? No way. Nice try though.”

“Please? Just a little bit…” He said and stared her down with his big pleading brown eyes. This was when his handsomeness really came in handy. 

The nurse sighed. “Well, okay. But only a little bit.”

She bent down and loosened the buckles on his wrists a notch or two. When she came back up, Joker head butted her and she collapsed onto the ground. 

He slipped his hands free from the straps and unbuckled his feet. Then he unhooked himself from the different monitors and quickly took his IV out. He grabbed the nurse’s badge and keys and sprinted out the door. 

Luckily, the infirmary was close to the back entrance so he could get out much faster than if he was coming from his cell. He dashed down the stairs to the ground level and through the halls, shoving a few nurses out of the way as he went. He had a small limp in his leg but other than that he was able to run just fine.

How did I survive that fall? He thought as he ran. 

He made it to the double doors of the back entrance and used the nurse’s badge for the identification scanner that unlocked them. Regardless, someone must have reported him because the alarm went off anyway. So much for stealth.

“Screw this.” Joker muttered and ran into the parking lot. 

He used the nurse’s car keys to find which one was hers. A small white car flashed in response. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He hurried over to it, climbed in, started the engine, and took off. He made it to the gate and sped through just as another car came through the opening. The guard stationed there just sat there dumbfounded.

Joker flew across the bridge and into the mainland where the cops were waiting. He groaned loudly in frustration but kept going. He drove straight towards them as bullets whizzed past his head through the windshield and the windows. Then he made a sharp turn and went around the blockade of cars. 

The police hopped in their cars and sped after him. Joker weaved in and out of other cars as he drove into the city. He made turn after turn and took back alley after back alley, trying to lose them. Finally, he crashed into a dumpster in an alleyway, crawled out of the car, and hopped the fence before the cops could get there. 

He ran down the sidewalk, unsure of what to do now. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. There was a very high chance they were going to catch him and drag his ass back to Arkham. He couldn’t let that happen.

Suddenly a black car pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down the window and shouted, “Get in!” 

Joker breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in. It was Frost, there to save the day like always. Frost made a quick glance to the passenger seat as he sped off. Joker was wearing white scrubs, no makeup, his hair was everywhere, he was covered in bruises, his forehead had a bandaged gash on it, and his lip was busted.

Frost chuckled. “You look like shit.”

“I’m aware…” Joker grumbled.

“I saw the escape on the news so I figured you needed some help. And I also saw that you, uh, well…I’m just glad you’re still here, boss.”

“Aw, quit your blubbering and drive, Frost. I’m fine. I won’t try it again. Y/n wouldn’t want me to.”

Frost nodded and looked into the side mirror. The cops had gone in the other direction so he slowed down a bit. A few minutes later he made it to the hideout. He pulled into the garage and parked. 

Joker thrust the door open and made a beeline for his office/sometimes living space. He desperately wanted to get cleaned up and change his clothes. He shut his office door and flung the closet open. There were spare suits and casual clothes hanging in there. He grabbed his signature purple suit and laid it out on the desk to change into. 

He walked into the built-in bathroom in his office and locked the door. He ripped the bandage off his head and examined the gash. 

Yeesh. That’s nasty. He thought as he threw the gauze away. 

He turned on the shower and stripped off as he waited on the water to warm up. He looked at his body in the mirror. His body was dotted with bruises and small cuts. He still had no clue how he survived that fall.

Once the shower was ready, Joker hopped in and started washing himself off. He didn’t know why but Arkham always made him feel dirty. Whether it be the combined smell of bleach and vomit or those itchy patient scrubs. 

The hot water stung his wounds a little but Joker relished in it. The water comforted him and soothed his aching muscles. The last two days had been hell. This was a temporary escape from his current circumstances.

Joker finally returned to the real world and shut off the water. He staggered out and dried himself off. Then he secured a bandaid on the gash and slathered white paint over it, quickly reapplied his makeup, and dyed his hair green again. When he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into his office. He dressed himself, careful not to smudge his makeup too much.

He went to the lounge room, where Frost was sitting on the couch drinking some coffee. He looked up and waited for Joker to speak.

“Go call everyone together for a meeting. We’re nailing that bitch.” Joker ordered gruffly.

“Yes sir.” Frost replied and hopped to it. 

Not long after, the goons were all seated in the boardroom as Joker had requested. He walked in and the whole room fell silent. All eyes were on him. He cleared his throat.

“As some of you are already aware, something very important to me has been…taken. Sofia Falcone is responsible. And as you all know, we’ve been waging in a bit of a war for years now. I did a pretty good job eliminating Gotham’s mob but then she came along and rebuilt her father’s empire, encouraging others to rebuild and ruining all my hard work. This is the final straw. We’re going to storm her headquarters tonight and destroy it along with everyone inside.”

The men cheered but quickly silenced themselves when both Joker and Frost glared at them.

As Joker laid out the plans, Frost couldn’t help but feel a knot of fear turn his stomach. The Falcones were dangerous. It was a suicide mission. The majority of the goons were probably going to get killed. Joker knew that but it didn’t matter. He had to avenge y/n or die. Frost came to terms with it, deciding it was a noble cause.

Once everyone was armed and ready to go, they all piled into the four black cars lined up in the garage. Joker and Frost got in the last car in line and took off. To not draw attention to themselves by traveling as a group, the cars each headed out in different directions but were all going to the same place. When they reached the Falcone base of operations (an abandoned club), the cars pulled in towards the back of the building. They walked up to the door and waited for Joker’s instructions.

Joker stood up on the steps and looked over all of his men.

“Shoot to kill, boys. But Sofia is mine.” He growled.

Frost kicked in the door and stepped aside. The goons stormed in and began shooting at everything. Sofia’s men were caught off guard so many of them were killed instantly while others had a delayed reaction. Groups of Joker’s men moved into other rooms to attack. Blood and debris was strewn through the air. Men were dying left and right and more so of Sofia’s than Joker’s.

Joker stood back and watched the chaos ensue with satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of reddish brown hair stream down the hall adjacent to the back room. He made eye contact with Frost who caught on fast. They both went in different directions to seal off both ends of the hall.

Sofia and her bodyguard were trapped in the middle. Sofia dashed back into her office while the bodyguard blocked the doorway. He went to fire at Joker but Joker was too fast and killed the bodyguard with a quick flick of his pistol. 

Joker came inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. Frost stayed out and went back to overseeing the goons. Sofia crouched behind her desk in fear. 

“J-Joker, please! I’m sorry about having your girl killed, honest! Maybe we cut a deal- Aaaah!”

Joker didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close to his face. He unsheathed his knife and held it between her lips. Trembling with pure rage, he steadied his hand and bared the knife down on her cheek.

“You…took…EVERYTHING from me! She was innocent! She was not involved with any of this! How the hell did you even find her?!”

When Joker got this angry, he sounded demonic. Sofia’s eyes widened in fear. She gasped for air as Joker switched his other hand from her hair to her throat.

“ANSWER ME!”

Sofia cringed. “I…I have my s-sources.” She sputtered.

Joker took a deep breath to calm down and tightened his grip around her neck. 

“I’ve, uh, tolerated our little war over the years, taking hit after hit. You were a hated enemy but not my biggest concern. Now you’ve really gone and done it. I will not ignore you this time.” 

Sofia grunted and tried to wriggle free from his grip. Joker grinned sadistically. 

“You really need to smile more. Here…let me help!” 

He pressed his knife down and sliced upwards. Sofia cried out in pain. Joker laughed maniacally and loosened his grip on her. She kneed him in the groin and pushed him away. Joker brushed it off and shoved her to the ground. She grabbed his leg and pulled him down with her. They fought for what felt like forever. Punching, kicking, pulling hair, whatever they had to do to keep the other down. Sofia was a broad, muscular woman so she put up a good fight against Joker.

Finally Joker managed to gain the upper hand and pinned her down. He drew his pistol and pressed it to her temple. Sofia’s eyes widened in horror. Joker wasted no time and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the floor and her body went limp.

Joker stood up and decided this was enough. He left the office and went back to where the shootout was happening. There were still some of Sofia’s men left. Joker got in on the shooting and killed four of them. Frost took care of the rest. Joker gave him the signal for the next step of the plan. 

“Everybody out! Unless you wanna be burned to a crisp!” Frost shouted to the remaining goons.

They hurried out and piled back into the cars. Frost grabbed two gas cans sitting on the steps outside and handed one to Joker. They both poured them around the building, in every room. Joker purposely dumped some on Sofia’s body. 

He threw a few lit matches down on the ground to get the fire started. Then, once he and Frost were out on the steps, he took a grenade out of his coat, pulled the pin, and chucked it inside. 

Joker and Frost sprinted back to the car. Frost hopped in the driver seat and sped away. The others had already left. Joker looked over his shoulder at the burning building in the distance. It was completely engulfed in flames. He felt content with this outcome.

He successfully avenged you but he’d never be the same again.

[mighty-ant]

A Good Landing, chapter thirteen

first | previous

ao3

The Drake of three years ago never could’ve imagined that he’d be someone’s husband one day. 

To be fair, a wedding would be tough to plan when one didn’t technically exist. He had Drake Mallard erased from record nearly a decade ago, reduced him to less than a ghost, less than a footnote. It wasn’t particularly difficult to do, with as little impact as Drake Mallard had made on the world. A rejected son, a failed actor, a selfish, bitter, friendless loser. 

He fell into SHUSH by chance, by sheer, brilliant happenstance. 

As a former stuntman, he knew how to throw a punch. And a lot more than that. He wasn’t proud of it, but after the 8th pointless audition for a toothpaste commercial with no callback, he took to slipping out of his crummy basement apartment in a ski mask and whaling on petty criminals in his neighborhood, St. Canard’s East End. He tried not to punch above his weight, going after would-be muggers or your typical creeps, and every dawn, as sickly, gray sunlight spilled out over the city, he would trudge back home with sore muscles and a gaping chasm in his chest that no amount of violent retribution would be enough to fill. 

But he was getting pretty good at beating up crooks, to the point where regular people took notice. He started showing up in the news as ‘the dark masked duck’ more than Drake Mallard ever did, and even as the emptiness yawned within him, he liked it. The attention, indirect as it was. And he wanted more. 

Beating drug dealers bloody didn’t pay the bills unless he wanted to turn into some sort of hitman, so he kept up his stunt work during the day. His after hours activities kept him sharp, and there was no end to the mindless action flicks in need of nameless stuntmen. 

There was one flick, some old school vampire thing, that had him flying around on wires for Vampire Thrall #1-4 and the Vampire King. The costume department put him in a cape, a long, flowing thing that flared with his movement, made him look bigger than he really was. He startled more than a few techs with a perfectly timed swing of his cape, the snap of fabric especially jarring when all else was silent. 

And just like that, Drake knew what he had to do. 

As a former student of a theater department with a dwindling, near-nonexistent budget, he’d performed in every role, from lead actor to stagehand. And borrowing one of the vampire capes from set to use as reference, he made Darkwing Duck’s first costume. 

The gas guns and the catchphrases developed over time, through trial and error. He flubbed his lines more than once and set off his apartment’s fire alarm an embarrassing number of times. Until one night, when Darkwing Duck became fully realized. 

He started noticing a pattern with a certain number of thieves, most of them teens or kids barely out of high school. He followed them for about a week, not interfering since they never actually hurt anyone, before they led him to the warehouse where they were dropping everything off. 

Drake burst in, expecting to beatdown a few scary gang types who thought it a swell idea to recruit kids to do their dirty work, only to stumble headfirst into a smuggling ring that (he’d later learn) spanned the entirety of Calisota. With his cover blown and the exit blocked, Drake did the only thing he was good at. He fought. 

As he launched one of their own tear gas canisters back at the last of the goons, SHUSH agents came storming in. Apparently he’d interrupted what had been a multi-part sting five months in the making, but in doing so caught the gang so off guard that nearly all of the bosses were there to meet his fists, and the rest were caught when their business partners squealed on them. 

“We’ve been watching you,” the lead agent said. He held his hand out to Drake. “How would you like to continue your work somewhere other than a basement?”

He accepted, barely waiting for the agent to even finish speaking, and Drake Mallard disappeared into Darkwing Duck’s shadow, gleefully casting aside everything that made for a normal life in favor of casefiles and chemistry sets. Who needed friends or neighbors when Quackerjack was robbing the federal gold depository? Or Megavolt was stealing the city’s power, or Bushroot was turning everyone into vampire potatoes (you get the idea)?

Darkwing Duck had the tech, and the secret base, and the costume, and the fear. By design, the average citizen was meant to consider him a myth; the criminal underworld, they knew who he was all too well. 

The years went by, years of living out his secret, selfish fantasies, and…he felt nothing. That hollow, carved out space inside him didn’t go away, or heal at all. If anything it became a constant companion, a pain that festered into numbness. 

After the adrenaline high burned itself out, he felt the ache of his bruised, bleeding body, drowned in the yawning emptiness of the Tower. There was so much crime in St. Canard, not just supervillains but cruel, petty evils that made it feel as though he were battling the tide with a bat and a cardboard shield. 

But he couldn’t go back now. Back to small, sniveling Drake Mallard who nobody gave a damn about. Who would have him? Who would want him?

And then. 

A Darkwing-shaped hole in the roof of a plane hangar. A jet, presented as a gift. Smiles over coffee and warm hands holding his aching body close. 

Launchpad, who had far more reason to turn jaded and cruel than Drake ever did, but stayed good despite the way the world chewed him up and spat him back out. Launchpad, who offered his bruised heart with trembling smiles, trusting Drake even as he risked further pain. 

Launchpad, who made Drake want to try. 

Try to be good, too. Try to be whole. A worthy partner. 

And then. 

An orphan with boundless spirit. Lullabies, hugs that left him breathless, a blazing red portal and a tiny, fragile hand clasped in his own, trusting him when everyone else had failed her. 

He never saw Gosalyn coming. How could he? Fatherhood was a foreign concept, a cruel joke, his frame of reference poisonous and pointless. But then Gosalyn fit into their life like a missing puzzle piece, as if he’d been waiting for her all along and he’d only just glanced down and taken notice. Her happiness began to matter more than any number of stakeouts or foiled plots. To keep her safe, he would kill and die for her. 

Before his eyes, the empty numbness inside him transformed into a well of rage, of love, so powerful it made him wonder if he’d ever truly been alive before now. 

For them, his heroes, he had to do more than just try.

Then of course Launchpad just had to show him up by proposing first, but that was just par for the course. And Drake could admit that a moonlit flight in the Thunderquack was probably more romantic than anything he could’ve come up with. 

All that mattered was the end result was the same. A family, his family, unlike anything he would’ve been capable of imagining for himself. Just the thought of how he used to be shamed him, and on especially bad nights, he worried about regressing into that shell of a man, a cold, caustic version of himself and the bitter loneliness he enforced. 

But that fear seemed insignificant when they were flying to Des Moines for their wedding, and for Gosalyn to meet her new grandparents. When they went house hunting and found a two-story marvel with a lovely kitchen backsplash and a tree out front for Gosalyn to give him a heart attack by climbing. 

They still had their rough days, obviously. 

Something might remind Gosalyn of her grandpa, and the life that was stolen from her, and she would lash out over any little thing in dramatic teenager fashion. 

Launchpad’s nightmares about his old life could keep him from sleep for days at a time and in his exhaustion he would turn withdrawn in their own home, hesitating before every kiss, every hug or high five, staring at Drake and Gosalyn as if they might vanish if he were to dare reach out and touch them. 

Drake would get overwhelmed by the muchness of it all—fighting crime had nothing on back-to-school shopping, meal prepping, hockey meets, and the dreaded potlucks. PTA meetings made him want to give up on this whole ‘reenter society' schtick and lock himself back in the Tower for good. 

 The crime fighting part was no walk in the park either. For all that Gosalyn was growing into the role of Quiverwing, making it her own, with the help of the two best teachers she could’ve asked for, there was a lot she just still wasn’t ready to face. Things that Drake hadn’t been ready to face, and haunted him still. Demons, alternate dimensions, a monster carrying out evil while wearing his face, Bulba lumbering back from the dead, more machine than man.

Safe to say they saw their fair share of danger, and weirdness, in St. Canard. But sitting in the Thunderquack with Launchpad’s boss, his former SHUSH handler, and a fellow worried father was…something else. 

For almost two years, Launchpad’s job in Duckburg had been just that: a job. One that came at the request of SHUSH, and more specifically the buff Mary Puffins currently sitting in the copilot seat. The life of the richest duck in the world was apparently in danger, at risk by FOWL and their shadowy machinations, and everyone knew McDuck wasn’t the same man he was a decade ago.

Drake didn’t care about McDuck, much less whatever was going on in their perfect sister city of Duckburg. As great as a second income would be for Gos’ college fund, he wasn’t about to pressure Launchpad into accepting a SHUSH assignment now, after everything he’d told Drake, and all the worst bits that he’d probably left out. If Drake’s own SHUSH stipend as an independent contractor wasn’t enough to suit their needs, then Launchpad could open another garage in the city, or an online shop for his knitting, or even a damn lemonade stand. 

But no. As a favor to Beakley (who didn’t deserve Launchpad’s time of day, but that was just Drake’s opinion), he accepted the position as McDuck’s chauffeur. And it was…fine. 

Launchpad drove the old coot to and from his meetings, collected dry cleaning, the usual. He would pick up Gos from her hockey practice on the way home, nap with Drake for a while, and then they’d either suit up as a family or someone would stay behind to help Gos with her language arts homework. It was their routine, and amid various potentially life-altering catastrophes, it was nearly perfect. 

And then McDuck got it in his head to start adventuring again at the ripe old age of 800 years old, dragging an entire spontaneous gaggle of children and Launchpad along with him. Suddenly, Drake could go entire days without seeing his husband, or Gos her father, as he gallivanted off to parts unknown at the beck and call of an old man who’d never appreciated him in the first place. 

Now, Launchpad was the kindest soul Drake had ever met, open with his affection, and ready to make friends with everyone from derelict superheroes to business-minded witches. But Drake’s darling, beautiful husband was not the most forthright individual, and this was coming from the reigning champ of emotional stuntedness. 

Launchpad liked to feel useful. Scratch that. Launchpad needed to feel useful. It was a compulsion born from his years at SHUSH, where his skills were all that mattered to people. Even allies, friends (and some more-than-friends), would drop him as soon as the mission was complete, the day was saved. Launchpad would be left in the lurch, told to pack his things, move onto the next mission, and wonder why he hadn’t done enough for them to let him stay. 

So Drake, grudgingly, understood why Launchpad hadn’t just told McDuck to buzz off and find himself another pilot. He cared about the miserable old miser, and he cared about the kids, who sounded nearly as spirited as Gos from the way he described them. 

More than once, Launchpad actually floated the idea of holding some kind of get-together for all of them, but Drake had been…resistant. He didn’t like meeting new people at the best of times, and he was still so traumatized by the Muddlefoots that he would’ve forced them to move years ago if it wouldn’t mean earning ‘Worst Father of the Year Award’ for separating Gos from Honker. 

Of course, Launchpad’s disappearing act forced the dreaded introduction anyway, because Drake’s life was nothing if not a series of jokes played at his expense. At the very least, once he entered the coordinates into the Thunderquack’s navigation system and the cockpit sealed, none of the three other ducks on board had much interest in smalltalk. 

From the copilot’s seat, Beakley turned toward him sharply, expression tight and any indication of stress tucked away. Back to business then. 

“Who is this enemy of yours that you suspect to be responsible?” 

Beneath them, Duckburg blurred past in shades of ochre as the distant sun inched toward the bay. Drake stared straight ahead, gripping the yoke just to have something to do with his hands, as the autopilot took care of the actual flying. 

Technically he could only suspect who might be responsible. If based on a simple process of elimination it was almost a foregone conclusion, taking into account who wasn’t currently in jail but also had the cunning and/or intimidation factor to gain access to SHUSH systems. Not to mention a single-minded hatred of Drake that would motivate them to ignore every bit of actual highly sensitive and ultra-classified intelligence up for grabs.

For once, Drake desperately hoped he was wrong. He prayed they’d get to this SHUSH blacksite and find Lilliput lying in wait instead. But he could never be that lucky.

“Negaduck,” he muttered, the name escaping him on a breath. In his peripheral vision, he saw McDuck and Donald stiffen at his tone, more apprehensive that he would’ve liked. 

“He’s me,” Drake explained haltingly. “Sort of. At least, he’s a version of me from an alternate dimension.”

Behind him, Donald dropped his head into one hand. “Of course he is…” he despaired quietly. “Cuz being from this dimension would be too simple.”

“McDuck.” Drake turned his head slightly without facing the quadrillionaire directly. “Do you remember a scientist who worked for you three years ago? Thadeus Waddlemeyer. He was trying to create a machine to access other dimensions.” 

“A-aye,” McDuck said slowly. “But he…passed, and his device was deemed too unstable after it was stolen and nearly destroyed St. Canard.”

Drake scowled at the windshield. ‘Passed’ was a kinder way of saying murdered, and as much as the reminder burned him, he distantly appreciated McDuck’s tact if nothing else. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Our dimension’s Waddlemeyer wasn’t able to crack the code, but the Waddlemeyer of the Negaverse did.” 

“Negaverse?” Donald repeated. 

Drake thought for a moment of how Bellum and his kid had first explained it to him, reeling after his first and last disastrous visit. 

“Think of it like a mirror of our dimension, but the funhouse kind. Almost everyone, everything, is twisted so that they’re the opposite of who we are here, now. There, Waddlemeyer was a mad scientist, willing to sell the Ramrod to the highest bidder. There, SHUSH is trying to take over the world, while FOWL is a peacekeeping organization working to stop them, yadda yadda, you get the picture. 

“There, the Negaverse version of me terrorized St. Canard. He stole the Ramrod, plus Waddlemeyer’s granddaughter, and used it to cross over into our dimension to try and take over here too. I found where he was hiding his Ramrod about six months ago, and destroyed it, trapping him here. Which he, uh…extra hates me for.”

“What can we expect from him?” Beakley demanded. Drake had noticed her expectant silence up until now, and his aggravation had been building steadily For all that she was ‘retired’ from SHUSH, clearly she still had access to mission briefings—his and Launchpad’s in particular, seeing how she just couldn’t leave his husband alone. She could probably guess Negaduck’s MO, if she didn’t already have his full psych profile memorized. 

“Well he’s insane, for starters,” Drake said for the benefit of the ducks in the rear of the plane. “But don’t underestimate him—he’s dangerously smart, too, and just plain dangerous. He hides all kinds of weapons on his person: knives, guns, chainsaws, whatever you can think of that causes maximum pain.”

Donald’s breath wheezed out of him, and that got Drake to finally turn around. The duck was clutching a hand to his chest, looking ashen beneath his feathers. McDuck was reaching out to him but hesitantly, his hands hovering over his nephew’s shoulders without touching. 

“What about the kids?” Donald asked shakily, and Drake accepted a rare pang of guilt. 

He didn’t know Donald, had never cared to know him, but Launchpad always sang his praises as a father. How despite whatever nonsense McDuck dragged them into, Donald’s first priority was always his kids, whether that meant driving to every Junior Woodchuck troop meeting or fighting actual Greek gods to keep them safe. And now two of those kids were gone. Taken, purely through bad luck and worse timing. 

Drake didn’t know how Donald could possibly be holding himself together as well as he was. Knowing Launchpad’s life was at stake because of him had Drake’s leaden stomach turning on itself, his hands trembling around the yoke and terror swimming poisonously through his veins. He could see Launchpad’s bedhead and sleepy smile in his mind’s eye and wanted to scream. Knowing Gos was safe in that damn mansion was the only thing keeping him sane. He couldn’t well imagine how he’d feel if she’d been taken too. Just the thought was enough to pour red-hot rage into his bones, enough for him to tap into the darkness that Negaduck wholly embodied and rip and claw and tear until he got her back.

But here, now, at least he had an idea of what to expect. Donald was going in blind, and the uncertainty must’ve been eating him alive. 

“He won’t do anything to them, or to Launchpad, until we get there,” Drake tried to reassure, not sure if he was all that successful. This was usually more Launchpad’s wheelhouse. “Fortunately, he’s your typical megalomaniacal supervillain in at least one way: he likes an audience.” 

He didn’t mention that Negaduck’s hatred of him was borderline obsessive. Creating this whole convoluted scheme just to lure him out by way of kidnapping Launchpad probably spoke for itself. But Negaduck had gone after Gos before with bombs and a shark on her first night out as Quiverwing, and that was before he learned she was part of his team. And now after that hack, he had to know who she really was. 

Drake’s only guarantee was that Negaduck wouldn’t kill Launchpad or the two missing children (Dewey and Webby, he reminded himself), but he had no idea what state they would be in when he found them. At best, he hadn’t laid a finger on them, but Drake knew Launchpad, knew that beneath the surface of the gentle giant was Double-O-Duck, the spy, the bruiser, with all of his focus and skill. He wouldn’t have taken the kids’ capture lying down, so if anyone was already injured and especially at Negaduck’s mercy, it would have to be Drake’s husband.

Negaduck had no more love for Launchpad than he did for Drake, but this time he hoped to use it to his advantage. Once he knew Darkwing was in the building, he wouldn’t care about anyone else, beelining for his dimensional counterpart with fire and brimstone in his eyes and a chainsaw aimed for Drake’s neck. A brawl would be the perfect distraction while Beakley and the others searched for their kidnapees. 

Then, once Launchpad was safe in his arms, he would be taking a leave of absence from the McDuck family, effective immediately. Drake was taking him and Gos to their cabin out by Launchpad’s parents’ house and barring the door, because Drake had been missing his husband and Gos needed her Papá. For too long, he’d been letting Launchpad burn the candle at both ends, journeying back and forth between home and Duckburg, jungle adventures and night patrol, because he knew how much Launchpad loved both of his families. But Launchpad always had more love to give than there were hours in the day (or night), and Drake had to put his foot down before Launchpad gave all of himself away. 

And not to be petty, but Drake and Gos had first dibs.  

He watched the gray arches of the Audubon Bay Bridge rise into view through the windshield, painted in shades of gold that only deepened the shadows cast by the towers. Relief flooded Drake at the familiar sight. 

“Almost there,” he muttered aloud. The Thunderquack banked to the left, in the direction of the harbor. Launchpad’s last coordinates was leading them toward the spookier part of the docks that tended to have ���MURDER’ written all over them, where the warehouses were crumbling and seemingly long-abandoned, but nearly all served as a front for some kind of smuggling ring or demon-worshiping cult or devout Quackerware salesmen. Just the place SHUSH would think to settle down in, for reputation’s sake if nothing else. But in the process of building their prison, they would’ve cleared out the surrounding riffraff too. Instead, neither had happened. 

Drake glanced at Beakley. “Do you know anything about why this place was shut down?”

“I believe it was something to do with the foundations of the pre-existing structure,” she explained unhappily. “The prison was decommissioned and left unfinished as further construction put the entire building at risk of collapse.” 

Drake grimaced. “Perfect. I think I’m gonna park on the warehouse next door.”

Just hold on, Launchpad. We’re coming. 

-

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!”

A voice that sounded like it belonged to someone who gargled razor blades dragged Launchpad back to aching consciousness. Even before he opened his eyes, he was struck by the overwhelming pressure in his head, as if someone had put his temples in a vice. His chest felt tight, like his lungs didn’t have room to expand, and his breaths were short and labored. 

When he managed to crack his eyes open, he found himself looking out into darkness. He thought he could see shapes moving amidst the black, formless and indistinct. But a spotlight switched on directly above him with a heavy clang, temporarily blinding him. He winced, jerking his hands up to shield his face, but all he managed was to make his body sway in place. Thick rope bound him from his arms up to his ankles and a latch of some sort on his back held him suspended several feet off the ground, upside down, like a worm on a hook. 

“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” Negaduck crooned, his voice preceding him into the circle of light spilling out on the ground around Launchpad’s head. The shadows clung to Negaduck like oil, reluctant to leave his already dingy feathers and unpleasant smile. 

Launchpad glared at him. At this height, they were nearly eye to eye. “Where are the kids?”

This dark reflection of his husband tsked, shaking his head. “Straight to business with you hero types, ain’t it?” 

Negaduck didn’t stop moving, instead pacing around him, slow and quiet, just on the edge of the circle of light. Launchpad tried to hide how he tensed when Negaduck stepped behind him, out of his peripheral vision. It gave Negaduck the perfect opportunity to attack him any way he wanted: a knife to the ribs, a blow to the head, take your pick. Launchpad was bound like a mummy, unable to defend himself unless Negaduck got close enough for a headbutt. 

But Negaduck leaned back into his line of sight without laying a finger on him, his smirk a mean, methodical thing. He knew exactly how rattled Launchpad had been. It was the intent. “No time to sit back and enjoy the moment?” he crooned. 

“I’m not playing, Negaduck,” Launchpad bit out, struggling to keep his cool. “I’m gonna ask one more time. Where. Are. The kids?”

Negaduck snorted, less than intimidated. “Eugh, touchy, touchy,” he said mockingly, and gave Launchpad a hard shove that sent him careening back on the rope he was hanging from. Fortunately, he’d been bound in the center of the room, and didn’t smack his head on any of the walls. This time. 

Launchpad swung forward with just as much momentum, and Negaduck smoothly stepped out of the way. “Fine then, if you’re gonna keep being a killjoy! The brats are fine. Still sittin’ pretty in their comfy cell waiting for rescue from old man McMoneybags.”

So Negaduck wasn’t so far gone as to hurt a member of the McDuck family. The relief that settled over him was short lived, but better than nothing. 

The last thing he remembered was checking Dewey for a concussion, and then nothing. Negaduck must’ve come back for him at some point during that missing time; maybe Launchpad should be tested for a concussion. All the crashing he did had given him a strong stomach and a skull like concrete, but with the blood rushing to his head and pounding behind his eyes, all this spinning wasn’t doing him any favors. 

He closed his eyes as his swaying slowed to a less extreme speed, trying to focus his scattered thoughts. Webby and Dewey were counting on him. They didn’t understand what was happening, what they were up against, because Launchpad never told them who he was, never warned them about the monsters that might follow him. Dewey didn’t even trust him anymore, and Webby couldn’t be far behind…

“What do you want?” Launchpad muttered, opening his eyes in a squint. 

Just in time too, as any trace of levity vanished from Negaduck’s weathered face. He lunged forward with a snarl, grabbing a handful of the ropes binding Launchpad and dragging him close, until Negaduck’s bloodshot eyes bored into his own from inches away.

“What do I want? What do I want? What I’ve always wanted since I set foot in this craphole,” he hissed, razor teeth flashing yellow in the harsh light of the spotlight above them. “I want to see your world burn. Consider it payback for locking me outta mine.”

Time worked funny sometimes when you crossed dimensions. A few hours in their reality amounted to a week in the Negaverse, but it might as well have been a year for all that he and Drake saw, what they were forced to do. Enemies wearing the faces of friends, a desolate world overcome by evil and defended by a dwindling few. The brilliant little light they had no choice but to leave behind. 

Launchpad sneered right back, thrashing uselessly against his restraints. “‘Your world’ is better off without you! Gosalyn is better off without—”

The glint of light reflecting off metal, and Launchpad became aware of the cut on his cheek at the same time he recognized Negaduck’s machete pressed against the tip of his beak. He had to admit, Negaduck had been quick about it. Launchpad hadn’t even seen him draw the blade. 

“Keep her name outta your mouth unless you wanna lose your tongue!” he growled, expression gone cold and still with rage except for his eyes, which contorted and flickered. His own madness, made worse by the dimensional shift? They still weren’t sure. “She’s my daughter. Mine.”

“She was terrified of you,” Launchpad snapped, never one to back down even while staring death in the face. Not when it came to Gosalyn. Any Gosalyn. “And with good reason! You killed Bulba right in front of her—”

“That pathetic, wannabe hero was trying to take her from me!” Negaduck threw his hands in the air, machete and all, thankfully without slicing Launchpad up further. The cut on his cheek had started to weep, a trail of blood moving worryingly close to his eye. “He got what was coming to him,” Negaduck grumbled as he turned around, storming into the darkness that continued to loom around the narrow triangle of light surrounding Launchpad. He lingered there, all but consumed in the shadows, the lurid yellow of his suit a scant outline and only his machete occasionally catching the light. 

Negaduck kept muttering to himself, but in the dark, Launchpad couldn’t be sure where he was, or what he was saying. Only that Negaduck was moving, circling Launchpad again, but more focused on talking to himself than actually intimidating him. 

“All those heroes…ruining my city…”

And for a brief, tiny, inconsequential half-second, Launchpad almost pitied him. 

He blamed the blood rushing to his head. 

This poor facsimile of his husband, a black hole masquerading as a person, who only knew how to take: money, lives, peace. A monster who hurt others for his own pleasure because violence was all he knew. It was as terrifying to experience as it was exhausting. 

Launchpad glared at a random spot in the dark, his head pounding and chest growing tight. If he stayed up here much longer, he was going to pass out. It was only a matter of when.

“What are you expecting to get out of this?” he asked plainly. “You know I can’t just give you the Solego Circuit, right?”

Negaduck came back to himself with a scoff, reentering the circle of light. He’d hidden the machete again at some point. 

“Piece of junk wouldn’t even do me any good. SHUSH and FOWL are sayin’ the same thing—can’t use the damn portal without destroying this trash heap and my world in the process,” he declared, waving his hands theatrically. “So, until I can find a scientist willing to put their back into it, I’m still stuck here. Watching you and that cheap copy play house.”

Launchpad glare met Negaduck’s baleful glower unflinchingly, but internally, a rush of guilt left him breathless as a knee to the gut. He knew he shouldn’t have followed that distress signal. But what else could he have done? Communications were down, and Launchpad had begged Drake time and time again to just call him when he needed him, Darkwing didn’t have to be alone anymore. And Launchpad, terrified of being abandoned again, just couldn’t risk it. 

He just wished that he hadn’t dragged Webby and Dewey into danger too. 

“You made a mistake taking the kids,” Launchpad said, fighting against a wave of dizziness. He tried to keep his tone steady, like Double-O-Duck used to, his gaze piercing and locked on the wet shine of Negaduck’s eyes, cast in the shadow of his hat brim. “Instead of just Darkwing coming after you, you’re getting Scrooge McDuck. This is a guy who fights gods on a regular basis. How do you think you’ll do against someone like that?”

And Negaduck…laughed. 

And not one of his long, rambling cackles that he followed up his evil monologues with. Negaduck snorted with laughter, expression one of mild amusement rather than incandescent rage or insult. 

“Ah, doesn’t really matter,” Negaduck breathed, a chuckle still trailing on his words. He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “This was all more of an experiment.” He stepped forward, until they were eye to eye, and grabbed a handful of the ropes over Launchpad’s heart. He was too dazed to even try headbutting him now, and by the razor smirk that split his beak, Negaduck must’ve known it too. 

“The big, bad Double-O, scourge of SHUSH, turned into a pitiful little sidekick, and now completely at my mercy,” Negaduck murmured, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. “I could kill you so easily right now. But where’s the fun in that? It’s one and done, until I can jump into a dimension where I haven’t killed you yet and do it all over again. There’s slow and painful, quick but bloody…we could do a round where I only use my knives, the really little ones. You ever heard of death by a thousand cuts? Cuz we can make that happen!”

Launchpad’s skull pounded like a second heartbeat had taken residence in his brain, and the bright bulb above him scattered fractured stars across his vision, bright to the point of pain. Overwhelmed and dazed, he sputtered, “So what was the point of all this? Hacking SHUSH, kidnapping us—”

Negaduck pushed Launchpad, with just the one hand on his chest, walking forward at the same time. They moved out of the circle of light and into the surrounding darkness, Launchpad’s stomach lurched as Negaduck kept moving, until his back nearly touched the far off wall. Negaduck only stopped when the rope keeping Launchpad suspended pulled infinitesimally taut. 

He tilted his head to look at Launchpad then from under the brim of his hat, backlit by the lone, scorching lightbulb behind him. Negaduck didn’t smile as he spoke, all his twisted enthusiasm from earlier snuffed out between one blink and the next. His growl was quiet, a seething hatred beneath every word. 

“I might not kill you right now, but make no mistake, I will kill you. And until that glorious day, I want you to go about every day of your insipid little lives knowing that you’ll never be safe from me.”

Launchpad clung to consciousness with a racing heart and a flagging will, his horror tempered by delirium. 

“You’re insane,” he gasped. 

Negaduck shrugged. “We’ve all got our part to play in this crazy game called life.”

Launchpad’s vision was beginning to tunnel when the deafening blare of alarms startled him back to partial awareness. Outside the door to his cell, the hallway was ablaze with strobing crimson lights. The distant pounding of running feet heralded the organized departure of the Eggheads, converging on the threat. 

“There’s our hero,” Negaduck crowed. “Fashionably late, as usual.”

Before Launchpad could properly brace himself, Negaduck let go of him. Without the support pinning him against the wall, he swung forward in a graceless rush, letting out a yelp as bright spots burst across his sight. 

Even in the midst of his disorientation, Launchpad caught a different flash of light, reflecting off the silver edge of a serrated dagger in Negaduck’s grip.

With a flick, he threw it upwards at the apex of Launchpad’s swing, severing the rope holding him suspended from the ceiling. He had the barest second to brace himself, tuck his head and curve his back so he landed on his shoulders instead of his head. 

It still sent a painful jolt through Launchpad’s body, jarring every bruise and sprain at once, and the immediate drop of pressure on his skull left him lightheaded and woozy as his body set him to rights. 

He rolled onto his side with a groan, forcing his eyes open in a narrow squint, looking up at Negaduck from upside down. 

Making a show of straightening his suit, Negaduck reached inside and pulled out a shotgun. He grinned down at Launchpad with a mouthful of sharpened teeth as he loaded a round. 

“Make yourself comfortable now, sidekick. I’ve gotta go and welcome my new guests.” 

[fractualized]

I finally got around to reading through another classic batjokes story: Lovers & Madmen, which takes place in Batman Confidential #7-12. I highly recommend it, particularly if you are interested in stories about Jack-era Joker. Batman first meets Jack at the tail-end of his first year as Batman, and we get all the batjokes goods, including plenty that aren't evident from the isolated panels that go around. (Plus cameos from aspiring med student Harleen Quinzel and aspiring asylum administrator Jonathan Crane.)

This isn't a full recap, so I hope my rambling will spur you to check it out.

(Beware of gore and suicidal ideations.)

The key thing to know from issue #7 is that Bruce's mission has been going incredibly well. He has been operating for only 42 weeks, and he can feel the city quieting down. He's so proud! So content!

And we can't have that. Enter Jack, goon for hire. Bruce comes across one of his murders and becomes obsessed with how clean the scene is, how little a trail there is to follow. He investigates and investigates and investigates and comes up with nothing to his dismay.

Meanwhile Jack is also having a sad at a bar because there's no challenge or entertainment to his job anymore. :( Luckily a nice server gives him a little pep talk.

Jack does give things another go at a bank robbery, but it's still no fun. He trips the alarm on purpose, but a shootout with the guards is no fun for him either. He's literally in the middle of asking a guard to kill him, when Batman finally shows up.

"He's an idiot. I love him." Nothing like infatuation to restore your will to live. #8 opens with Jack being sure to leave Batman a thank you note before he escapes.

And Jack must see the Bat again, and of course the only way to ensnare him is to commit a series of awful but perfect crimes. And Bruce is infuriated! Here he is taking out his frustrations on a mugger— with Jack watching from afar.

Bruce is just so mad he's been unable to stop Jack, like, "All those books! All that preparation! But crime man keep criming?!"

Batman and Jack next meet at a charity gala planned by Bruce's love interest in this story, Lorna, and boy do things escalate. Jack picks Lorna as his hostage, threatening to shoot her so he can get away, and Bruce ends up grabbing another gun and shooting Jack's gun out of his hand. But then Jack just stabs her good, and while Bruce can't leave her to die, he doesn't just let Jack escape.

Jack isn't even the goddamn Joker yet and Bruce has intentionally given him a Glasgow smile as punishment. And even more insane, is that Jack appears to verbally respond to Bruce's inner monologue.

With Lorna slowly dying in the hospital, Bruce goes to a professional to try to figure out what it is about Jack that makes him seemingly unstoppable— and of course that professional is Jonathan Crane, and his professional opinion is basically, "dude that guy is clearly just insane and you're doomed to fail lol."

Oh yeah? Would an insane man be this untroubled about his face being cut open?

"He'll have to pay for that. Then again… it's nice to feel something." Just summing up Joker's cycling feelings about Batsy in the years to come. lol

And here's the plot point that sticks out to me most, after years of reading Bruce stalwartly refuse to kill Joker, including in other versions of their first meeting:

Bruce has been Batman for less than a year and he's already like, "Fuck it! I give up! This guy stabbed my new girlfriend and made me lose faith in books! He has to die!" In a short time, Jack has burrowed so deep under Bruce's skin that Bruce tosses away the one solid crime-fighting principle he has. It's oddly refreshing??

So Maletesta, who is a crime boss Jack stole from, takes some goons and captures Jack at the doctor's while he's unconscious from surgery. They then take Jack to a pharmaceutical plant, and Maletesta starts beating him while he's still out. Except Jack is actually awake and just kind of bored by the torture attempts and slipping back into ennui. This issue, #10, really goes into Jack's struggle between wanting to live but not feeling there's anything worth living for.

As you can see, Jack does eventually escape his bonds to fight back. As he and Maletesta fight, they end up in the bottom of the vat.

Meanwhile, Bruce is being quietly insane.

Bruce. Bruce, what the fuck are you talking about. I have to unspool this because like, Bruce knows Jack has killed lots of people. But what he's fretting about is the ways Jack's madness has metaphysically harmed the world, maybe, and thinking, "I know he's caused so much damage, but what about the damage to my moral integrity?!" and putting that above all the material harm. I know Bruce already does this all the time, but it feels so much more explicit here, and it gets worse, and just... Sir. Sir. You are not well.

So Bruce arrives at the plant too late to save Jack but just in time to see him get doused in chemicals.

Jack spends more time thinking on whether or not he wants to survive, but we know how this goes.

Jack ends up on the riverbank, and there's a wholesome edge to his psychotic break.

And so begins the criminal career of… the March Hare!

Kidding. The issue ends there, with Bruce lamenting that his change of heart came too late, that even if Jack is still alive, something awful has happened.

But then when issue #11 starts, Bruce finds he's not sure what he saw on the bank, if anyone. He gives chase but…

But if Jack is still alive, then Bruce's soul may be intact. He keeps searching well into the day, but finds nothing.

When he returns home, though, he learns that Lorna will survive after all. He immediately heads to the hospital, to "the only good news in the world."

Ah, Bruce is finally anchoring himself to the bedside of his ladylove. After he colluded to get someone murdered and seemingly succeeded. And it's the fear of what that says about him that sent him to Lorna. Almost like he's turning to her less because of his affection and more to hide from his moral failure. Romance!

Jack does soon appear in his new clown persona, and Bruce keeps his word and refuses to leave the hospital despite the multiple horrors Joker commits. Joker is not happy that Batman is MIA.

Some idiot Joker's captured feels it's necessary to inform him that Batman tried to have him killed, and of course Batman doesn't care. Joker scoffs, because Batman doesn't kill.

Faith restored!

Back at the hospital, Alfred verbally kicks Bruce in the ass, pointing out that committing himself to an unconscious Lorna isn't helping anyone.

Bruce finally suits up to respond to the bat signal, but it turns out Gordon isn't the one who lit it.

My Telltale-loving ass like:

In issue #12, their fight commences, and after some mutual stabbing, we get Joker's real plan.

It's like a dozen Lornas! Only this time Joker is telling Batman to come at him instead of trying to escape, and instead of taking action, Bruce suddenly feels overwhelmed.

Joker says something similar earlier about Gothamites. They're "poor sickies" who can't even see the bunny on the moon. They need the same "medicine" that Joker got to see the big picture, to find true joy. Of course he wants to do that for Batman too!

But once Batman shakes the poison off and starts rescuing the civilians, Joker is also pretty cool with killing him.

Bruce survives, as expected, and Joker isn't really upset about it.

And destined to do this forever, you might say!

Joker goes on to say that Batman gave him a purpose, a world of color to live for. Bruce reiterates that Joker is murdering people and asks why. Joker asks why Batman saves them.

(This panel goes right to left, btw.)

Joker's got a ways to fall, so Bruce has time to contemplate letting him die. "Let it happen… Let chaos prevail for the six more seconds it will take for madman to meet pavement… or the rest of my life will be spent picking up the pieces."

Bruce has already had a moral crisis about what it would mean for his soul if he let Joker die. In the end, he simply doesn't accept there's a meaningful difference between someone who takes a life for personal gain and himself taking a life to prevent the suffering of others. The vat is the same as his parents' graves. Letting Joker hit the ground is the same as pulling a trigger. Bruce chooses Joker over countless future victims. He choose Joker over Lorna, who he'll soon break up with at the hospital, weaponizing the carelessness of his socialite persona. Bruce decides that, amongst all options, taking responsibility for the monster he created means spending his life picking up the pieces.

And he immediately accepts that fact, what's to come. Gordon talks to Batman about the total dead, saying, "Would've been worse without you," and Bruce responds, "Don't be so sure." Don't be so sure today and for the decades to come, because Bruce believes that if that clown dies, then so does his own soul.

Joker sees that future too, and he is delighted!

Interesting detail, the Jack and King visible in the hat, side by side. Brings to mind how not too many years later, Snyder will have Joker crown his Bat King.

So there's Lovers & Madmen. Again, much more goes on in this story, particularly Jack's suicidal ideations and how he links the "enlightenment" Batman bestowed upon him to his contempt for regular people and his need to separate himself from them (and reconciling that with a good deed he does for a future henchgirl). The issues are collected into one book, and if you enjoyed this post, I encourage you to pick it up.

[dont-post-after-midnight]

I am OBSESSED with Noggin Algernon rn and I WILL ramble about him you can't stop me

I can't believe we actually got to see a gremlin try and be good in episode 3, and even succeed at it for a bit before Boss Chang's goons ultimately messed that up. I think if everyone had been respectful, Algernon would definitely have continued down the path of being good natured.

Like, this is the first time we've seen a gremlin feel bad about hurting someone and it's making me go crazy because it shows that they can be reformed if given the chance. Also, while he was working for Boss Chang, Algernon didn't want to spawn more of his kind and was afraid of getting wet which is insane because we've only seen Gizmo react that way up until this point:

That's like, a gremlins whole thing is attacking everyone and spawning more of their kind, and Algernon was ok with going against his nature for a little bit. I'm so proud of him. 🥺

Granted, Algernon is either a reference, a direct descendant of, or a past reincarnation of Brain (the most civilized and mild mannered one), so out of all the gremlins we've seen, it's safe to assume that he'd be the easiest to turn good. However, he's still prone to violent outbursts, so I was convinced he would kill Boss Chang like his son was speculating just so he could be the new boss of Chinatown. But I was shocked when Boss Chang willingly handed over the role to him. Algernon was emotional when he was dying, and touched that he would give him the role.

It was nice seeing a gremlin show emotion for once. I don't think he had any intentions of being violent or chaotic here, he clearly respected Boss Chang and listened to his advice. It was only when his goons tried to kill Algernon that he went "well screw this, I guess humans are horrible after all" which is understandable. I imagine if you're trying to teach a gremlin how to be good, you have to be very careful with what you say and do, otherwise they'll just revert back to their evil instincts all over again. It's a shame Boss Chang wasn't around him for longer, I think Algernon could have benefited from his good influence.

I'm super curious if later in the series, the main characters will come across a gremlin and discover this. I could definitely see Sam and Elle teaching a gremlin like Algernon how to be good natured and succeeding at it. They might even figure this out sometime in season 2 with Gizmo turning evil and all. What if Gizmo actually does turn into a gremlin for a split second? But because Sam and Elle are such good friends with him, through The Power of Friendship™ they figure out you can teach a gremlin to be good natured if you just give them the chance.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

okay! So my idea was that after the incident with the monkey bomb and after she was adopted by silco, powder felt alone and sometimes she just walked trough zaun by herself. And one day she found reader rummaging through the trash for fabrics (because she likes to do her own clothes let's say) and she reminded powder of herself, so after seeing her some more times after that powder decided to talk to her and then they become inseparable and IDK it's like some chaotic teenage romance where they do dumb stuff together like sneak into piltover or get themselves into jail accidentally, whatever you can think of

This was definitely longer than I thought, feel free to change anything you want!

(hello! So sorry this sucks but I had a major headache and felt like writing! Anyways, the idea for the booth/carnival came from @spice-bunny0-0 ! Enjoy!)

Never Again...Maybe

So, this is what boring feels like.

Powder almost huffed, well, Jinx, did. Powder was getting used to the name Jinx for now, but mainly went by Powder.

It was just how it was at this moment.

She trudged along the streets of the Undercity, looking around for anything, anything at all, to do.

But there was nothing.

Before the…incident, Powder never felt truly bored.

There was always something to do, bug Mylo, hang out with Vi, bug Mylo with Claggor, or hang out with Ekko.

But…they weren't around, so she couldn't do any of that.

She didn't like the goons Silco hired that much, sure they were nice to her, but they had to be.

Unless they wanted the "big boss" to cut off a hand.

One of the perks of being taken in as a daughter by the Eye of Zaun.

Just as she was about to go back to the Last Drop, she stopped walking abruptly as a piece of metal hit her boot.

Powder tilted her head, curiously picking the scrap metal off the ground and examining it in her hand.

It was a piece to the others of the bombs she home-made, one she has been looking for.

With a small smile, she tucked it into her holster pocket before hearing more metal clicking and…shuffling?

It was coming from the alleyway, so as curious as she was, she followed the sound.

To her surprise, she found a kid around her age.

You were leaning over the dumpster, so much that your only body part visibly was your legs as you leaned down and tossed whatever you apparently didn't need out of the way.

"Come on…come on…aha!" Powder tilted her head confused, not moving as you exclaimed and quickly leaned back over onto your feet.

You held a spool of…fabric?

It wasn't ugly or in terrible condition, so much that even Jinx would take and use it for her clothes.

But now, Powder was in control. And Powder was curious.

You smiled, turning around quickly to leave with your treasure before jumping as you saw Powder standing almost right behind you.

"Oh! Hello…?" You asked, tilting your head as you held your find to your chest.

"What are you doing?" Powder cut quickly, not meaning to be rude but it came out like that.

"Oh, just finding fabric." You shrugged, like it was the most simple thing in the world.

"Why?" Powder asked, walking in unison with you as you left the alley.

"I make use of them for my clothes! I like making them." You smiled in pride, Powder now taking the time to look you up and down.

Your outfit was actually quite pretty, or more grand than you would find in the Undercity.

It was good for a home-made outfit.

"Those aren't from down here?" Powder asked, touching more fancy parts on your shirt.

"Yeah, they're not. I went Topside to get them." You smiled in pride, proud of the fact that you had gotten them in the first place.

"You did?!" Powder asked, her curiosity at an all time high at your almost bravery to sneak past enforcers up there.

Not that they scared her much anymore.

"Uh-huh! Now, I gotta go-" You broke the news, almost sad that you had to leave your almost new friend behind.

But you were cut off as Powder was suddenly In Front of you with a smile holding your wrist carefully but with a grip hard enough to keep you in place.

"I like you." Powder revealed, you raised a brow but laughed at her bluntness.

"I like you too." You shrugged, matching her smile as you adjusted your grip on your fabric.

"That's good." Powder nodded happily, before it faded ever so slightly.

"Because you don't have a choice." 

From the way she said it, it almost looked innocent, in fact, it did.

You were so surprised you thought you heard it wrong.

"Huh- woah!" You were tugged harshly by Powder, the girl suddenly having the energy to run and avoid bumping into others on the Undercity streets.

Powder was almost giddy, you reminded her of herself.

And with that, came an opportunity for a new friend for herself.

And she would not let it slip away.

~~

The days with Jinx turned into months, which turned into years. 

You and her were inseparable, you didn't live with her. But to your surprise, Silco liked you, or tolerated you.

You kept Jinx happy. And a happy Jinx was always good.

You and Jinx grew up together practically, never leaving one side from the other.

When one walked by the other was soon to follow, jumping over each other and making a giggling, pink and blue mess wherever you guys went.

But Jinx's favorite thing to do was sneak around.

Sneaking around Topside, in fact.

So that's how you ended up here now, in a flee from the Enforcers Topside with a giggling Jinx practically being carried on your back.

~~

"You sure this is a good idea, J.J?" You asked, laughing at her "disguise".

She was hard not to spot though, wherever Jinx went was a firecracker waiting to happen.

Her hair along with her outfit was always noticeable in a room.

But now, she had a coat so big that it almost covered her entire body, her hair pinned up with a hat on while wearing sunglasses.

It's not that she couldn't go Topside wearing "normal" clothes, but Jinx is Jinx. She did things the way she wanted.

"Of course it is! You got the balloons?" Jinx asked, tipping her sunglasses as you almost laughed once again before nodding.

"Perfect! Let's go!"

"You sure Silco will bail us out?"

"...Yeah, sure!"

~~

You and Jinx were in the middle of a carnival, being pushed around by Topsiders as you both looked through shops' windows and booths for what you needed.

Jinx had run out of crayons, oil crayons and paint for her doodles, so she needed more.

But she hated the ones down below, they broke easily or were flat out ugly ass colors.

So she resorted to having Sevika getting them imported, but Sevika was on some away mission and Jinx didn't care enough to have others do it.

Sevika got the right colors, and only Sevika, she may be an ass but she's good at picking out crayons for kids.

"What about those?" You asked, pointing out some oil crayons to Jinx.

She picked them up, humming occasionally before she nodded.

She stuffed her hand into her pocket, trying to grab enough money for the price but turns out, yal spent it when buying else and your fabrics.

"Shit." Jinx cursed under her breath, she had to pay, you said so yourself.

You didn't want to be thrown into a jail cell on Monday, so she resorted to paying.

She didn't want to upset you and you be mad at her, no, no.

But, there was no choice in this. Especially since this was practically the only booth with her paints and crayons she actually needed.

"Hey, (Name)? We're out." Jinx broke bluntly, her giggle almost escaping once she saw you grimace.

"Really? Again?" You asked, feeling the oncoming headache and preparing yourself from what is about to happen.

"Yup. Sorry, you're up." Jinx smirked, you couldn't get another word in before she slipped away to get her paints.

"Really?! Ugh, fine." You sighed, preparing yourself and putting on your best fake smile before you walked over to the booth owner.

"Hello! Could you tell me about these crayons? They're…fascinating…?" You questioned, almost giving yourself away but the booth owner didn't notice.

"I would love too! You see these one's…" The booth owner's voice drowned out as you absent mindedly nodded, glancing back at Jinx as she stuffed her jacket pockets.

This went on for almost three minutes, the booth owner finally following your eyes to Jinx just as she stuffed another box in her pockets.

"Hey!" The booth owner yelled, alerting enforcers and people standing by.

"Put those back!" The enraged man yelled, going to stomp over but stopped as you pulled him back.

"Sorry for this." You winced, the man confused before you popped a balloon of paint onto his head.

You quickly ran to Jinx as the girl was giggling madly, grabbing her hand and yanking her just as enforcers made it to the booth.

The mad booth owner wiped paint from his face, yelling and pointing to you two as you booked it, running into citizens but pushing them out the way.

Enforcers yelled for you to stop, but you couldn't with Jinx on your back and the promise of not going to jail today.

"We're not doing this again!"

"That's what you think! This is fun!"

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

Hi! So if the ninja have accidentally called Wu Dad have they ever called anyone else Mom or Dad? Like Koko? Sensei Garmadon? Ronin? Dareth? Or maybe just a teacher? If so what was the reaction? (OC's too if you wanna!)

Lloyd: Can y'all please quit randomly asking my mom for hugs??? You're taking advantage of her kindness

Zane: But we don't have moms :'(

Cole: Yeah we're momless :(

Kai: Spare a mom for the less fortunate here :(

Lloyd: Yeah well I have the world's worst dad, and you people definitely don't, so let me have THIS at lea-NYA?!

Nya, hugging Koko: I KNOW NOT THE WARM EMBRACE OF A MOTHER'S HUG. PLUS IT'S LADY IRON DRAGON

Jesse: She's got ya there

Lloyd: You're not helping

. . .

Teacher: Jay, would you mind coming up to the board to finish this equation?

Jay: Yes, Mom–NO NO NO NO WAIT WHAT WHAT

Entire Class: *busts out laughing*

Zane: Jay, that's not your mother?

Jay: I know, Zane!!

Zane: Your mother looks nothing like that.

Jay: I know, Zane!!!

Zane: I have a picture of your parents in my databanks if you need a refresher. I suppose it has been quite some time since your last visit and enough time has passed that you've forgotten what they look like–

Jay: AAAAAAAAAAAA

. . .

Lou: *claps Jesse on the back* That was a wonderful show tonight! I'm so proud of you!

Jesse: *overwhelmed with praise* Thanks, Dad. ....Wa–

Lou: DAD?! *starts tearing up*

Cole: WHY ARE YOU CRYING

Jesse: I-I'm sorry, I—

Lou: No need to apologize, Son. It's okay. *puts hands on Jesse's shoulders* I've always thought of you as the performer son I never had to chance to raise...finally, an heir to pass on all my trade entertainer secrets onto! And maybe my entire mansion as well.

Jesse: Wha-

Cole: I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE

Lou: Exactly! Stop just standing there and hurry up and marry this boy already!

Jesse: *chokes on air*

Cole: Hmph. All right, bet.

Jesse: WHAT?!

. . .

Caroline: Thanks for stopping by for dinner tonight, Cole. OH, here–I packed you a few leftovers to take home with you! And a little cake for dessert too, my treat!

Cole, staring directly at Jesse: Oh! Why thank you, MOM

Jesse: *verbal keysmash*

Mira: *raises hands to the sky* Finally, I have a brother strong enough to open the pickle jar for me at last

Jesse: Mira—

Cole: Really? You've got nothing else for me besides opening jars??

Mira: You don't understand the sad horror of watching Jesse roll around on the floor making that pitiful deflating balloon noise as the lid doesn't even budge—

Jesse: MIRA

. . .

Garmadon: And we'll regroup to take point at 21:00 sharp.

Bridget: Yes Sir

Lobby: Roger

Olivia: Yes, Dad

Olivia: wAIT I MEANT BOSS—

Bridget: *ugly scream laugh*

Olivia: NO STAHP SHUT UP

Garmadon: ...I'll pretend I didn't hear that

Angler Goon: Damn, did we just witness a disownment?

Four Eyes: I can't believe Lloyd was your brother the whole time

Olivia: SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPPPPPP

Bridget: *rolling on the floor laughing*

. . .

Harleigh: Ronin, I've come to make an announcement

Ronin: *puts down newspaper* Okay???

Harleigh: *slaps down a 'For Rent' sign* I'm renting you out as a parent—

Ronin: A horrible business decision, but okay

Harleigh: —because I've finally found an upgrade for myself!

Ronin: Not that that's a high bar to clear, but WHAT

Harleigh: Yeaaaaah okay fine I accidentally called Dareth 'Dad' once and he was so overjoyed about it that I can't take it back so now I have to get you out of the picture...without murder

Ronin: AND THIS IS YOUR PLAN???

Harleigh: Whaaaat? I've already got some takers! *points to Nya, Mira, Lloyd, and Jesse with cash looking to Rent a Dad* Easy money!

Ronin: But you're really replacing me with Dareth???????

Harleigh: Hey, he makes a mean breakfast. Your breakfasts are just sarcastic

Ronin: ???????

[cuddlyscribe]

For the Tekken requests if they're still open, may I request Kazuya with a loving and affectionate femdom reader. I love this man so much but also want to bite him 😈 SFW and NSFW, please and thank you!

[OMG this is... perfection 🥴 are you reading my thoughts?!?! cuz if this ain't me. keep those kaz requests coming because imma have a field day with this one. hope you enjoy!!]

SFW

The loving and affectionate part has this man completely dumbfounded. Not that you could tell from his facial expressions, but if you know Kazuya well enough you can tell when he's just like... Unable to compute. Mans is bluescreening right now.

At first he's not going to tell you how much he likes your hugs and kisses and every other show of affection. After all, it's not very becoming of a very serious CEO, master martial artist, devil man to show any sort of softness!

Until he realizes that he literally cannot help himself anyone and all that goes out the window. He knows that this is who you are and he loves it. At this point, if any of his G Corp goons so much as raise their head to look at you when you give him a bear hug he will Mishima god fist their heads in.

Also perhaps you don't realize the monster you've just created... Kazuya will now demand your affection by holding out his arms to you at every single opportunity. He will notice instantly when something's wrong because you haven't given him the proper amount of kisses yet (proper amount being "never enough.")

But in all seriousness, Kazuya really does appreciate how much you show that you love him, even if he doesn't say it out loud sometimes.

Growing up with the kind of father he did, it wasn't as if he was told "I love you" on a regular basis. And as much as he wouldn't have ever admitted before, it was something he knew that he always was missing.

You are simply a replacement for any sort of lost affection in the past, though. He adores and loves you as your own amazing person in the present that, frankly, he doesn't understand how he came to deserve.

spice under the cut~!

And I think it would be remiss to leave out the fact that your affection and proclivity for dominating also makes Kazuya's head spin. In a whole different delicious way...

Kazuya is definitely not used to being bossed around, and it makes him short circuit when you push him around and tell him what to do. It's almost like he's a deer in the headlights, though he goes along with exactly what you say.

I would go so far as to say that Kazuya has a degradation kink, though not a soul besides you will ever know about it. As someone with so much control in his life that he can make anything happen with a snap of his fingers while those around him praise his every choice, something in him clicks when you degrade him and throw him around like a rag doll.

When you're on top, he's in absolute bliss. He's so big but the fact that you can take him so easily and with the most devilish smirk on your face as you work him... He is seeing STARS.

Please leave marks all over him, he will be like putty in your hands. Kazuya lives for that little sting and the way you ease the pain with a kiss. And considering he always fights without his shirt, he is fully proud of all of those marks and makes no attempt to hide them.

You are also the only one who will ever get to hear Kazuya say "please." And if you play with him just right, he'll say it as many times as you want~

[erisluna35ocblog]

I feel like I'm gonna end up with at least two more of these for the reverse au before quitting. It's starting to become a series. This one presented a different kind of challenge for me as Fiona uses cooler undertones and could easily end up looking lifeless if I don't balance it right.

Now for the main heroine of my OC's reverse au, Fiona Kuznetsov! For this AU, she's the Ladybug, hence her earrings, which took the form of little turquoise studs, a referrence to her prime counterpart favoring shades of blue. Her twin tails are inspired by Furina from Genshin Impact, down to the part where if you take them out, you'd be left with Fiona's original shorter hair style. There's some referrences to canon's Ladybugs here, like her shirt pattern is meant to look like a solid pinkish red embroidered version of Marinette's shirt print and those long red ribbons alongside her ponytails are a shout out to Bridgette from the anime PV. Compared to Shizuke and Blair, she has by far the most drastic change compared to her normal look.

Now, why the drastic change?

It's all because her backstory drastically changed just because she didn't have Keagan and Shizuke as her childhood friends. The two boys encouraged her to be more true to herself growing up, being more outspoken and tomboyish. Their impact on her life is meant to evoke the same effect Alya had in Marinette's life, according to the special. But in this AU, the Supreme has them both on a leash in different ways.

Where does that leave Fiona? Still from a rising nouveau riche family with her papa urging her to fit in with the rich kids and dolling her up. Without Keagan to ease off the pressure (being friends with the mayor's son, she basically already got the biggest fish in the pond) or Shizuke to protect (its how she gained her rep as the school's bully hunter), Fiona never had the chance to figure out what she really wanted for herself. And so she followed her papa's wishes and tried to be the perfect daughter because what else could she do? She lived life aimlessly like this, not entirely hating it as her papa is so proud of her at the very least, but not feeling that spark of life because something was always missing... she never knew what it was.

Then everything changed when she met this guy named Keagan at a gala. He looked like trouble. A quick check on social media confirmed he IS trouble. He's an over indulgent party guy while his family is currently in the middle of some scandal, rumored to be involved in illegal business.

She wanted to avoid him except he kept rudely interrupting her papa from approaching those guys who wore white with an intricate red emblem. Eventually, those men left and her papa is upset he never made a deal with them. Fiona was also upset on her papa's behalf and went to confront the carefree jerk... and he had the audacity to tell her her papa should be thanking him for saving him from the Supreme. Trust him, they ain't worth it. Yeah right, said the boy from the family burried in lawsuits. He condescendingly ruffled her head and left her but Fiona wouldn't let it go. So she followed him.

It turns out those Supreme guys knew Keagan interferred on purpose and were planning to rough him up a little. As a warning. Concerned, Fiona went to warn Keagan only to get roped in with him as she's now a witness. Well, that sucks. Keagan is annoyingly relaxed though, he's more surprised by her trying to warn him. What's with him trying to cover her with his jacket, though? To hide her face? So what??? She's still stuck here and the Supreme goons will beat them up or worse - that's when the mysterious vigilante in the black cat suit came and saved their sorry butts. And this became Fiona's introduction to the Resistance.

There, she learned what the Supreme is all about. She wants to help. The butterfly boss lady took one look at her and decided they've got their new ladybug.

In the Resistance as a Ladybug, Fiona was finally free to be who she is and made friends who accepted her for who she is... It made it harder and harder everyday to go back to being Fiona the Jewellry Princess. She finally found her calling.

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2024 / Day Eight

FLOGGING / SWALLOWING / COCK WARMING (@absurdthirst)

Starring: Maxwell Lord x F!Reader

Summary: When the pair of you end up trapped in an online meeting, Maxwell comes up with a perfect way to keep you entertained.

Rating: Mature-ish

Warnings: No use of Y/N, language, P in V (there’s no sex but please use protection in real life, thank you), cock warming

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Notes: Ok, so this is a little modern day setting and is more of a representation of if Maxwell was big CEO.

Being called into Maxwell Lord’s office was a regular occurrence. Though you were considered an intern, you did plenty for him. Your job description only included his admin and screening his calls, a minimum of two coffee runs a day.

On your first shift, he told you not to be nervous and that only made you more so. He was patient with you unlike any other of his staff, your colleagues said that maybe he actually liked you. Two weeks in, Maxwell insisted you buy yourself a drink on the company card to accompany his triple shot espresso.

“I dunno what he sees in you,” a colleague said, looking you up and down.

Fortunately, you didn’t see it either.

You noticed how all the other women dressed in the Black Gold offices. Sheer shirts and blouses, skirts that cinched them in at the waist, heels with the highest stilettos possible. You chose to go minimal and comfortable, your smallest shoe a kitten heel.

It wasn’t long until you elevated your wardrobe, adding a touch more makeup to your routine but not too much. You still looked like yourself and Maxwell’s eyes continued to follow you while you worked.

There were many reasons why Maxwell liked you. He secretly thinks he shaped you from the shy, softly spoken girl to the confident woman you had become. You were well mannered, forceful if you needed to be, always got his lunch order right and to put the cherry on top, weren’t vying for his attention.

However, it only made you more desirable.

You had noticed how he took care of you, most of all at the office party. A guy from accounts wouldn’t stop harassing you, you shrugged him off but he wouldn’t let it go. When you went to leave, he followed you until Maxwell caught up with him.

You never saw him again.

Part of you knew he had been fired, that Maxwell wouldn’t have stooped so low as to get his goons to beat him to death, you wished he had though.

“Thank you, Mr Lord.”

“Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered and he loved nothing more than to see that proud smile on your lips, your back straightening.

For months after that, the sexual tension seemed to rise between Maxwell and you. You knew it was wrong to have a crush on your boss yet his energy was magnetic.

How his lips curled when you came into his office to place his coffee on his desk, how he nodded happily as you ran off a list of all the names you politely told to fuck off. How you warned him that his wife had magically appeared at reception and how you pulled every trick to make him disappear.

Then there were the other moments, the ones where his eyes darkened when you made a cheeky comment. The ones where he leaned back in his chair and allowed you to willingly berate him, a smug smile plastered on his face knowing he’d been bad. All the times he’d caught your gaze when he ran a broad hand through his dyed golden locks and it’s like he felt your pussy clench.

You’d imagined all the ways you’s let him have his way with you. You always wondered how good you’d look with your tits pressed against the cool glass of his desk when he fucked you from behind.

“I’m just popping out.”

He interrupted your daydreaming.

“No, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?” He retorts, taken aback.

You wouldn’t normally but you had to put your foot down on this occasion.

“Mr Agraste has been wanting this meeting for months and I’ve run out of excuses. He’s sent me an email two times a day for the past three weeks, you are having this meeting whether you like it or not.”

It was clear to him that you were at the end of your tether. Yet he knew how fucking boring this was going to be, it was going to be all about figures and profits and money, money, money. If he was going to do this, he wasn’t going to do it alone.

His look of alarm dropped, his lips curling.

“Then I need you to sit in.”

Your nose scrunched, “What?”

The smug expression grew as his eyebrows raised into his unnaturally blonde hairline.

“I need someone to take notes.”

Take notes?

You questioned whether you needed to show him, yet again, how to hit the little red button on the screen to record it.

“Since when?”

“Since thirty seconds ago.”

He gave you a childish grin.

You hum, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“You can use mine.”

The phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him out of the trance he was in. Maxwell and you had been in this meeting an hour and already, he was losing the will to live. He switched off his camera to look at the message, eyes glancing to you as you tapped your notepad with a pen.

This could have been an email.

You smiled sweetly.

“Fancy a little pick me up?”

Part of you was hoping he’d offer you his finest liquor to help loosen off your aching muscles but instead, he pulled on a cupboard and out rolled a coffee machine.

“Why do I always go out and get you coffee when you’ve got that in there?”

“The coffee you get is better.”

That and he liked to see you deliver it to him, the way you walk in those kitten heels and the new pencil skirt you bought.

“How much longer do you think this is gonna be?”

He shrugs, “Another half hour.”

“Jesus Christ,” you say, stretching your back before standing up.

“Why, have you got somewhere to be? Someone to meet?”

Maxwell knew he was prying but he didn’t know your situation and he needed to know if chasing you was a bad idea. He had taken too many of those.

“No,” you giggle, “just don’t know how much more I can take.”

He places a cup on his desk, in front of your seat.

“We could make it interesting.”

“How so?”

You’d wandered over to his floor to ceiling window, watching the ant sized people and matchbox cars go about their day. When you glance over your shoulder, he noticed how you fluttered your eyelashes in curiosity.

You were warned by your parents when you applied for this job. Maxwell Lord had a reputation, he had done adverts on yachts with scantily clad women, the he was more than likely to hire you if you were female. Then there was the whole Dreamstone palaver that literally the whole world knew about.

They were right in some parts yet he had plenty of beautiful woman roaming his office halls, why the fuck would he choose you?

“What did you have in mind?”

You couldn’t deny that he’d peaked your interest.

“If my observations are correct, I’d say you like me.”

He watched how your body stiffened but he’d seen how you appeared flustered when he caught you looking. Sometimes he knew you weren’t even focusing on his face, there were other aspects of him that caught your attention.

“Maybe… but I’ve heard what people say about you.”

He smiles, “The one where I’m a ladies man when I’m actually a divorcee who hides from her whenever she turns up at my doors.”

You nod faintly, that was true.

“So why do you only hire women?”

“I haven’t chosen who works here in years and there are men, you know.”

“But you have so many women to choose from.”

“And I’m choosing you,” he tips his head to the side. “If you want me.”

Your stomach does a somersault, everything now depended on you and you tried not to have any second thoughts before giving your response.

“You still didn’t answer my first question.”

“How about a way that we can both sit comfortably.”

It was cryptic but something in you couldn’t say no.

Within minutes, you found yourself downing your drink before taking a seat on Maxwell’s lap. There was no pressure, you would both take it as far as you wanted to, if you didn’t wish to continue, all you had to do was stand up.

The temperature rose between you as you exchanged delicate touches and light kisses. Mr Agraste was no longer talking yet the voice who had taken over was equally as boring.

You almost whined when Maxwell was finally asked a question he had to reply to.

Sniggering, he switched the mic back on and answered swiftly. You scrambled for your notebook, ass still firmly planted in his lap as you scribbled some form of illegible notes.

You’d worry about that tomorrow.

He muted himself, returning his attention to you, chuckling at your agitated expression. It fell as he lifted his hips into you, his semi erected outline pushing gently against your skirt. Hearing him sigh sent shockwaves down to your pussy, your juices spilling into your knickers as he rolled his hips again.

He worked himself until his stiff length strained against it’s confinement.

His cock was all you could think of, the meeting was nothing but white noise under Maxwell’s soft moans of pleasure. You needed to see it, to touch it, to have it sit snuggly in between your heated walls.

You stand up, a momentary flash of disappointment behind his eyes as you turn round.

“Take it out.”

The words shook with your breath but the tone was stern. His eyebrows rose, his mouth parting before he had something to ask.

“Are you sure?”

You’re not even looking at him, already bending down to hike up the hem of your skirt. You lift it over your thighs and over your hips, Maxwell finally seeing what was underneath. The knickers you wore wear simple yet accentuated your figure.

You pulled them down in one swift motion, carefully treading out of them as you face him.

His hands reach for his belt and slowly unbuckle as he soaks you up from your neat triangle of pubic hair to your soft curves. The belt whips from the loops and he tosses it to one side, his fingers tugging at his zip, unbuttoning his trousers and underneath were white briefs. His thumbs tuck under the elastic, pulling down until his weighted cock springs free.

Your mouth salivates.

He lets you admire it before patting his lap, initiating the next step.

You take a single step, twisting on your heels so your ass faces him. Peeking over your shoulder, you watch his eyes flit from your behind to your eyes. You grab your ass cheeks and tilt forward, spreading them to show him how wet he’d made you.

Your arousal coated your lips and inner thighs.

“How would you like me?”

There was a cockiness to your question and he liked it.

“We should really finish this meeting…”

You pout, straightening up, your hand moving to pull your skirt down.

“But, I can think of a way you can keep me warm.”

His hands grabbed your hips and heaved you to him, his face pressed against your lower back. He lets one hand go, squashing between your bodies so he can take his cock in his palm, lining it up with your entrance.

Squeezing your side, you slowly start to sink down, his fat tip nudging at your folds. You mewl as his girth breaches, the stretch met with the slightest twinge before fading into something pleasant. Your walls relax around him as you let out a long exhale, dropping until his cock disappeared from view.

He knew how good you were a magic tricks.

His hand spreads over the curve of your ass, watching how the goosebumps arrive on your skin.

“Is this ok?”

This was more than ok, you can barely get the words out.

“Uh-huh.”

“Lift your feet a little.”

You listen, taking your feet from the floor so he can scoot towards the desk. The air whistles through gritted teeth as your walls clench his cock with the movement.

“Sorry,” the temperature rises in your face.

“Just,” his word is gruff, “don’t do it again.”

He was pretty sure if you did, he’d lose his mind and come there and then. It had been so long since he’d felt anything other than his hand, his trust in women deflated from his money grabbing ex who screwed him out of almost everything he got.

Yet you were sensitive, when he told you not to, you twitched.

He grunts.

“If you behave, I’ll give you a reward.”

The pair of you sat through the rest of the meeting like this, only business matters being discussed between you.

Your lips were becoming sore with your teeth buried deep into them so you didn’t make a noise, your motions were kept to a minimum so not to disturb either of you. Even when you wrote something, words noticeably wobbly, your mind couldn’t stray away from what was between your legs.

He was in a similar position, trying to focus his attention on what was being said on the opposite side of the screen. However all he could feel was your warmth, the steady flutters that held his cock a fraction tighter.

Even though you were doing your best not to look, he could see how your eyelashes batted when your head was at the right angle, how your lips were getting plumper, the heat that climbed up your spine when his palm attempted to soothe you.

Your juices weeped around him and Maxwell just kept smiling, no one outside of the office any the wiser.

[immcoconut]

#dkbk #bkdk yakuza bk who pursued /Izuku midoriya/ as a target was left dumbfounded. How can this loser be their target? This guy has no money, no social life matter of fact no life at all. Bk is absolutely sure that they got the name or face of their target mixed up

But this Izuku midoriya also had healthy amount of scar on his hand than a average person should have and goes to a prestigious school katsuki himself went to. Something just doesn't add up with this guy

So despite establishing that Izuku was not the target katsuki was after,

He still dug around izuku out of curiosity.

Turns out Izuku was a star student- genius engineer and all. But at his 2nd year in UA high he got severely injured while pulling a girl -Eri- out of a burning car that exploded right after

He fall behind because of the surgery needed

In his arms and couldn't climb back up because too many surgeries cost too much money

Katsuki felt bad for the guy. The police gave him medel but not money for his medical expenses. It kinda sucked

So katsuki decided to help this little guy. Nothing too much but a box of new clothes was placed next to izuku's tiny apartment the next day, With a card that said

- to Izuku midoriya

Wear this or we'll kidnap your mom

Katsuki knew the nerd was too prideful to take the clothes if he's just handed them, so some threatening was necessity here

However katsuki was told Izuku did wear the clothes the next day but only hang around the campus, not involving himself around people

Katsuki cursed. The nerd must have thought katsuki placed a bomb or something in the clothes

Well it's all right, at least the nerd would wear those from now on

Katsuki next send him a box full of groceries with a note " eat this or your mom gets it"

He started to help Izuku with all sort of things after that. Especially seeing how cute the guy looked - confused and slightly worried but well fed and in warm clothes

He would pay izuku's bills and occasionally give him stuff that's essential not to survive but to enjoy

Life (merch, video games etc)

Eventually katsuki urge won. He sent Izuku a latter saying "I'll take care of you, just focus on your studies"

Izuku stared at the latter. Then went back and wrote 'who are you?Can we meet?'on the back of the latter and left it outside the door

Katsuki knows they'll eventually meet someday but not now. Maybe after he graduates? Yeah that sounds more reasonable

"After you graduate" was the only reply Izuku received

Izuku did not receive any latter after that. But a box full of daily necessities was placed once a week and new clothes once a month

Izuku, despite being skeptical at first, eventually started to focus entirely on his studies or academic activities, only

Working on weekends to have bit of pocket money

This arrangement let him have a stable life - academic, economic and social too since now he had time to hang out with his friends

Izuku graduated with flying score- making katsuki proud af- and demanded to see who this person was that looking out for him

Katsuki agreed, after all it's what he promised

He didn't take his goons with him - thinking it might scare Izuku away but he himself doubt the thought

Cause Izuku had not been afraid once despite knowing that somebody powerful is watching him all the time

They met at a prestigious restaurant that katsuki had influence on since he did not want to take Izuku anywhere that might come out as threatening but at the same time

The Yakuza boss himself has some restrictions in visiting any place he wants - in short, it had to be this restaurant

Izuku soon came in through the gate, looking sharp in the dress suit katsuki had send him but also nerdy by the hairstyles and tie

Katsuki motioned him to /get here/ but Izuku stopped for few seconds. He looked surprised, taken aback and hesitant.But regardless he joined katsuki

Introduction were made, well mostly from katsuki's part since Izuku was pretty well known topic in katsuki's gang now and pretty soon they jumped to the real question

" Why would you do all this for me?"Izuku asked, gulping down

/pity/ katsuki hummed. Because/I felt pity / was the first response katsuki was about to say

All though it's truth but not the entirety of it. He let himself think for few seconds before giving the answer that felt most right

" I saw potential and I gave it a chance"

It was truth. Izuku attracted him for one reason or another and the potential this guy has is unimaginable

Katsuki watched as Izuku stay blank, motionless and deep in thoughts " what do you want from me?"

" Nothing. you are free to do whatever you want" katsuki cut the

Streak in bite size pieces, seeing the end of conversation already "I did everything just because I can. There's nothing more to it"

Izuku hid his emotions well. He didn't yell out for showing pity or cry out in gratitude

" I tried digging you out" Izuku started speaking

And katsuki chuckled. As if any guy could just randomly find katsuki

"I didn't get much which was given. But bakugo katsuki -"

His /real/ name made katsuki freeze. This punk-

" I pledge my loyalty to you"

Oh katsuki likes this, katsuki likes this outcome a lot

This little punk with his shit eating grin right now-

This will be interesting

[j0kers-light]

His Lighthouse: I Spy (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

I Spy- Oneshot Alternate Ending

DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT READ THIS WITHOUT FIRST READING I SPY FOUND here. 🖤✨

This is an alternate ENDING to the oneshot. If you’ve already read up to the split decision, please continue reading below.

You hated that seeing J in his natural element made you wet. His lowered voice and the way he ordered people around had you flushing like a schoolgirl.

You didn't hear the goon's frightful response or the other cowering nearby in the chair but you did hear when Joker called your name sharply.

"Is anyone listening to me today? Get. Up. Here." He hit the table in front of him and you rushed over and hopped onto the surface.

You felt exposed up here but kept quiet since Joker was in such a volatile mood. His anger was towards his incompetent crew; you didn't want it targeted at you.

"That's better. Lift up my hoodie and show us your pretty pussy." J purred.

You weren't the only one stunned. You blinked twice and glanced at the strangers in the room. They looked just as confused. "Um.. J. Are you sur–"

"Use your safeword or do as I say. Last chance Bunny."

You stared into Joker's dark green eyes and made a choice.

You felt overwhelmed and uncomfortable. Two strangers were staring at you with lustful eyes and it felt... wrong. Only Joker should see you like this.

Joker mentioned before that if you wanted to back out you could. It wouldn't be the first time you used your safeword with Joker— your sexual history made sure of that– and today was no different.

You tried to keep your tears at bay but one slipped out and ran down your cheek.

"(insert safe word)"

It was like a switch went off.

Suddenly Joker was holding you in his arms. Nothing else mattered except you. He showered you with kisses right in front of his stunned goons and rubbed your arms when you began to shake. Joker left a lingering kiss on your lips and titled your head up so he could look you right in the eye.

"I'm soooo proud of you, Sweet girl, so proud. Thank you for tellin' me. That was scary huh?" He smoothed your hair down as you nodded. You were trying not to cry in front of complete strangers but you couldn't stop with the way Joker was doting on you.

He rocked you gently until you calmed down but he knew you needed some fresh air.

"Go wait outside. I'll fin-ish up here and we can uhhh.. get some err ice cream on the way home. Your fav." Joker kissed you again and helped you off the table and over to the door.

His goons were in total disbelief watching The Joker so soft and affectionate and with a girl no less. It was unbelievable yet it was happening right in front of them.

Joker banged on the door and a few seconds later, Frost opened it and locked eyes with his boss.

"Take her back to the car." Joker ordered. He urged you on and you walked through, biting your lip as it closed shut. Then all was silent.

You couldn't hear anything on this side of the door but you knew what Joker planned on doing to those men.

They saw too much. Joker had a reputation to maintain and he wasn't above murdering people to keep it in check. You knew the person Joker was but it still churned your stomach knowing blood would be on his hands soon.

But he promised you ice cream so... you could turn the other cheek.

"You made the right choice."

You looked up at Frost when he guided you back into the elevator. Once again he kept his eyes straight ahead but you knew he was talking to you.

"Don't get caught up in our life. The boss needs someone to ground him at the end of the day and you help him remain.. sane I guess." The lift arrived at the ground floor and Frost peeked out to check if the coast was clear.

He waved you forward and with an urgency, he snuck you back to the unmarked vehicle sill parked by the front door.

Frost was kind enough to open the passenger door for you. He spoke up again when you were sliding in.

"I'm glad you're with The Boss. You live up to your nickname." He didn't give you time to respond, he just slammed the door closed and stood guard.

Your respect for Frost grew with that single comment and for the rest of the time, you were left with your thoughts.

Joker opened the driver's side door and hopped inside– and stole a kiss while your mouth was open in shock. You hadn't been waiting for more than fifteen minutes, if that.

J still looked spotless in his three piece suit and his red grin was all for you. He pushed his hair back and started the car.

"Now, my Light! For being such a good girl... you deserve a treat!"

[jonmyblaze]

Uncle dent :au

And (The quest for mother )

Location: Arkham asylum

Cell block number '22--222-22

Harvey dent sat in his cell. Flipping his coin idlely waiting as the clock to tick by.

(Face: liberty)

(chance Scratched)

( face )

Scratched

Face

Liberty and Justice (face)

Or greed and chance (scratched )

It was pointless to him, he couldn't find the will to escap

"Harvey dent you have a visitor." A small speaker in his room notified him in a monotone slight east gothamite voice.

It wasn't like a harvey had anything better to do, so he went to the front of his cell.

Two police guards proceeded to take him to the visitor center. As were there job.

Harvey as he was perp walked he Wondered .

who the hell would be visiting him at this hour.

"At least Wayne had his visits on normal hours.' Harvey dent thought to himself

"But we already played chess that week! ' Big Bad Harve countered.

'So it has to be someone else. But whom?'

Harvey approached the visitation window

Harvey dent looked at the kid on the other side of the visitors window.

He looked vaguely familiar. he's seen that face before , a boy he watched grown up under his gang

"Well wat doya want kid" Harvey's gothamite accent sung through his voice.

He was Gotham's deputy the people's elected district attorney. He had to sound like them

"Information, as much as you got"the kid responds

Harvey balked

"Aren't you a little young to be propositioning super villains for information?" He questioned rhetorically,

"I'm as old as the lawyers allow for visitation alone"

"You barely looked like you can jack a car! let alone convince a guard that we are family.

"Hey I got off the streets with my jacking skills" he defended himself,

Well bully for you kid! your parents must have been proud at your jacking skills."

Harvey chuckled with a bit of childish humor he asked" and Sense you brought it up which hand do you jack best, with lefty or.-"

"Can it dent" the boy cut off the mobster before he could finish his crass punchline. "all I want is information, nothing more "

I think a kid as old as you should know the prison rules by now. snitches and stitches and all"

The boy looked into the partition. huffed a laugh

"No not anything of the mob, this is I something that's rather more mundane that I need to ask"

Harvey cocked his unscarred eyebrow.

"what information would a young man like you come all the way out to Arkham asylum in order to ask me known mob boss Two-Face"

The kid placed a small book in the small open section of the divide..

It was a photo album. The Cover looked slightly burned and dirty but for the most part it was genuine. Two-face idly flip through the pages annoyed that this is what this strange visitor wanted

mostly baby pictures and likely pictures of young man in front of him.

"You were asking about a photo album? "Two-faced asked

"Flip five in from the front. ,"

It was there that he saw the photo.

.

Recognizing the photo

Huh

It held three people in the image. One former goon named Willis todd, his young son and Harvey dent himself.

Harvey remembered that day, Catherine (was that her name) had taken the photo. A smiling young woman. Willis's fiance if he remembered correctly.

Such a shame that Willis died in a gang encounter between his and cobblepots goons.

"You recognize that man?"

"Course I do it's it's good Old Willie Todd. Best gun runner and international arm dealer I had."

" Yeah and my old man too" the boy said blunyly

"No way" Harvey denied at first then he whispered

"Son of a bitch" he said in amazement!

There he was Jason Peter Todd, son of Willis and Catherine, the current adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

(this is a slight au of death in the family, Harvey and Jason has a better relationship then Canon.)

Harvey haven't seen the boy in person in ages

" Yes shit that baby there is me. "

" Well You grew up kid, congratulations"Two-Face said matter of factly, leaning forwards he asked jovially like a cranky cool Uncle. "got a car yet?"

" Nah, I'm only 15, do know how to hotwire one though."

"AH They keep getting younger" Harvey smiled ironically .

" Now what did you come all the way here. Besides reminiscing about old Times"

I'm trying to to find my mother"

" Pretty sure Catherine died of a drug overdose from the papers I read." Two-Face didn't often read obituaries but that was one of the more sad ones he read.

" It was cancer, she died of the pain meds she was given to help relieve the pain from the cancer."

"Sorry kid but if that's the case your ma's Dead and gone, what about trini and Joe? What happened to them "

Harvey remembered that lengthy custody battle with Willis, being unable to afford to take care of the boy and thus having to put him up for foster care temporarily. He was lucky that that boys measly acrobatic Aunt and Uncle to take him in as a way to keep him from experiencing the worst of the foster system .

This in turn forced Willis to take the more dangerous jobs that Two-Face had. And earned him much respect. Dent never got to hear the end to that story.

"unfortunately, they fell to their death when I was nine"

“Huh... Went out like the graysons. " Harvey commented nonchalantly.

Harvey, before the acid, had seen the flying Grayson's last performance.

He remembered the gasps of the crowd, the look of horror as they fell, the sickening sound of their landing. The cries of traumatized civilians

He distinctly recalled Bruce's expression of sympathy looking at the newly made orphan of the Grayson family.

And he recalled The pride on Bruce's face when he revealed that he adopted the kid to save him from the Foster system.

He may not have gotten the boys official custody in merely a wardship at the time but there was still so much pride in his face so much help in a brighter future.

" is that why Wayne took you in?" Harvey asked. He he may have missed a few things during one of his breakout and was way behind the papers..

Jason todd looked confused

“No, why would you say that “

"You lost your parents because of a acrobatic accident, you know what they say '

once is incidental

"twice is a pattern"

"Bleh I haven't met Bruce until after I was at 10 and already an orphan twice over."

"Really ?.So how did you catch Wayne's eye? "

"Wait You mean he hasn't told you? I thought you two were friends.

Nope, all he said that he found you and took sympathy in yout plight. Are you implying there's more to that story?

Definitely"

" So tell it kid”

And tell it Jason did. And it was the funniest shit Harvey ever heard.

‘See, remember how I said I got off the streets thanks to my car jacking skills.

" No way, what did you do?" Dent asked, like a schoolgirl wanting more gossip. Which was as par for the course in police work, they were just as bad when it came to gossip.

‘I jacked the tires of one of his muscle cars when he was visiting Crime Alley.. “

“You jacked his muscle car?” he asked in almost amazement. Bruce love those things it was one of the few things that showed that he was a fucking multi-billionaire with hobbies.

“Yep took the tires and everything, nearly got away with it too."

Harvey burst out laughing, nearly worse than the clown. It was a low baritone laugh but it seemed to echo throughout the room

Harvey didn't care it was fucking hysterical.

SOME PUNK ASS KID STOLE the tires of his best friend's multi-million dollar muscle car and the man decided to adopt the kid

It was funny, objectively funny

It took Harvey a few moments to calm down. Other inmates looked at him with sympathy.thinking he might have got Joker gassed.

“Sorry sorry that's the funniest thing I've heard all week”

“That's what Bruce said too. I think that's kind of why he adopted me.”

“He took you in immediately?”

"He tried the system first the place he sent me was a child to the criminal pipeline system that Batman broke up. Bruce decided if the system ain't going to work for him then he'll do it himself. And that's how I got to stay at Wayne Manor."

“Well aren't you the quintessential orphan Anne, “

“Yep, I even got the Daddy Warbucks too.”

“Haha haha real funny now I only have one thing to ask, why was my boy Wayne in crime Alley in the first place..”

“If I remember correctly it was the 26th of june at 10:27 pm. One the alley right Behind an old theater in crime Alley. I was a petty kid who didn't know any better. Said it was his first time having that happen. “

Harvey sobered up

No wonder why Bruce saw so much in the boy, Wayne found the kid on the anniversary of his parents' death.

It was funny, on one of the most crime ridden parts of this hell hole of a city, the famous multi-millionaire who rarely got into trouble with crime, on on the anniversary of one of his most tragic days .saw some young orphan kid jacking his tires as something deeply sympathetic. And funny

whereas most people his status would have loved to see the kid behind bars for mildly inconveniencing them.

Unlike most, Bruce chose empathy and Mercy instead of petty vengeance.. (he was much better than Harvey ever was.)

Harvey had decided long ago his friend was a saint but this took the cake.

On the anniversary of Wayne's death of all days. It was tragic yet funny.

—----

Jason Todd was lying

Only partially.

Bruce as Batman had found him on a normal day. It was weeks before the anniversary of the elder Wayne's death. But he wasn't lying about anything else. He jacked the tires off the batmobile Batman found funny and took a liking to Jason enough to later try and adopt him. This was a story they told the press.

It can coincided with the anniversary of the Wayne's death, and told the story of a young kid being adopted into gothamite royalty purely out of the sympathy of his big childish heart

As Bruce's media manager had told Jason. It's good to sell a story but it's even better if the populace wants to believe that story. little details being fudged are fine so long as the greater narrative is intact.

Ultimately it was harmless of a lie nobody noticed but still it was a lie nonetheless to be noted

—------

" So both sets of your parents are dead but you said you were looking for your mother? What's wrong with living with bruce.

I think I should clarify .

I meant.. my biological mother. The one who gave birth to me,'. not, the ones who raised me.

As much as I like Bruce, I just can't help but wish to have some closure. I want to know where I came from. it feels wrong without at least knowing a little bit about her.

This is all I ask. It's why I came here.

Do you know anywhere where l can go to get that info." Two-face contemplated the request for a few seconds before relenting

" You know what? sure. I'll help." There was a brigh light in the boys eyes.. there was hope

Harvey had to temper that." keep in mind, kid that these details could be outdated, they are a few years old after all."

" Please. I'll take anything at this point" Jason looked happy. He cherished Catherine,he loved his foster parents/uncle and Aunt Joe and Trina Todd(before they ultimately demise) he genuinely enjoyed Bruce as his father figure and he respected his bio dad Willis Todd. He just wanted closure, that was all.

Harvey would give him the details to one of the more secure bases. Jason would visit once again and with Harvey's help succeeded in narrowing down the three ladies until he came across the final one, Sheila Haywood. currently in Ethiopia.

--------Weeks later-----

Jason Todd would go alone to Ethiopia unknowing the tragedy that would occur

--------in death in the family telethon-----

Call now Gotham will the bird Boy live or will he fry!

HAHA-HAHA-HAHA-HAHA!

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

Harvey watched the television screen in the horror everything clicked into place. Jason Todd was the second Robin. A boy that he accidentally sent to his death. The clown viciously beat Jason Todd on one of his sick deprived telethons.

Where would Joker be hiding he couldn't be in Gotham Sheila wasn't any where near Gotham

."Unless the clown and jay never were in Gotham in the first place." Big bad harv suggested.

Joker's Gambit ultimately implied he was in Gotham but last he heard of Jason he was heading for Ethiopia to find Sheila.

He even saw that bitch Sheila taking a cigarette break! while Jason was being beaten and broken

Harvey try to call and hope that the vote would end up with a boy living. He Tried to call Bruce but the line ended up dead.

Batman was too busy hunting for Jason. He doesn't know the truth Jason isn't even in Gotham he's in Ethiopia

Harvey wanted to shoot the damn TV but he couldn't, his eyes were addicted to the screen hoping that Jason would live.

(Bruce Wayne had just confirmed that the bird that was being a beaten was a runaway Jason Todd, who dressed up in the robin outfit

at that moment it was very easy for Harvey to put together Bruce Wayne was Batman but to the crowd and inmates in Arkham

Bruce was just Batmans sugar daddy. And the punk kid from the streets was a sympathetic story to some in Arkham. Especially to Harvey himself.)

Harvey prays that Bruce would end clown this time.. for if not he would do it himself.

Harvey would watch in horror as the clock struck zero.

The vote said he should have lived. But the vote counter just kept going, even after the clock struck Zero.

----------

Joker had given Batman one final chance to save his bird tying up both Sheila and leaving Jason broken

He set the counter to explode

And yet somehow the boy struggled but escaped. Only for a locked door to keep them in the way.

------live from Ethiopia--------

Harvey watched as the screen faded to Black vowing he would kill that clown once it breaks for free

[purplekoop]

A letter to an old friend:

To Wilderoad,

How's the lonely dirt road been treating you? Up to anything fun? Can't imagine it's anything that'd beat what we've done on jobs together, but knowing you, you've probably made a thriller out of whatever sob story's got you denting heads nowadays.

Well... can't give you too hard a time for leaving now, since I decided to bail too. Yeah, the boss lady and I had a falling out, disagreed on too much. Don't think I'm a total sap like you yet, but some of these things... you gotta put your foot down, y'know? Gotta think about why you're even out there in nowhere-ville if it's not to stand for something people actually believe in that isn't just power. Yeah yeah, sappy, I know, don't laugh. Well. Not like you would even if you could. But I know you'd give me that slightly different stone-faced stare.

But I'm out on the road now too. Got all my gear loaded up in a wagon and I'm working wherever nobody's gonna shoo me out. Trading my craft for whatever supplies and good favors it'll get me. Actually is kinda nice, just helping out without some ulterior motive. Again, I can imagine that look without you being here to give it. I've met some good folks though. Met one rather nice bot who's crazy enough to have decided to join me on the road. She's a metalworker herself, but she's taken to driving the wagon so I can work on the go. Wouldn't mind if we could set up permanent shop together one of these days, but knowing the boss there's a good chance I'm gonna get dragged back if I don't stay on the move.

Speaking of company, I've given Heracles a few revisions since you've last seen him, but he's still the same old lug bug you know. Feel like he'd be happy to see you again. But with him in good shape, I've finally been starting to make good progress on the other models now that I have more time on my hands. Nothing's gonna top my finest work, but it's nice to have options.

How's that six-shooter of mine been treating you by the way? Gotta admit, still proud of that goofy little number. Packs more heat than anything without gunpowder should, but I somehow managed. Of course, wouldn't be good for anything in anybody else's hands. Not quite sure how you do some of that showboating nonsense. Maybe I'd be a decent shot too if somebody welded my big trap shut.

Actually... I've been dancing around the point here. I heard what happened to Haven 2. I know you probably have too, but... it's a lot to think about. Part of me still wants to just gloat over the low-lives I left behind there, but a thousand times as many bots down there didn't deserve it. Not like it makes any sense to feel guilty about it, but... part of me's thinking that way too.

...yeah yeah, get it out of your systems again, "look at her having morals all of a sudden", whatever.

Anyways, all this to say I'm making my way back west where I last heard some whackjob like you was on the frontline of this whole fiasco, of all things. Not to say we will or won't cross paths, but it sounds like a good place for some honest business. Can't say I'm thrilled to be working for those big Haven goons, but I think I can bury my pride for just a moment. Though I gotta admit, I've got a sharp-horned bug and an itchy trigger finger that both could use some action. Knowing my luck, probably gonna end up running into you whether I want to or not. Or whether you want to or not, so there's your warning.

See you on the road

-Your old friend