#bowler chair

[toxicanonymity]

consider this: down on her luck reader who needs cash and tries to sell something at joel’s pawn shop but he lowballs her and she insists she needs more money and he says “there’s something else you could give me” 👀

Pawn Shop

2.3k / sleazy GILF!Joel x fem!reader / masterlist

mood board by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

WARNINGS: I8+ Big girthy age gap (68/20s+) dark / perverted old creep Joel, dubcon nudity. Joel jacks off. Sex dream (oral m & P in V sex) and coming in public. Non-outbreak AU. TW Clowns, Drug/addiction references, transactional. Accidental horror then I kinda rolled with it, possible nightmare fuel?

He sighs, puts down the magnifying glass, and swivels his stool around to face you. "Best I can do is twenty, darlin'." His tired eyes are apologetic, wrinkling under the shade of his brow as he looks up at you.  "And that’s pushin’ it.  Rock's not real, no market for this." 

Your face goes cold. You don't know what else to do. The ring is all you have.  You need $75 for your bus ticket, then you're out of here, going to get a fresh start somewhere new.  You hold your hand out and the chain of the necklace pools into your palm as he lowers it into your hand.  You swallow thickly. It comes out in a broken whisper: "Thanks anyway."  

You walk to the door, dejected, being careful that your backpack doesn't hit any of the junk piled up everywhere on your way out.  You’ve never seen so many ceramic clowns. There’s a market for all those, but not a necklace?  You barely have the energy to push the metal bar of the door.  It’s so bright outside your eyes ache as soon as you touch it.  When the bell on the door jingles, the man says,  "Hold on, sweetheart. C'mere." 

You look back to the register and he's sitting with his arms crossed, thumbing a suspender. You walk halfway back to the counter. "Told ya I don't have anything else," you say, tears welling up in your eyes.  

He squints and looks you up and down, then scratches one side of his silver beard.  "How 'bout that pretty dress?"

You sigh. "I can't, I don't have anything else."  Your eyes fall to his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves.  There’s a faded tattoo you can’t see.  He has the face of a grandfather but the body of a muscular DILF with sun damage.

"Gimme a minute, darlin'."  He puts his hands on his thighs and stands up with a groan.  He quickly adjusts himself then reaches under the cash register, unzips something, and his hand emerges with some bills.  He turns away to thumb through them, pockets them, then hobbles around you to the door, his denim brushing the skirt of your dress.  He turns the sign to "closed" and turns the lock.

"Lunch time," he says with a raise of his eyebrows.  A pit forms in your stomach, but you suppress it. "Come on back, I'll show ya what I got." 

-

You hesitantly follow him to the back of the store. He walks slowly, like he's in pain. His jeans are tight on his ass, and one side of his shirt collar is creased. If you only saw him from the back, you'd peg him for fifty or so, but his face and mannerisms are older.  In the back of the store, there's more junk.  One corner has an old sofa and an armchair.  He sighs and his knees pop as he sits down in the armchair.  He looks at you and nods at the sofa, as if you should know what to do. 

"Fifty for the dress."

Your eyes burn with tears of frustration.  "I don't have anything else to wear." 

"Oh, you'll get it back, darlin'. Don't worry," he says soothingly. 

The blood drains from your face as you realize what this is.  He stands up slowly again with his hands on his thighs and shuffles over to a desk to get a bottle of lotion. A ceramic sad clown in a bowler hat sits atop the desk. On his way back to the chair, he looks you up and down and his voice goes up an octave like he's talking to a pet. "Hey, it's okay, sweetie. I'm not gonna touch ya."  He takes down his suspenders and sits back down with a sigh.  He leans back in the chair with one hand on his beard as he watches you think it over.   He spreads his legs and rests his heels on the ground.  Your eyes follow the grooves in the tan soles of his boots as you think. 

Finally, you ask, “Is there anything you need help with? Any work you could give me?” 

He smiles and chuckles to himself, looking down. His smile fades when he looks up again with a darker tone.  “Fifty for the dress, sweetheart.  And ya get it back.”

You take a deep breath. 

He lifts his hips and shoves a hand into his pocket. He peeks at the cash and takes out a fifty-dollar bill to show you.  "If ya don't want it, I'll let ya go." 

You put down your backpack. "All I have to do is take it off?" 

"And lemme look at ya for a lil bit," he adds.  He folds the bill vertically and holds it between his middle and forefinger on the arm of the chair and palms himself with his other hand. It makes your stomach turn.  But it's fast money, and you're so tired, you just need to get on the bus and sleep.

"Okay," you agree quietly and feel a little piece of yourself float away. 

"Good girl," he says.  

-

You rip the bandaid off, pulling the dress over your head right away. You hold it in front of your body timidly. At least you still have your shoes and underwear on. 

"I'll hold onto that," he says as he lifts his hips to unbutton his tight jeans.  You stand frozen as he unzips then reaches into his pants.  He takes a deep breath as he takes his cock out.  You’ve never seen an old one, and you’re curious, but you don’t look.  He extends his free hand for your dress.

You stand as far away as possible and lean forward, extending your arm and practically tossing the dress to him. You avoid looking, but it’s hard not to see it in the corner of your vision.  You quickly go back to the couch and sit down.  

He drapes the dress over the arm of the chair and pumps some lotion into his hand. Then he wraps his hand around his cock and his fist begins to go up and down, moving a distance that tells you he's well endowed. 

You cover yourself with your arms, cower, and look away. 

"Don't be shy, darlin'. Only make it take longer."  

You put your hands down by your sides.  He strokes himself slowly and watches you. "Sure are pretty," he mutters. "sorry you're down on your luck."   You look away. "Nuh-uh " he says.  "You look right here."  Your eyes begin to water.  You look past him, to the sad clown on the desk. You're never, ever coming back to this town again. 

When he closes his eyes for a moment, you steal a glance and curse the pang between your legs when your eyes fixate on the thick pillar in his weathered, veiny hand.  He sees you see him.  He looks down at his cock then at you and a wicked look spreads across his eyes.  "Yeah, that's right," he murmurs. "Like what you see?"  He nods slowly as he pumps himself.  He adds more lotion. 

The slurping sound makes you sick. Sick enough to snap. You're never coming back, why are you doing this? You feel yourself floating back together.  

You offer a small nod of admission, stare at his cock, and wet your lips.  Because you know that's what he wants.  

“You can have it if ya want,” he says.  You act tempted but shy.  "That’s okay, sweetie.  Just take off the rest and this'll go faster." You don’t take anything else off. “Another fifty for the rest.”  He pauses his hand, holding his hard cock at attention as he gets out another bill from his pocket.  Arousal stirs between your legs, looking at his stiff member jutting into the air, ready to be mounted.  But no, not with this sleaze. 

-

You “pretend” to be turned on.  "How much faster?"  You ask. He accelerates his stroke  considerably to demonstrate, then slows it way down. He wets his lips with the darkest look on his face, and now that you're looking at his cock unabashed, butterflies swarm in your lower belly. 

"Ok," you say, and stand up.   You walk toward him slowly, taking down the straps of your bra, eyeing the bills in his hand.  "How much is in your pocket?" His eyes rove you hungrily. You stand in front of him and ask, “How much if I just do it myself?" You put your hands on his jeans and squat down.  He's pumping himself at a snail's pace now. 

"Hold it for me," he says as he digs in his pocket. “Lemme see.” 

"Not for free," you tell him. 

He chuckles and hands you the two fifties. You yank your dress out from under his elbow and make a break for the front of the store.

"Hold on now, darlin'," he protests over his shoulder.  You're putting your dress on as you scurry away, leaving your bag. The chair groans as he slowly stands up.  You bump into a clown and it crashes off its table to the ground, shattering. You reach over the counter and under the cash register.  His silhouette hobbles down the hall, suspenders swinging at his hips, as you grab the pouch of cash. 

"You don't wanna do that," he says flatly, footsteps getting closer.  You glance back and he's got his pants still undone, grabbing a shotgun off the wall. You tip over a display shelf behind you on your way to the door.  You fumble at the lock, then push it open and it jingles as you spill onto the sidewalk, blinded by the sun and  stumbling with nerves, part of your dress hung up on your panties. 

You fall on your knees and as you're getting up, he emerges from the store with his gun raised.  Thankfully, there are other people on the sidewalk who stop and stare at him with his pants and suspenders hanging down exposing his silver pubic hair, biceps bulging as he points a shotgun at you. He notices the stares and lowers the gun as you run away crying, pulling down your dress.  

The worst part is your primal brain finds this image of him to be one of the hottest things you've ever seen.  You stuff the pouch in the band of your bra under your arm and it gathers your sweat as you walk to the bus station. 

-

At the station, you open the pouch. It's quite a stack of bills and also a few loose pills. Oxy which is the last thing you need, but god, after that experience.  You count the money, close to $1,600, and you feel a rush.  It’s more than enough to replace everything you lost. You walk to the pharmacy across the street to buy some water, a snack, and some wet wipes to wipe down with because you feel filthy. 

Once you're on the Greyhound bus, you settle into the big, gray velvety seat with an eighties-looking rainbow design on it.  You still feel disgusting, especially because you can't shake the image of him in your head or the feeling between your legs.   A DILF sits next to you but you're too ashamed to let yourself look at him.  You discreetly take one of the pills from the pouch and doze off.

-

You're back in the pawn store, sitting on the sofa completely nude. He's shirtless with gray and white chest hair and a little tummy, but he's not too wrinkled. He’s wearing red suspenders. There’s a faint trace of faded makeup or tattoos stemming down from his eyes - narrow triangles, pointed downward. Somehow he makes it look sexy. 

"Spread your legs for me, baby," he says gruffly as he moves his hand up and down his cock. You spread your legs wide and touch yourself. 

"Fuck me," he exhales. "Gotta have ya, darlin'," he sighs in resignation.  He stands up with no difficulty, crosses the room cockily with his big dick in in his hand, and puts his hand on the wall behind the sofa. He looks down at you darkly, looming over you, stiff cock less than two feet from your face as he strokes it.  You scoot forward and suck his tip between your lips. He puts his other hand on the wall and thrusts his huge cock slowly into your mouth, bracing himself with both hands.  

You suck him hard, salivating around his delicious cock as his hips push him into your mouth. He grunts and moans and says "yeah, just like that," fucking himself with your mouth.  His soft, deep voice stirs a feral desire within you.  "Just like that, baby.”  You take him out of your mouth and he watches from above, stroking himself as you stretch out on the sofa. "You want this cock, sweetie?" You nod. He brings a hand down to the back of the sofa then cages you to the cushions with his body. "You want it in your pussy?" 

He reaches between your legs and lightly taps your cunt a few times, wetting his lips, then rubs your slick around it. You grab his dick and gently tug him closer. You wrap your legs around him and he slams his big cock into you, stuffing you completely full of him. "Yeah," he sighs. He retreats slowly then slams into you hard.  "Take it, sweetie."  You moan and he grunts. 

He repeats the action again and again, and it feels better and better.  His belly grinds into your clit and you watch his biceps flex. He pounds you and grinds into you and finally you burst.   

You wake up moaning on the Greyhound bus and the DILF next to you looks away, blushing. 

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl

[acapelladitty]

When The Lights Go Out: Riddler

Summary: Richard Madison is a crook but a strange encounter with a man calling himself Edward Nygma may prove to be his undoing.

Part 1: When The Lights Go Out: Scarecrow

AO3 Link ☆ Fic Masterlist

The miraculous release of Walter Johnstone from his asylum incarceration was not the only odd thing to have occurred in Gotham that day. Nor would it be the last.

It was certainly a day that Richard Madison was never likely to forget.

If you asked the average person to describe Richard Madison they would have a host of phrases ready to spring forth in his praise. As sweet as sugar, one might claim. Honest as they come, another would cry. A good man with a good heart. However, there were those who saw another side to the man and those individuals would quietly lament his misdeeds and misgivings.

Both opinions are entirely valid to their holders, as all opinions are, however those who believed in him were only witness to the facade which he presented to the world.

To put it simply, Richard Madison was a crook.

Oh, how people loved being around Richard. They whispered promises in his ears, slipped offerings into his pockets, and overall doted on him in exchange for the opportunity to engage. To have their needs met.

And he was never a man to deny the people their needs.

When it suited him.

Emerging from the elevator to his private office, his shoulder clicked as he stretched his arms before him to prepare for the next few hours of sitting at his computer and running his small empire from the comfort of his favourite chair.

However, an unexpected sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

Standing in his office as though he belonged there, lounged a suited man. His body was on the thinner side and even from this distance Richard could tell that the bottle green suit, expertly styled as it cinched his frame, was cut from expensive cloth. Boyish features shone from a face which could not have been a day over forty and his appearance was made all the more striking by the shock of flame red hair which sat atop his head, mostly covered by a lurid green bowler hat which perfectly matched the shade of his suit.

“Richard Madison!” The man exclaimed in a showman voice, his excitement radiating from him in waves. “In the flesh! The man of the hour!”

Reaching out as he approached Richard’s stunned position, he gripped his hand in a firm grasp before shaking with an almost comedic level of effort. His arm swinging up and down in the grasp of the madman, Richard politely let go before hiding his hand within his pocket to prevent any further touching.

“Who are you?” Richard asked. This was his private office and absolutely no one got in here without first jumping through a series of hoops designed to keep out any 'undesirables'. “And what the hell are you doing here?” He allowed his shock to manifest as anger as he roared at the red-haired man.

“Lovely office,” throwing an arm out with great flourish, the man ignored the open aggression to gesture wildly around the room, “you must tell me who your decorator is.”

The stark minimalism of his office stared back at him as Richard's eyes swept the room. His room was boring, intentionally designed as such, so was he joking?

“Look, buddy, I don't thin-” cutting himself off, Richard clenched and unclenched his fist as he repeated his earlier question. “Who are hell are you?!”

“My name is Edward Nygma.” Flashing a smile, Edward dropped his head in a dramatic nod and allowed the green bowler hat to topple from his scalp and into his waiting hands before tucking it below his arm. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Madison. May I call you Richard?”

Now exposed, his red hair was perfectly coiffed into an old-fashioned style which felt very out of place in the modern office.

“I suppose.”

“What about Dick?”

Pursing his lips as his eyes narrowed, Richard was unable to tell if this man was mocking him or his earnest manner was genuine.

“I usually insist on Richard.”

“Then feel free to call me Edward.” Edward answered. “And to answer your earlier question, I am here to make you an offer which I know you will be unable to resist. We are both men of knowledge and money, so I know that you will want to hear what I have to say.”

“I’m not a trader.” Richard spat back, the surreal nature of this meeting making his aggression feel more performative that anything. “If you want me to invest in some shit you’re cooking up then go to Wall Street and pitch to the sons of bitches there.”

“Oh, I met the fools at Wall Street. Quite a long time ago.” Smirking as lips curled into a smile, Edward flashed his white teeth. “I gave them all the clues and all the opportunities to be honest men and they chose to ignore me. And then? Can you believe it? BANG!”

At this, Richard jumped in place as Edward smacked his hand against his thigh with some force.

“It all came crashing down. The Wall Street Crash, they called it. More than a few brains came to decorate the nearby paving after that, but they can't say they hadn't been warned. I gave them every chance.”

He's definitely mad, Richard thought. Edward did not look a day over forty and yet he had the gall to claim that he was present for the Wall Street collapse in the 30's?

“Talking like that will get you locked up in Arkham.” Richard warned.

“Oh no,” Edward exclaimed, “oh no, no, no! That would never do! I am far too intelligent for that and besides,” leaning in close as though divulging some information that only he was privy to, the green of Edward’s eyes twinkled madly for a moment, “an old friend has already made himself comfortable in those harrowed halls. It would be rude for me intrude on his delicate work.”

“You have connections in Arkham?” Such things were not unheard of and Richard himself had at least one guard on his payroll to ensure that the odd piece of information here and there fell into his hands. “Staff or guests?” He added.

“Staff today could be guests tomorrow and vice-versa. Let's not judge people based on their current position, particularly when that position is fragile at best. Fantastic things are afoot in Gotham right beneath your nose,” Edward insisted, “and my associates and I are here to see what she has to offer. So much filth and rot and chaos all wrapped in a pretty package of gothic architecture and urban landscaping.”

“Associates?”

“Oh, don't you worry, Richard. You are very unlikely to ever meet them as we tend to stick to our roles somewhat rigidly.”

“I need to make a phone call.” Richard interjected quickly. “Excuse me.”

Quickly retreating back to the doors of the elevator, Richard snatched his mobile from his suit pocket and quickly hit one of the numbers on his speed dial. This man, Edward, seemed to have decent connections and money to his name but he wanted to be sure before moving any further.

To his luck, his secretary picked up after only two rings.

“Hello, Richard Madison’s office. How may I direct your call?” Came a feminine droll from the other end of the line.

“Hey, Sam.” Relieved to hear a familiar voice, Richard continued. “Need you to run a quick background check for me.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Claims his name is 'Edward Nygma'. Never heard of him before but he looks like he has some decent coin behind him.”

“Okay. And where is he currently?”

“Standing inside my office.”

An audible hitch of breath.

“Okay, boss.”

Immediately on to business, Richard could hear the frantic tapping of her keyboard as she sought out the information he needed.

“The name is coming up here, boss.” As though reading from a script, Sam listed off her findings. “Edward Nygma. Business owner and entrepreneur. Apparently considered rather handsome. Worth…”

A pause.

“What?” Richard asked.

“Billions. Christ, he could put Wayne outta business. He’s absolutely loaded.”

“Billions! How have we not heard his name before?”

“He's a noted recluse. Very little personal details available here. All I can see is that his net worth is mind-blowing but the only thing he has name officially to is a production line of different types of toys.”

“Child toys?”

“Puzzle toys. For all ages and ranges.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not a lot to go on but it’s definitely there. Good source too. He's legit.”

Hanging up with a shaking finger, Richard could smell opportunity like a shark could blood. A noted recluse worth billions, right here in his office. He could take advantage of this in a way which he and all others had been unable to do so with Bruce Wayne; a man so wrapped up in his holier-than-thou attitude that he refused to engage in any business which would dirty his hands.

Richard hated him.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped his phone back into his pocket and started to move back towards Edward. He had not moved an inch since Richard had disappeared, but his attention was wholly focused on something which was clutched between his hands. As he approached, the flash of the brightly-coloured item in Edward's palm also drew Richard's attention and he squinted as though a sharp light had accosted him.

“What's in your hands?”

Rolling the offending object between his fingers with a practised ease, Edward brought it into the space between them.

“This?” He asked. “A curious little thing. I am very fond of puzzles and I haven't seen anything quite like this before.”

Recognising the piece, Richard squinted once again.

“A rubix's cube?” He asked, incredulous.

Who is their right mind had never seen a Rubix cube before?

“Rubix cube.” Edward repeated with a look of contemplation. “After the man who created it?”

“I guess.” Confused as to what exact relevance the puzzle held to the current discussion, Richard gestured vaguely with his hands. “I don't know what this has to do with-”

“Oh, of course! Of course!” Exclaiming loudly, Edward slapped a hand good-naturedly on his knee as he smiled. “Excuse my ramblings but you must forgive an old man his pleasures.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Watered down whisky doesn’t agree with me, Dick,” Edward declined. “And I would think a man like yourself would want to watch his health. The liver can be a tricky old thing, especially six years down the line.”

“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Nygma? I doubt this is a social call since we don’t, uh, know each other.”

“I have an opportunity which you would be a damned fool to pass up on. A new line of puzzle and magic toys, fabricated and distributed across Gotham and her sister cities.”

With Edward waving his hand around, Richard was able to catch a glimpse of his watch and found himself momentarily stunned by the beautiful timepiece and the various gemstones which were embedded within.

“Toys? Just toys? Surely we cou-”

“I have meetings today with others, including a meeting with a very interesting man named Wayne who seems to have taken a liking to my products,” Edward grinned.

Richard’s chest clenched with anger at the familiar name and he immediately backpeddled on his scepticism, “That won’t be necessary. I would love to enter into a business deal with you, Mr. Nygma. I hear you have quite the reputation.”

“I’m certain I do,” Edward replied, “and I would like to bring you onboard before I return to my other duties. $10 million would suffice as a minor investment, one which would see major returns.”

Wincing at the amount but desperate to keep the vaguely gullible and eccentric billionaire within his grasp, greed already blinding his thoughts as he imagines various ways of involving the fool with his less pleasant ventures, Richard nodded at the proposed amount.

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, discussions of timescales and proposed returns forcing Richard into the belief that he was making a smart choice. His mind focused despite the whirling nature of Edward’s demeanour; Richard felt the thrill of his greed thrumming in his veins as he catered to his latest potential cash cow.

“So, do we have a deal, Dick?”

Extending his hand with a showman smile, Edward allowed it to hang in the air between them with a sense of finality.

Willing to ignore the nickname this one time, Richard nodded once more and accepted the handshake before dropping his hand to his inner pocket. Mobile phone in hand, it took Richard less than five minutes to have the investment money wired over to Edward’s accounts – ensuring that he retained a firm copy of all Edward’s account details should anything go awry with their deal.

“This account is one of my more selective accounts and I would appreciate its use being kept on the quieter side of things. I am sure you understand,” Richard muttered with a put-on smile.

“Of course, of course! My lips are sealed.” Edward winked, placing his bowler hat atop his head with a dramatic flourish. “A silent account for a silent partner.”

His smirk actually blossoming into a genuine smile, Richard took the initiative to end their meeting.

“A pleasure, Mr Nygma. I hope to work with you again.”

Tilting his head with a wicked smirk of his own, Edward answered in kind.

“I’m sure you’ll think of our partnership often.”

x-x-x-x-x

Stepping into the familiar office of Salvatore Maroni, Richard inclined his head to the goons who remained on guard as he joined both the owner of the office and their mutual friend, Daniel Mockingbird, by taking a seat on the only available chair.

“Evening, boys. Pour me a decent one, eh, Sal?” Richard asked, inclining his empty whisky glass to Maroni. A glass which was quickly filled with amber liquid as the man in question poured him a healthy slosh of scotch.

“You’re chipy as fuck today, Richard. Balls finally drop?” Mockingbird cut in, his thick Italian accent glossing over the words with ease.

“Funny,” Richard deadpanned as he sank a gulp of the scotch, “but anyway, how has your week been gentlemen?”

“Great, I got me a new business partner and I think he’s going to be one for the books, boys,” sipping from his own glass, Maroni appeared pleased with himself as he divulged his luck to the other two.

Surprised, given his own unmade announcement, Richard inclined his hand to Maroni as he indicated for him to continue.

“Yeah, some fucking freak. Came here to ask me to partner on an investment deal for some shitty kids toys and-”

“Bullshit!” Mockingbird called out, surprising both men at the outburst. “You met with Nygma too?”

Open shock playing on his face as he watched the two speak, Richard dropped his hands to his lap as his head darted between the two like a tennis match.

“Yeah. Showed up here asking for $10 million.” Maroni confirmed.

“Fuck! Same from me.”

“Same, huh? For the toy business?”

“Yeah, for the fucking toy business. He didn’t say nothing about having other partners.” Running a hand through his slickened hair, Mockingbird was clearly unimpressed with the fact that his great deal had not been as exclusive as he thought. “Jesus Christ man, $20 million from us both. Sneaky fuc-”

“$30 million,” Richard intercut with a frown. “I also received a visitor yesterday.”

Genuinely speechless, all three men grumbled their discontent into their glasses as they observed the others with open suspicion. Their friendship was tenuous, agreements always being settled under the table to ensure that the dirt they could hold over each other was limited, and an event like this would only breed discontent.

Unable to muse for too long as his phone started vibrating madly in his pocket, Richard pulled it free with a gruff greeting as he pressed it against his ear.

“Mr. Madison, we have a problem.”

Sam. Sounding thoroughly distraught as her voice stuttered across the words.

“What is it?” Richard asked, a sinking feeling dropping his chest into his stomach.

“It’s gone, Sir. Everything. All the money from the secret account.”

His heart stuttering at the information, Richard barely noticed when both Maroni and Mockingbird picked up their own ringing mobiles.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s gone?”

“The account is empty, Sir. The $10 million transferred through to the Nygma account but the rest has disappeared. It’s gone, Sir.”

“No, no-NO!” Richard snapped, snarling his words down the phone. “You find me that money, Sam. Find it and get it back. Hunt down that fuck Nygma if you need to because I think he has something to do with it.”

Slamming his phone shut, his heart pounding in his ears as his blood pressure reached new levels, Richard zoned back into his companions to find that all hell had broken loose across both men. Maroni’s face was a stunning shade of puce as he screamed insults into his mobile while Mockingbird was speaking in Italian at record speed, his expression equally as angry.

Allowing both men the time to finish their phone calls as they went through a similar disbelieving anger to himself, Richard understood without a doubt that they had all been swindled in a similar fashion.

“What the fuck is happening?” Mockingbird hissed, throwing his glass to the floor as the scotch splashed across the carpet. “One of my private accounts has been tanked! Gutted! Fucking robbed!”

Maroni pulled his lips back into a snarl, “Same here! Fuck! The account I used yesterday. That sneaky fuck Nygma is behind this and I’m going to find him, boys.”

“Pull our resources! I’m going to kill that red-haired fuck.” Richard added with a roar.

“Red hair?” Mockingbird face was confused despite the rage, “You mean black hair? Short little fucker too, only about 5ft? Weasley as fuck.”

“What?” Squinting, Richard shook his head. “No. He was wiry with red hair, probably about my height and thin as an addicts piss. Sal?”

His voice so low that both men struggled to pick up on his exact words, Maroni growled his own description.

“Brown hair. Slicked back. Slight build on him. Had a stupid cane with him. I even got the bastard on record.”

Snatching out a voice recorder from a nearby desk drawer, Maroni fiddled with it before clicking play on the recorder as all three men stared at it with narrowed eyes.

“-an excellent choice, Mr Maroni! I admire your taste in being able to pick up on a good deal when it comes your way. So, let’s get down to business and I can be on my way. Shall we say around $10 million as an investment? With that I cou-”

His heart racing at the familiar voice, Richard saw a similar look of rage on Mockingbirds’ face as he listened to the recording.

“That’s him!” Mockingbird grunted, his fists clenched against his lap. “That’s the smart-mouthed cunt.”

“How the fuck can that be the same man we all met?” Richard asked reasonably, rage giving way to confusion. “Sure, he could wear a wig or change his clothes, but his height? He wasn’t a fucking magician. This shouldn’t be a fucking riddle. How much did he take from you?”

Directing the question to both men, the grave looks he received in response no doubt mirrored his own. If their loss was as great as his own then they were looking at an easy collective loss of over a hundred million. A hundred million dollars, gone in a puff of smoke.

All dirty.

All untraceable.

As it was designed to be.

It was a perfect theft.

“Play the bastards voice again, Sal.” Mockingbird hissed. “I want it committed to memory so I can remember to have his tongue ripped out when we catch the prick.”

Thick fingers pressing the play button of the audio recorder, Maroni startled in place as the casual conversation which had previously been loaded on the device was replaced by a loud, cackling laughter – the rising cacophony of Edward’s mirth making all three men shiver in place as something dark curled around the joyful sound and rattled them to their cores.

Richard Madison was a crook, but he was no fool, and, as Mockingbird fixed himself with the sign of the cross, Richard could not shake the furious anxiety which seared in his chest as he realised that something evil had held counsel with him in his office yesterday and that his money was gone somewhere he did not dare to follow.

[makriiii]

Caught XVII (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

Word count: 4k

Authors note: My powers been out so I finally had an excuse to ponder my next move in the series (spoiler!? you guys are IN for it this chapter 😈) I'm also of course, sorry as always for disappearing for months again!

Warnings: 18+, guns, cussing, alcohol, SA.

♡

Caught XVII

"You're too good to me!" You chirp, more than elated with the man you found in front of you. "Let me pay for our drinks this time."

"Oh, bosh." He reached up to adjust the bowler hat you remembered so fondly atop his head. "I got nothin' else to spend it on!"

"Well, I owe ya one anyway." You remark reluctantly, undelighted with his stubbornness.

"That blouse suits ya' well y/n." He spins a finger around, pointing at his wife's shirt that you had on. "I'm glad you're gettin' good use of 'em."

"I still owe you for that too, I reckon." You chuckle, all his favors for you made you feel bad without reciprocating.

"You're puttin' them to use. That's all you gotta do for me."

The generosity of this man baffled you. It weighed on your conscience, your life's path was not one deserving of the kindness he bestowed.

You patted his hand as a thanks. "Nevertheless. If there's anything you ever need, David."

He gave you a grin, shaking his head. "Just accept my drinks and we're square."

"I'dve never expected to have found you in Rhodes, David." You continue, watching Arthur who had positioned himself a few seats away from you and David. "What brings you to this dusty little town anyway?"

"Well, I'll tell ya what-" Slapping one hand on the bar and a head cocked back, the liquid in the glass vanished. "I'm gon' see how Saint Denis treats me. Just a pit stop for now."

David had clearly been here for a while already, his pockets loose and not a worry too light. His warm, bubbly attitude felt comforting. A man who didn't care about your past.

Arthur sat a few seats down, seemingly fine on his own, but his glares every so often made it obvious he believed you were unworthy of a gifted meal.

"Yeah?" You chuckle, "From my own experience, its high fliers too big for their britches and the ones that knock you upside the head for the few rocks you got in your pocket."

"Psh.. they wouldn't mess with me, ya know." He jests before grabbing another glass, though he seemed to have noticed Arthurs occasional glare which he promptly searched you for any explanation. "You know that man?"

"Don't mind him, he's had a long day." You stared back at Arthur while you spoke, eating his food so uptight.

As unexpected as it was, David started laughing. A small chuckle that grew.

You cocked a brow, unsure if it was the alcohol or just something you had said.

"He somethin to ya?" He asked with a grin, motioning for another drink.

His question felt like it squeezed the air out of you.

You felt stuck. Even with every feeling you felt for that man, they amalgamated into something you couldn't articulate.

David sat calmly, your aversion to your own feelings he seemed to sympathize with.

"I don't know."

David's eyes fixed on yours and with just a soft nod, you felt at ease. That alone was enough for him to understand.

He offered you the next drink and you didn't need any extra encouragement.

"I feel a lot of different ways about that man right now." You stared at the empty shot in front of you, disregarding the fresh dinner on your plate. "And I'm not so sure what of its right and wrong anymore."

David swirled his drink, his usual demeanor hazed with a soft and contemplative veneer.

"He's wronged me more times than I can count and yet I still find his presence appealing."

"Another ladies offering him a night." He blurted suddenly.

Your eyes shot over to Arthur, though one still alone upon a quick inventory.

David shook his head and started up with that chuckle again.

"You'll be the end of me, David, right in this chair here." You heaved a sigh, covering your face with your hand.

"I reckon you could deny it for the rest of your days, you'd also come to regret it as long too."

His words steamed over you once more, lingering and burning a hole inside you.

Oh, how obvious it was now.

You shoveled a few bites into your mouth, his reasoning sorting out the mess of your feelings.

"It's not often ya find one like that, y/n." David laments, "you feel right 'round him, don't ya?"

"More than I should, I suppose."

Despite your sentences growing short, you only filled with a sense of longing. Your glances over to Arthur becoming brief and timid.

"I have a firm reason to believe it's not reciprocal." You murmured. Talking about this aloud and with Arthur so close? Perhaps you were about to find out from his own appearance.

He hummed a familiar tune before taking one last swig of his drink. "He's waiting for you." He pats your shoulder before popping himself out of his chair, stretching on his way out.

You hesitated before standing up to send David on his way, surprised he was leaving so soon.

"I'd do anythin' to tell my wife what I feel for her once more." He whispers as he embraces you. "You owe me after all. Don't lose yourself on silly worries and wind up like me."

He was right, whether fortunately or not. That you couldn't deny.

"Thank you, David." The unfamiliar feel of your lip quivering frightened you, tears welling up threatened further punishment. "I'll do my best for you.

"I know you will, y/n." He smiled, on his way for what he desired in Saint Denis.

You watched as he walked out of the saloon, still contemplating the conversation that had just transpired. The one man not predestined to despise you for being an O'Driscoll- or a traitorous Van Der Linde member leaving you to yourself once more.

A large hand on your shoulder startled you out of somber thought, bringing you back to the present predicament.

"You gon' finish that food?" Arthur questions behind you, finally deciding to waltz up to you.

"You can have it." You offer, turning back to sit with him. You didn't feel like eating anymore.

He stood over you, deciding on your words before walking to sit down with you. "Ya sure?"

You simply nodded. Staring down at the dirty floor boards as you collected yourself. No way were you gonna let him see you shed a tear.

"Who was that man, anyway?"

Clearing your throat, you swallowed the lump in your throat, assuring that today was not the day to let loose. "Good buddy of mine."

Arthur seemed to pick up on whatever it was you were feeling. If not due to your unusually quiet demeanor then perhaps he'd noticed the shake in your voice.

"Not your fabled husband then?" He inquired, his typical smirk adorning his lips.

The age old fib you had tried to sell him he still brought up every so often, ruling out the ability to be in the doldrums.

You scoff with a growing smile, "I'm afraid he's not annoying enough, Mister Callahan."

That, he had not expected. A soft chuckle erupted from him as he looked you over. "We happen to marry drunk? I cannot recall."

"Me neither. Suppose we'll have to make up a date."

As Arthur finished the rest of the food, you both spoke back and forth about various aspects of the town of roads and the contents of its residents, particularly the grays. A light hearted conversation free of the angst and trouble often given by the one or both of you that was often the set tone.

The saloon soon grew in capacity, prompting you and Arthur to pack up. Neither of you wanted the attention you felt you were getting now.

Eyes of many ogled and monitored you both when a pack of men most recognizable by their yellow scarves pushed through the doors.

Their cheering and hollering lessened as they paused on you and Arthur, of whom kept close to you.

One of the men mumbled something you could only catch bits of, which filled you with dread as you pieced it together. "I know that face from somewhere."

Arthur glanced at you with caution, avoiding the men.

"Hey." A gruff, messy and an overall unfortunate sight stopped you two, his eyes trying to gather just where he might've seen you. "Y'all aint gon' be trouble are ya?"

His comrades surrounded your sides, everyone else had quieted down, not sure what they were to anticipate. Like a hungry hoard of coyotes.

"Just passin' through." You oblige, stepping for the exit with Arthurs in tow.

"You do look awful familiar." He interrupts so callously. The man held out his hand as to halt both of you, taking the chance for further inspection. "Say... what's that gang, boy?"

He reaches out with a harsh slap on his pal's shoulder. A younger but just as rough member of his gang. "Van Der Linde." He musters with a hiss, comforting his shoulder.

"Ya aint one of em, are ya?" He interrogates, his eyes beating through you. "What's your names?"

"Arthur and y/n Callahan. Just through this way to marry, that's all." Arthur admonishes, grabbing your hand as a demonstration. "We're only leaving."

"Married?" He was taken aback, as if it was unheard of. Light chuckles erupt from the encasing of men, some hollers and whoops once more. "Why, congratulations!" The taunting irked you and Arthur, squeezing his hand to encourage him out with you.

The man seemed to accept that as you pushed past him, but that sentiment was cut short. It was like they saw through it.

"Give us a little show, ey?" He remarks, everyone moving out onto the veranda as you and Arthur made for the horses. "Y'all ain't leavin' otherwise."

"Newly weds oughta." Another harps, egging the rest on.

"Christ." You drawl, still with Arthur in hand as you both stopped. "What's it take for a break?"

"Go bout your own business." Arthur grumbles, waving him off. He was about to continue on when the all too familiar sound of a cocking gun sounded from the group.

"That or ya sit here and wait till we figure out where we remember y'all from." His voice deepened, breathy and threatening.

Your heart. Your stomach. Everything retangled, worse than before. Arthur glared at the men, hand still held firmly in his grasp.

"It ain't hard to kiss your new wife!" Came from the left and an agreement shouted from the right.

Arthur hesitated, his eyes darting to you and back several times. Your hands grew so hot, sweating was unavoidable at that point.

You couldn't, could you? Could he? Would he?

"They fibbin', ain't they, boss?"

The man hummed, your chance was about to vanish and trouble worse than a kiss would follow.

With a heart beating like mad and an arm around Arthur, your lips met his with nerve.

A tense and swiftly executed action.

The whooping, hollering and laughing arose once more as the men got what they wanted.

As you pulled away ever so slightly, his eyes met yours, searching each other for any semblance that this was unwanted - undesirable and forced. It was an impossible find.

Arthurs arms pulled you in firmer, his eyes lit with that hunger you'd only seen sparsely.

Intense yearning drove your every instinct as your lips met again, the all familiar taste of whiskey and cigarette meeting your tongue.

Every fiber of your being wanted this moment to last forever. Not even the bother of the infuriating crowd discouraged you, that was hardly a worry.

Your stress, your worries, your overthinking- a remedy above any and all amounts of alcohol, disappeared like it'd never been.

Pulling away with a heavy breath, Arthur reluctantly let you go, gesturing to leave with his hand on the small of your back.

The men let you be as they all continued with their previous intentions, leaving you and Arthur to sit with what you had just done.

He still tensed as he walked with his shoulder scraping yours lightly, brushing his fingers across his lower lip.

“Are you okay?” He peeps, his eyes searching for assurance.

“Dandy.” You muster, continuing with the plan to hide your burning face with a hand over your mouth.

You felt about ready to blow. If that was any descriptor.

---

Javier strummed his guitar lightly, tuning it as he ran his finger across each string to adjust it better.

The occasional pops and crackles from the fire added to the song Javier was warming up for. Lighting the faces around the fire.

Sean and Bill's voices heightened every so often as their conversation slighted to bickering and back again. Something about the military and another about Ireland, you couldn't quite catch what they were on about.

Kieran had just gotten done reporting to you his catches from the nearby fishing spot he'd found. Some talk of a massive, mythical sounding bluegill. He was particularly excited about it and you were glad he was getting his mind off of the people in camp.

But you could not get one particular man in camp off your mind.

He was sat on his bed across from camp, nose in his diary. The dark made it hard to see exactly whether he was drawing or writing, either way you were curious to see.

The bustle of the camp started to die down as night befell the land, a calm you always looked forward to.

Fiddling with your pistol in hand, you decided to give it a quick clean. Running your fingertips over the engravings, the accidental scratches and dents that signified all it had been through with you.

The rag you used was due in for a cleaning of its own, the gun oil and dirt splotched the once red color of the fabric. The flame of the fire danced in reflections along the barrel of your gun, a mesmerizing sight.

From the first sin you committed, to the many that followed suit after, the feeling inside you was not one you felt you would ever succumb to.

That kiss lingered in your mind, unrelenting in its replays. The taste of him still on your tongue, the look in his eye before he kissed you.

Men are not typically a subject of desire, particularly in your field of work. They were rotten, vulgar, dangerous.

Not to say you nor Arthur were above that, but rather, it simply just didn't seem so bad with him.

It felt silly. A crush? Arthur seemed not the type for shenanigans like that either. Love. That's the worse one.

You tapped your finger against the gun in your palm, checking your bullets.

Confessing? You cringed back at the thought. Was it obvious with that kiss? Or did he feel it just a ruse as it was meant to be?

Standing before him and muttering a phrase that barely made your feelings understandable to him was particularly deplorable. What would he say to that anyway, how would he react? Maybe he'd finally tell you to get lost for good.

Uncle came lumbering out of the woodwork to join you by the fire, though not giving you much space. "Just 'bout nearly pissed myself." He groaned with a stretch of his back, having exerted himself to such exhaustion.

Javier glanced up with a furrowed brow, shaking his head, his light strums on the guitar interrupted. "We always enjoy knowing that, Uncle."

Sean had himself a giggle at Bill's glare, dismissing Uncle's antics to return to his previous rant.

"You can't thank me enough, huh, O'Driscoll?" Uncle elbows you lightly, bringing your attention to him. He noticed something amiss.

"I don't reckon I'll ever be able to show my gratitude." You smiled as you reholstered your revolver, Uncle's breath nearing a biohazard.

He chuckled his usual loud chuckle, a bottle in hand and his red pajamas soaking up the droplets he spilt as he took haphazard drinks from the bottle.

He smelt of a lot of unpleasant things, mainly alcohol and musk but the man was as aloof and happy as can be.

It wasn't long that he had another story to tell everyone who'd listen. You weren't one for it tonight, longing for the quiet some space would give you.

Excusing yourself from the fire, you decided to take the guard position. It'd give you some time to think - away from everyone else.

As your eyes adjusted to the dark, you saw Lenny come out from some brush, shotgun in hand. He walked with a drag in his step and slump in his back but a glint of hope sparkled in his eye when he noticed you.

"I'll take over for you, Lenny." You extend your arm to relieve him of his duties, though he hesitated for a moment, eyeing you.

"I ain't been out here for long," he states, "you sure?"

"It ain't no trouble."

He nods, setting the shotgun in your hands, leaving you to the dark of the surroundings.

He certainly wasn't sure of you still either, as was the running theme with the members in camp. You knew and sympathized with the reason, but you were beginning to feel the desire to be a valued part of the gang. To just be.

Reminiscing on the nights that you'd find yourself around a campfire with the O’Driscoll boys, some of your best comrades, singing, drinking, eating by the fire. A true feeling of belonging. They had trusted you.

Perhaps it was retribution. Never feeling proper after what you'd done to them.

You felt overwhelmed as you sondered into the dark, shrubby forest, walking the border quietly. Gazing up every so often as you breathed in the stuffy air, the stars sporadic in their blinking. As if in a way to remind you of that night, your near fatal mistake that landed you here.

Barely were you paying attention, lost in your thoughts, though still sure to keep your distance from whoever else was on guard, when two hands pinched your shoulders tightly.

Letting out a gasp as you tensed, a voice hissed out, "O'Driscoll."

Whipping around to free yourself, the voice matched who you suspected.

"Micah." You return, clutching the shotgun in your grasp. "You ain't gotta take over yet."

He scoffs harshly, "I wasn't bouta take your duty off your hands." The sneer on his face barely visible through the shadow, though his wiry blonde hair was clear to see.

"Then we got no business," cynicism and doubt lined every word of yours. "Do we?"

"Oh, we do, O'Driscoll." His voice always did bother you. There was something about the man you couldn't stand. "I've been catchin' you and that other rat 'round camp- doing what I can only imagine to be conspiring."

He paced a small stretch in front of you before looming over you in a fashion that seemed to be signature to him. "We just wanna be knowing what's being said."

Conspiring about a fish out of a fairy tail, perhaps. You shrugged him off and stepped away. "Kieran and I are on our best behavior. We dropped the O’Driscoll kinship long ago."

"Say what ya want, little lady." Micah followed, his voice sharp and menacing. "Dutch... Arthur- Arthur. " He repeats out his name with pure malice, "They might be lettin' you off easy? I'm not."

Micah's hand grabbed your healing shoulder with every intention to make it sting, his other targeting your neck.

"What the hell?" You choke out, shocked he felt he had much of any right to be doing what he was doing.

Shooting the man off you was desirable. But as you tussled underneath him, grunting as you fought off his hand, you knew it wasn't an option.

"I want to know," he grips onto your wrist to drive back your arm, "exactly what you're tellin' each other, especially Arthur."

He wasn't a feeble man by no means, which alarmed you as you swung wrestled with him, the leaves and brush making it hard to get good footing. "You're poisoning him, aren't you?"

"He tells me bout his fish, I tell him bout my fish." You remark angrily amongst the struggle before dealing out the classic. The side of his thigh met your knee as if he knew exactly when you'd utilize it. "Goddamn you big bastard! Arthur and I hardly stand each other."

"God may damn me all he wants." His hand on your wrist and another on the shotgun, he tried yanking from you, which you had no intention on letting happen. "But that ain't it. There's things happenin' that shouldn't. "

"Get off me, 'fore I do something we both'll regret." You hiss out before your back hits a tree. The situation ever more dire.

A shit eating grin split his face as he knocks the breath out of you, your lungs both struggling in the heavy humid air. "I want answers, O'Driscoll."

His eyes a blue that pierced through the darkness, and they sent a message, clearly, nothing short of frighteningly.

"I have nothin' to say to you, Micah." You state firmly between breaths, anger boiling your skin. "Get off me."

He hums a consideration not dually considered, his face horribly close to yours. His eyes trailing to your lips and back up.

For a moment, he paused. The only sound amongst you was heavy breathing.

The horrible feel of his free hand running down your waist zapped you of your breath. Never did his eyes stray from yours as your face twisted in disgust and horror.

"So close to camp too, no one would even bat an eye." He enjoyed every which way your face distorted because of him. Deriving a sick pleasure from your terror.

"Tell me just what you've been telling him." He demands once more. Your entire body shivered, wanting to simply dissipate or perhaps make him do so.

The tingle of your trigger finger turned into a deep nauseous ache in your stomach as his hand reached lower.

"Or ya gonna be quiet enough..." his grin turned into a hoarse, sinister cackle as if he knew you couldn't do much against him. That he could do as he pleased. "that we can have a little fun right next to camp?"

As his hand made for your belt buckle, he glanced down to take it off, and the hand he should've held shot up into his eyes.

He gasped out something fierce as you pointed the shotgun at him, the barrel stabbed harshly into his skin as you used it to shove him away.

"Damn whore!" He snarls as he hunches over, pained by the blow you dealt him.

The hammer of your revolver clicked back, a menacing and unfavorable noise to be heard in the dark. "Consider your next move a return to camp, Micah."

Now you had both your guns in his face. A bit much? Perhaps. Though that wasn't a concern now.

"Don't get too excited, O'Driscoll." He warns harshly as he wipes his eyes vigorously. "I'm not done with you." His words echoed with intent akin to the most sick of the population.

Keeping your aim trained on him, you stared as he stumbled out of the forest, grumbling his hate under his breath with each step.

As soon as he disappeared back into camp, you sighed out your relief, slumping with exhaustion. You were in shock, to put it lightly. The adrenaline bringing you down with it.

Straying further into the forest, you found your previous thoughts had left you, left you with nothing except for one.

Arthurs arms firm around you filled you with such a sense of comfort. A way to easily cope with Micah's actions toward you.

A feeling that shouldnt come from the very one who did the opposite for so long.

The whole day had taken a toll on you. The chance you took for peace veered horribly south, you didn't even know what to make of it, were you to say anything?

Would they even care? Believe you? O'Driscoll traitor accuses loyal Van Der Linde member. You shook your head.

Hugging the shotgun tightly, you trudged back and forth as long as you could muster. The fire and liveliness from camp dispeled gradually until it finally became near silent.

The frogs and crickets kept you company through the ensuing hours, an occasional firefly alerting you to its position amongst the trees and bushes every so often.

Needless to say, it was a mistake to sit down against a tree for a break.

♡

P.s.

This one I finally gave in, I couldn't WAIT to get to this chapter, I also had to star David cuz I unfortunately do have daddy issues and appreciate the found family trope way too much, but I tried to keep it minimal.

Just wanted to say I appreciate everyone who reads my stories, I absolutely love writing them despite how long it takes sometimes (cries dies) and there will be more soon, big, big plans.

I also have a little fic out based off a removed gunslinger in rdr2, I thought he was sexy so I couldnt help but write something about him... dont be shy to head over to that one.

A Kinship, of sorts. 🫣

Also, also, plan on a mini series where I write buncha one shot shenanigans with the all Van der Linde members, based off the events in this story, just know I do plan on spoiling you guys, I feel it necessary 😘

Im going through each chapter again, rewriting and adding little tid bits here and there. I also havent fixed the lemoyne raider in valentine mishap.. I had a dream I did or maybe I didn't save my changes ☹️

Much Love, M. <3

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym AU Wip (Part 16)

After Sanji’s nosebleed stopped, they finished eating in silence - both a little lost in their own minds. Zoro thought about the possibility of Sanji getting a nosebleed because of him and not because of high blood pressure. Sanji, on the other hand, thought desperately about anything different than Zoro, saying he has a vagina paired with his very hot body! Fuck he always knew he was into guys, too - maybe even more than into women. But if a guy had a vagina? He felt the tickle of another nosebleed and thought about dead dog puppies and sad things like that to stop it.

“What’s for dessert?” Zoro asked with an impatient smile.

Sanji looked up. Fuck him; if he were a bit more confident, he’d say “me”. But he couldn't…He couldn't say that, right? He didn't even know if Zoro was into him.

“Vanilla ice creme with hot Raspberries, if you want? Since you don't like sweets too much, I thought the sourness of the Raspberries would be a good pair with the ice cream.”

“Never tried it, so why not?”

Sanji beamed at Zoro, and honestly, that was enough to endure a bit of sweet food. Zoro helped put the dirty plates into the dishwasher and sat down on the bar chair again. He already loved watching Sanji cook - even if he just heated a bunch of frozen Raspberries. He took out two fancy-looking bowls and put the ice creme into it - topping it off with the Raspberries. They took the bowlers over to the table again and sat down. Sanji’s eyes were glued to Zoro as he took the first spoon.

“Aaaand?”

“It's…not as bad as I thought?” Zoro offered - despite the sour Raspberries it was still too sweet for his taste.

“You’re a bad liar!”

“I just don't want to make you feel bad.”

“Thanks for that,” Sanji smiled. “If you want, you can leave this for me and take the rest of the Raspberries.”

“You sure?”

Sanji nodded, and Zoro pushed his bowl over to him. After that, he went to the kitchen again and grabbed the pot with the warm berries. Coming back over, he heard Sanji snort and look at him unquestioningly.

“Seems to be delicious when you can't even get another bowl but eat straight out of the pot.”

“Am I not allowed to?” A tint of red colored Zoro’s cheeks.

“You are! I just found it funny, that’s all. To me, it’s just such a single live behavior to do that. You don't worry about a plate just because it seems unnecessary to dirty it if the pot is already dirty, and you can also eat out of it.”

“That is exactly what I tried to explain to Nami for years!”

“Well, you don't have to explain it to me.”

They both smiled and ate in comfortable silence again. It was Sanji breaking the quiet atmosphere with a blurred-out question that made his face red as a tomato only a second later.

“Are you single?”

Zoro choked on a spoonful of Raspberries and started coughing.

“Sorry! I shouldn't have asked out of nowhere! You don't have to answer! Sorry!” Sanji’s voice became more and more shrill as he spoke.

He shot up from his chair, his face now completely red, took the two bowls, and headed to the sink. Busining himself with washing the dishes as Zoro stared holes into his back while coughing.

“I…” Zoro rasped, clearing his throat a few times - choking on Raspberries wasn't pleasant; it stung and burned.

“You really don't have to answer,” Sanji said again.

Why did he even ask? The possibility of Zoro being in a relationship was so high! He didn't want to hear that he was taken. Not knowing at least meant he could pretend that this was a date. A bit fucked up, but that was what his mind was set on since Zoro agreed to come over and let Sanji cook for him.

“I am.”

Zoro’s voice came from behind but not from way back at the table. He stood behind him, Sanji realized. What did he say?

“Hm?” Yeah, such a brilliant way to ask him to repeat his words…

“I said I am, Curly. I’m single - for a while now, actually.”

“O…kay…Great…” Sanji blurred out - again without really thinking about his words. “I mean, not great! I’m sorry! Should…should I be sorry?”

Zoro chuckled behind him, and Sanji blushed an even deeper red.

“Sorry, I’m not good at this…fucking shit, this is so embarrassing…”

“I think it’s cute,” Zoro laughed - his voice even nearer to Sanji than a second before.

Sanji felt his heart taking a leap, and he felt breath ghosting over his hair. Shit, Zoro was standing close. Another breath, and he shivered so much that one of the bowls slipped out of his hand and splashed water onto his shirt as it fell into the sink.

“What about you?” Zoro asked casually.

“W…what?” His brain seemed to be turned off.

“Are you single?”

“Yes…”

Another breath, a deep one directly at the back of his head. Hell, what was Zoro doing to him?! His whole body shook, his heart seemed to want to break his ribcage, and his cheeks were burning like on fire.

“Good,” Zoro said. “Otherwise, this would be a bit awkward.”

“What do you mea…”

Sanji swallowed the rest of his question as Zoro’s arms wrapped around his body. He could feel his face pressed against the back of his head, inhaling deeply. A low sound - almost like a grumbly purr - came from Zoro and made Sanji shiver. At first, he was stiff as a plank, but he relaxed quickly and let himself sink against Zoro’s body.

“Go on a date with me, Curly?”

“I…”

“Please?”

Sanji wanted to tell him that, at least for him, this was already a date. But maybe it wasn't for Zoro? He didn't say anything about it, just smiled as he felt Zoro’s hand softly brushing over his belly.

“Yeah, I’d love to do that.”

Prev/next

First part

[thehazelmist]

So, I just had a dream about Mr. Puzzles (SMG4). It's very weird, so brace yourself. - Mr. Puzzles/Reader Fanfiction I guess??? created by: HazelMist's Unconscious

Um, so…I just had a strange dream with Mr. Puzzles. Specifically, a dream where he announced the new PuzzleVision merch. It was a 1960s style commercial…kind of, I guess. I have barely watched any 1960s commercials, so I'll just say It was black and white, except for Mr. Puzzles smile. and the commercial was animated.

So In the start of the dream, I wake up. and see In my notifications, that SMG4 uploaded a video. titled "NEW PUZZLEVISION MERCH!" I was extremely excited and hoped they had made a plushie of Mr. Puzzles. so I clicked on it, and uh...this Is how the commercial was.

So, he Is first walking down a lonely street, and see's someone leaning on a pole. uh, that person was Y/N... And they were wearing a plain T shirt, with oversized baggy pants. Not very fitting for the 1960s, but 🤷‍♀️. Mr. Puzzles noticed them, and walk right up to them and said

"Well, hello there my dear~! I'm your friend Mr. Puzzles, and- Oh god, what the hell are you wearing. Your outfit Is so boring, It makes an Average Joe look special."

Uh…Couldn't tell If my unconscious was insulting me or not, because I enjoy wearing plain T shirts and baggy pants. Then Y/N looked down in embarrassment. Then Mr. Puzzles grabbed their hand, and kept walking. but Mr. Puzzles was so tall, that Y/N was almost tripping. but then he stopped, and looked right at Y/N, and suggested

"Hey, I've got the solution to your problem! Why don't you buy some of the latest PuzzleVision merchandise? Your fashion sense would be amazingly blinding! Why not try on our Mario's Mysteries T shirt? Blue's clues and Mario fans would be confused by your stunning (not bootleg…) shirt, and you would attract many PuzzleVision fans!"

The shirt was basically the Mario's Mysteries thumbnail, Then he handed Y/N the shirt, and they responded "W-Wha..? but I don't even watch-" Then Mr. Puzzles cut them off

"Oh, and If you didn't like Mario's Mysteries, we have T shirts of our other episodes too! It would normally be 300.000.00$, but since you are special to me~ I'll make a discount! It's now only 30.00$!"

The shirts were also the thumbnail of the episodes. Then he threw them In a dressing room, and Y/N came out with the Once upon an SMG4 T shirt on. Mr Puzzles clapped his hands excitedly and said "Oh my dear! You look absolutely gorgeous! And If you get cold with only a T shirt, Buy our Mr. Puzzles Hoodie! It's 50.00$!"

The hoodie was a picture of Mr. Puzzles sitting in a chair, with his legs crossed. with a smug face. then afterwards, he said to them

"And I will be going soon, but If you want to keep me with you forever, then you should get…"

Then he pulled out a Mr Puzzles plushie, except It looked kinda weird. He didn't have his bowler hat, and he didn't have his color bar smile, It was just a straight line for a mouth. Anyways, he continued

"This adorable version of me, In plush form! Take It with you everywhere you go! Or If you don't want to get it dirty, just keep It on your shelf! But If you aren't the plushie collector type, Here Is an awesome figurine!"

It was a figurine of Mr. Puzzles doing a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure esque pose, with his maniacal face. and then he showed another figurine.

"Oh, and here Is another action figure of….that one inkling guy!"

The figurine barely looked like Oneshot wren though, and It wasn't even an Inkling. It looked like someone tried to recreate Wren In Plotagon. and didn't Western Spaghetti already have It's own merch? I kind of forgot what else Mr. Puzzles said, but he showed some Mr Puzzles Pins and Keychains that were both In chibi style. they were really cute! not like that Oneshot Wren figure…And after showing all the merch, He said

"Now, Let's skip time to a few weeks, and see how much these items have affected you!"

And then there was the Spongebob time card that said "2000 years later" and we are back with Mr Puzzles and Y/N, Except he is holding a microphone now, and asks them

"So, how much have my great merch helped you In life?" and then Y/N says something like "Nothing much has changed-"

and then the commercial rewinds, and goes back to when Mr. Puzzles asked that question. and then Y/N says "Oh, I feel much more happier now! with my amazing T shirts, I have so many more friends, and everyone wants to hang out with me! and I am enjoying your company, In plush form! Thank you, Mr. Puzzles!"

Then Mr. Puzzles responded "You're welcome! Have a great day, my darling!

Then, the commercial cuts to a blank screen, showcasing all the merch. and some strange announcer voice, that was definitely not Mr. Puzzles, their voice was very deep. says something like… "Go buy the new PuzzleVision Merch In smg4.store today!"

And then the video finished, and I was very confused of what I just saw. but then I might have waken up.

and uhhh…I think thats all I remember. If you made It this far, thanks for reading me ramble about some nonsensical dream I had last night. I probably dreamt It because I am TERRIBLY DESPERATE to have a Mr. Puzzles plushie. If I feel like It, I might try to make an animatic based on this dream. I might post It on Youtube. But I dunno, would you actually want to see that?

[yesterdays-xkcd]

Mrs. Roberts would have gotten up sooner, of course, but she was busy piping find ~ and find ~nomad into xargs shred, just in case.

1337: Part 4 [Explained]

Transcript

[Elaine is sitting under tree on a grassy meadow typing on her laptop. Two trees are in the background where rolling hills goes to the horizon with a single cloud over the trees. Above the frame is text narrated by the Cueball from the first panel in the 2nd comic in the series:] Cueball (narrating): As time passed, Elaine intensified her hacking work, anonymously publishing exploit after exploit.

[Elaine, wearing a backpack, is walking up to a door where her mom Mrs. Roberts is greeting her in the open door at the top of two steps. Above this very low panel's frame, there is more of Cueball's narration:] Cueball (narrating): To crack open proprietary hardware, she teamed up with one of the top experts in signal processing and data transferring protocols. Elaine: Hi, mom. Mrs. Roberts: Hello, dear. Did you have fun?

[Elaine is lying on the floor with her laptop in front of her facing left with a charger on the floor further left. Mrs. Roberts is sitting to the right facing right on a chair working on her computer at a table. Cueball is still narrating above the frame:] Cueball (narrating): They were an unstoppable team. Elaine: I finished the CSS decryptor. Mrs. Roberts: Good, dear. I'll send it along to Jon.

[Pan to the right where two men in black bowler hats arrive. Both hold briefcases - the first guy's reads RIAA, and the other guy's reads MPAA. Cueball's last narration in the comic is above the frame:] Cueball (narrating): And were eventually noticed. RIAA man: Game's over. MPAA man: You're coming with us. Briefcase 1: RIAA Briefcase 2: MPAA

[Pan back left to the women. Mrs. Roberts stays in her chair sitting at her computer still typing, the screen emitting light, but Elaine has moved around to the right of the table and pulls out her folding knife and swings it open.] Elaine: Oh, are we? Mrs. Roberts: Now now, Elaine- Knife: Shink

[Pan back right to the two men who simultaneously pull katana swords out of each of their briefcase, while still holding onto the handle with the other hand. When when opened like this, it causes two pieces of paper to fly out of the RIAA man's briefcase and a notebook to fly out of the MPAA man's briefcase.] Katanas: Shing

[Pan back to the women. Mrs. Roberts continues to type on the laptop, a line going up from the keyboard indicating activity. Elaine still holds her open folding knife out, so the tip now touches the right frame of the panel.] Mrs. Roberts: Don't let them provoke you, dear. Man (off-panel): We don't want to hurt you, Ma'am. Mrs. Roberts: Don't by silly. Record company employees can't just go into houses and slice people up.

[Pan back right to the two men who hold up the katana swords having left their briefcases closed on the floor. The closest RIAA man is holding a hand up, the other MPAA man is holding his sword in two hands and pointing it threateningly forward.] RIAA Man: Ah, so you haven't read the DMCA. MPAA Man: Title IV, Section 408: Authorization of Deadly Force.

[A wide panel showing the whole scene with even Mrs. Robert now standing having just pushed her chair back, the computer inert. Elaine is bending in the knees, knife at the ready. Both bowler hat men, still holding their swords as before, but no hands up, have turned to look right back over their shoulder to see who speaks, as a voice comes from off-panel right.] Richard Stallman (off-panel): Hark!

[The scene pans further right, so the two women are no longer in the panel, but Richard Stallman can now be seen with his wild beard and long hair and holding two katana swords, one in front of him and one over his head also pointing towards the two bowler hat med. They are standing normally, looking back at Stallman. The MPAA man nearest him holds a hand to his mouth as he speaks.] Richard Stallman: Cease this affront to freedom Richard Stallman: Or stand and defend yourselves! MPAA Man: Stallman!

[caesariawritesstuff]

Frenemy

Summary: It's tough being on opposite sides of the law when it comes to Edward Nigma.

Content Warning: Fluff & Angst

Word Count: 1.3k

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ●

There’s a beep in your ear as Oracle’s voice comes over your comm, “I think I finally tracked Nigma’s location. But he’s bouncing it off several cell towers. I’ve got Robin checking out the first, can you get to the second?”

You sighed. Not this again. With a shake of your head, you replied, “Yes. Give me the address.”

She spouted it off to you, but you were just barely registering her voice. Because instead, you felt a deep disappointment growing within you.

You’re not sure how it started, exactly. This strange frenemy-type of thing you had going on with Edward Nigma. Probably a year ago, when you were the first to arrive on the scene of one of his schemes. Back then, you’d been new to vigilantism, new to the role of Batgirl, which Oracle had honorarily given to you. You were still new to your training and not as on guard as you should’ve been – and that’s how you found yourself in the clutches of the Riddler.

He'd mocked you, forcing you to solve his riddles, using as bait until Batman arrived. But to his surprise, you’d managed to solve every single one. You’d watched as his smug smirk twisted into a sneer of humiliation and outrage. He’d thrown one of his usual tantrums, claiming you were cheating or getting outside help. You assured him you weren’t.

And maybe, deep down, you think he believed you.

With another heavy sigh, you grappled across Gotham’s rooftops as quickly as you could. The roar of sirens and alarm bells and nightlife rang throughout, a symphony of criminal chaos. Within minutes, you found yourself out of what appeared to be an abandon apartment building: the shudders were boarded shut, rust covered the metal doors. It looked as though it happened been lived in in quite some time, but you knew better; it was exactly the perfect hideout for the Riddler to hole up in. Inconspicuous and unnoticed. You quietly searched the windows and doors, looking for the perfect way in – but you finally found it: a small, electronic box that appeared to be an old power box. But instead, you flipped it open to reveal a screen. Staring back at you were the bright, green words: When you don't have me, you want me, but when you do have me, you want to give me away. What am I?

You smiled; that’s an easy one. Quickly you punched in the answer: Secret.

As expected, a hidden compartment within brick walls slid forward, revealing a secret passageway inside. You held your breath, keeping your guard up, as you followed the path in. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and smell of dank mold clung to the air. Scrunching up your nose, you tried not to breathe as you followed the passage for several yards until you finally came to his hideout.

You spotted him sitting before an array of vast monitors and computers, all glowing bright green, enveloping him in their emerald glow. The top of his bowler hat peeked over the back of the chair he was in.

With a sigh, he spun around and faced you. “I should’ve expected you,” he said, annoyance lacing his tone. He leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands, which were rested on the top of his cane.

“Hoping I was someone else?” you asked.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a smirk, and you grinned back. It was strange, how this was what had become of your relationship. After all these months, time and time again, you’d somehow found yourself in this position with him. And even though you were on other sides of the law, you couldn’t help but find some enjoyment in your small interactions with him.

And there’d been plenty more than you expected.

He turned away, his focus back on the screens. “Go away, little Bat. You’re going to ruin my plans before they’ve even begun.”

You laughed lightly, wandering into the rest of the hideout. Your gaze focused on the screens, on each camera which was pointed somewhere important in Gotham. On one screen, you noticed Batman procuring himself one of Riddler’s trophies out of little green cage.

Edward snickered. “He got lucky with that one,” he said, but it was more to himself than to you.

“So,” you sighed. “What exactly are you planning this time? A giant robot? Hostages aboard a runaway train? Children dangling above a vat of acid?”

He paused his typing, glancing at you. “Perhaps.”

You snorted. “Come on Edward, don’t be in such a mood. I’m sorry I’ve ruined your plans.”

“Come back later, then. I have more important things to deal with.”

“Like outsmarting Batman? You know he’s going to come here and kick the crap out of you, like usual.” It wasn’t the first time you’d watched as Edward got his shit kicked in and dragged out a broken, beaten mess.

Sure, you were trained in hand-to-hand combat yourself. But Batman had a particular brand of violence that you didn’t follow through with.

Edward was quiet for a longer moment that usual. Perhaps he was ruminating over your words. You put your hands on your hips and waited for his reply. Admittedly, you weren’t ready to walk out. For some strange reason you couldn’t explain it…he fascinated you. Despite his criminal crusade, he was incredibly smart, and you valued that.

And that was how you found yourself in this strange predicament with him – somehow always enjoying each other’s company. At least, you thought he must’ve come to tolerate you, because he wasn’t kicking you out anymore.

Your gaze strayed back to the monitors, studying their placement, before you shifted your attention to the dozens of blueprints and plans laid out in a scattered mess across his desk, several which were stained with a neat ring of coffee. His hand immediately shot out, arms covering what he could.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted with a click of his tongue. “These aren’t for your eyes, little Bat. It looks like you’re cheating to me. I knew your brain was the size of a peanut.” He rolled his eyes.

You barked out a laugh. “Right. Whatever you say.” A small smirk formed at the corner of your mouth, and you turned your attention back to the monitors. In one, Robin was just leaving the location Oracle had mentioned – which appeared to be booby-trapped, which he just narrowly escaped. Batman himself was solving another puzzle – also just missing a trap Riddler had programed to kill him as soon as he snatched up a trophy.

You held your breath as a chill crept down your spine. The sudden realization that you were sitting here with the Riddler, chatting with him as if you were friends – like always, it seemed fun at first. Harmless. Until the reality of the situation set in. That he was trying to kill the people you’d come to know and love.

Edward’s attention on the monitors, the scowl on his face as Batman continued to solve his riddles, didn’t budge. But unlike Batman, you weren’t about to go throwing fists.

“Ten minutes,” you said quietly. “I’m giving you a ten-minute head start.”

He paused, slowly turning to you. “Do you really think that’s wise?”

“Probably not.”

“See? I knew you were an idiot.” He chuckled lowly to himself, turning his attention back to the monitors, his fingers racing across the keyboard.

You walked out of the hideout and grappled onto a nearby rooftop, keeping a close eye. And within minutes, you watched him sneak out the hidden entrance. He smirked and tipped his hat to you, before sneaking away into the shadows. You reached down to your toolbelt and pushed a small tracking device, alerting the GCPD to your location. The minutes counted down like an eternity as you kept your eyes trained on the splash of green amongst the darkness.

And when those ten minutes were up, you followed.

[calissarowan]

Duman: Attention, Secret Service! I have a very important announcement!

Agent: Mr President, you know we have nothing but respect for your authority, but…if you are about to ask us to wear top hats again…

Duman: Huh? No! This is even more important than that!

Stella: And we want you in bowler hats.

Duman: Yeah. But not the point. We believe two people that at least think they’re very dangerous are planning to break in here and remove me as president.

Agent: Sir, this is very serious, we need to-

Duman: Yeah, I need you at your best. You gotta make sure they get in here.

Agent: Of course, sir, I- wait, say what now?

Duman: Be sure they get to the Oval Office so I can spin around in my chair and say, ‘Ah, I’ve been expecting you,’ then activate my trapdoor and drop them into my pool of aggressive goldfish.

Agent: Sir…

Stella: I know, you’re meant to use piranhas, but they are our friends, so…

Duman: But don’t make it too easy; be sure they get into some hi-jinks and make sure you get some embarrassing pictures of Ogron.

Agent: *realises the president is insane*

[finniestoncrane]

hello finnie i am very kindly asking for kissing as a distraction with btas edward thank you

Take A Break

BTAS!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 650 i am being so brave right now because this is the first thing i've properly written for this absolute sweetheart SO I HOPE IT'S OK!! 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: really just fluff, and some kissing, and a tiny bit of teasing

Eddie removed his deep green bowler hat and tossed it to the side, letting his gloved fingers run through his soft, red hair. Leaning back on the chair he let out a deep exhale, staring, unblinking, at the screen in front of him. The screeds of code, line upon line, made your head hurt to look at, and you could tell he was getting the same way. As he dragged his hands down his face, he settled one on his chin, scratching at it as he looked at the monitors.

Coming from behind him, you draped your arms around his shoulders, laying your palms flat on his chest and feeling him lean further back into you. He tilted his head up and offered you a weak smile.

“Please, my dear. No distractions. If I’m to finish this project on time, then I need to reserve all of my focus for it.”

Not one to take no for an answer, you sighed dramatically as you circled him, perching on the desk between him and the screens. Avoiding any eye contact, you brushed at the lapels of his suit jacket, straightening them out and smoothing them down as you used the pretence to make lingering physical contact with him. He watched you intensely, savouring each soft brush of your fingers against him, biting the inside of his cheek in a bid to keep himself from losing focus on what was important.

But he could feel himself coming undone regardless as he watched your fingertips take hold of the end of his tie, untucking it from his buttoned jacket and playing with it as you leaned closer. You ran the toe of your shoe up the front of his leg, a slight movement, almost imperceptible but outrageously flirtatious nonetheless. That kind of understated, almost innocent kind of teasing drove him wild, and you could tell it was working now. His cheeks flushed a soft pink and his eyes lingered on your hands.

Just as quickly as you had him under your spell, however, he shook himself out of it, placing his hands over yours and pushing them away gently. He cupped them for a moment longer, smiling warmly, if not exasperated.

“My sweet, I appreciate the sentiments, but I really must get this finished.”

Shuffling past you, he tucked himself back under the desk, continuing to type out the code for his videogame, furrowing his brow and closing his eyes tight each time a wave of pain from the developing headache crossed him.

“You’re a stubborn man, Mister Nygma.”

He chuckled softly, neither confirming nor denying it. You stood up from the desk and let your hand find his face, caressing it softly as you walked behind him again. Leaning into his ear, you spoke quieter.

“And you’re very lucky that you’re so adorable.”

A soft kiss was placed on his cheek, before you moved to the other side of his head.

“Otherwise, I might not put up with you.”

Another kiss on this cheek now, lingering longer as you let your hands fall down his front once more, slowly toying with the buttons on his shirt before loosening one completely. At your insistence, Eddie finally got up from his seat, turning to you, grabbing your elbows and pulling you into an embrace as his lips found yours.

He held you to him, warm and firm, as he let a soft sigh out against your mouth, his hand reaching to the back of your head to keep you still, not wanting you to pull away before he was satisfied. As soon as he eased off you moved back, taking in a deep breath and watching a smile curl up on the corners of his mouth.

“Perhaps a distraction was necessary.”

“Hm… has it cured your headache?”

“Not completely, but I think I know what would.”

A mischievous grin brought out your own smile as he took your hand and led you out of the room.

[something-tofightfor]

Smutsgiving 2023: Cornbread / Special Agent Ortega

Pairing: Special Agent Ortega x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,455

Warning: M.

Author's Note: SURPRISE. The first time I'm writing for SAO, and I don't think it'll be the last. Don't look at me.

I wanted to do something entirely new, and this was the perfect opportunity. Please enjoy this take on cowboy times.

Smmary: A knock at your door after sundown puts you on high alert.

The knock at the door startled you, drawing your attention from the dishes in the basin toward the entryway, which was bathed in shadow. It’s so late. Who could that be? “Give me one second, please!” 

Setting the towel down, you wiped your hands on the front of your pants, frowning. 

You weren’t stupid - you knew what a late-night knock on the door meant, and how dangerous it could be to open it without knowing who was on the other side.  But I’ve got a gun, and I know how to use it, and … “Open up, ma’am.” The voice was muffled, and accompanied by another series of knocks, but it was distinctly male, and that gave you pause. 

Opening the small drawer on the table next to the front door, you closed your fingers around the grip and lifted, bringing the gun to your side. Feeling more confident, you reached for the chain on the door with your other hand, ensuring that it was in place before grabbing the knob and twisting. “Who’s there?” 

You peeked through the opening, which was only an inch or two wide, and were met with a pair of deep brown eyes, partially in shadow beneath the brim of a dusty bowler hat. “Special Officer Ortega, ma’am.” He shifted, using one hand to pull his lapel back and show you his badge. “Just passing through on my way from Santa Fe. I saw the light on in your window and -”

I’m sure you did. “I don’t make it a habit of opening my door to strange men after sundown.” Taking a long breath, you tightened your grip on the doorknob. “What do you need?”

“I was just hoping for a place to rest for an hour or so.” He cleared his throat, removing his hat with the hand that had shown you the badge. “Maybe refill my canteen before I head on.” You considered his words, glancing down at the gun in your hand and then back at him. 

“Let me see that badge again, Special Officer.” There was a pause, the man angling his body so that his chest was closer to the door opening and you could better see the ornate piece of metal. I can protect myself. Chewing on your lower lip, you narrowed your eyes. He taught me how. “Alright, Officer.” You shut the door and removed the chain, opening it back up wide enough so that you could see his entire frame - and he could see the gun you held in your hand. “Come in. I’ll refill your canteen and you can rest by the fire for -”

“Thank you.” He smiled, but it was a clipped expression, Ortega nodding once as he stepped over the threshold and into the main room of your house. “You won’t need that gun, ma’am. I can promise you that I mean you no harm.” 

“You might not,” you replied, gesturing to the table at the center of the room. “But my husband would be madder than Hell if he found out I answered the door for a stranger without armin’ myself.” His smile was more genuine at that, and when he set his hat down and lowered himself into one of the chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him, you kept your eyes on him. 

“Can’t say I’d blame him.” He wet his lips, nodding seriously. “World’s a dangerous place these days, and… it’s especially dangerous for a woman so far from town all by her lonesome.” His eyes were glittering, the man’s voice dropping slightly as he spoke to reach an almost disarmingly seductive tone.

“Who says I’m alone?” You slipped the gun into your belt, and then arched a brow, reaching for the covered pitcher of water and a glass. You filled it up before you set it on the table in front of him. “My husband’s just -”

“I’m guessing you’re alone because if you weren’t, he would have answered the door when someone came knocking after dark.” True. Ortega sipped the water, tipping his head back and savoring the taste. “Thank you, by the way. Haven’t had water this cold in days.” 

“There’s a well out back.” You gestured with your chin, trying to decide the best way to keep your hands busy. “Hasn’t run dry in a couple years.” He hummed and took another drink, looking around the room. “You’re real interested in the inside of my house. Is there a reason?” 

“My line of work keeps me sleeping under the stars quite a bit.” He leaned back using the fingers on one hand to smooth out his mustache. “And when I’m not doin’ that, I’m in hotels. It’s all… temporary.” 

“Bet that means you haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while then, either.” Crossing your arms over your body, you leaned back against a chest of drawers, assessing his form. “And you’ve been eating campfire cooked -”

“You offering me supper, miss?” Ortega straightened up and locked eyes with you, surprise in his. “Somethin’ warm? Something -”

“I could.” You titled your head to one side, your thumb spinning the thin gold band you wore on your left hand. “Could heat up some cornbread in a skillet for you. Maybe even offer you some bacon.” Blinking, you stepped closer reaching for the butt of your gun and removing it from your belt, leaning over to set it back in the drawer. “I also have coffee, but that would take a little longer to make.” 

He let out a slow breath, eyes following your movement. When you were standing right in front of him he tilted his head back, staring up at you. “All of that sounds incredible.” Does it? Really? “But now that you mention it, I think there’s something else I’d prefer.” 

“Me too.” The facade broke when you reached out, twisting your wrist and running one knuckle over his cheekbone, Ortega’s left hand slowly moving to rest against your hip. “It’s good to see you, Eli.” The man’s lips curled upward into a legitimate smile at your words and then they parted, the tip of his tongue visible. “Welcome home.” 

Ortega shot to his feet and engulfed you in a hug, his strong hands pressed to the center of your back and your shoulders, holding you close. “I missed you, mi flor del desierto. It’s been too long.” 

“Show me.” You understood the man’s game - and had been willing to play along briefly, but having your husband back in the house after nearly a month away was overwhelming. “Show me how much you missed me.” 

He backed off enough so that you could look into his eyes, the warmth there reflecting the lantern light. “That’s what you want?” You nodded, fingers combing through the ends of his hair, which curled over the nape of his neck. “Alright then.” He smiled, the expression lifting both cheeks. “Lead the way.” 

“Wait.” You spoke quietly, taking a deep breath. “Kiss me first?” There was a brief pause, but he moved swiftly, ducking his head to press a kiss to the space in front of your ear. 

“I can do that.” You barely heard him before his mouth was on yours, the kiss greedy in that there was nothing reserved about it - Ortega’s lips pressed tightly against yours as his hold on you tightened. He bit at your lower one, using your surprised gasp as an opportunity to drag the tip of his tongue over the top of it. And when you moaned at the feeling, he deepened the kiss - each swipe of his tongue against yours purposeful. 

You never wanted him to stop, and would have been content to spend the rest of your days in his arms and with his mouth on you, but when he broke the kiss and jerked his chin toward the sleeping area, you nodded breathlessly. “Yes.” 

Spinning away from him, you gripped his hand and tugged him behind you, pausing when you reached the bed to look down at the overstuffed mattress. “I dreamed about our bed.” He sighed, kissing the side of your neck. “And about you in it.” Humming at his words, you leaned back, Ortega pulling his hand free to slide both of his over your abdomen, untucking your shirt. “I couldn’t get gome soon enough.” 

“Should have been sooner.” Your eyes half closed, you sighed the words out, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons one after another. “Eli, it -” 

“I’m here now.” He tilted his head forward and kissed the top of your shoulder, one wide palm sliding up the center of your belly and then between your breasts before veering off to one side, thumb swirling slowly over your nipple. “Right here.” 

— 

Mi flor del desierto - my desert flower 

[ofthehands]

A Fun Trip

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

Disability Fan Week, Day 4- It's Gonna Be a Fun Trip.

A short, roughly 2000 word genfic about Franklin and the van crew trying to find ways to have fun together. There's a little bit of period-typical and character-typical ableism, but this is like as fluffy/ lighthearted as anything really gets with tcm, the sawyers aren't even here.

Franklin didn’t want to seem like a burden. He knew his sister didn’t want him on that trip with her and her cool friends. So he tried really hard to ignore the man ways it was clear he was an afterthought. When they went skiing, he found out about a hot spring, which while not perfectly accessible was close enough, and he relaxed his pained back. When they wandered up high in an art museum with no elevator, he enjoyed the pieces down below. When they went hiking in Arizona in hundred degree heat, he stayed in the car like a dog. It all kind of sucked. But it all could kind of suck worse. 

Unfortunately, though, while he tried to have the stoicness of Grandpa, or the masculine strength of Dad, or the steely gaze of their uncle- he apparently just sort of looked like a kicked puppy all the time. Especially as they got closer and closer to Houston, and he realized further no fun was to be had. Eventually, up near El Paso, just heading back into Texas, they stopped at a gas station and everybody but him and Sally got out. At which point, she seemed unable to ignore him any more. 

“Franklin?” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Did you have a fun trip?” 

“Uh. Yeah,” Franklin lied.

“You don’t look like you did,” she said. “And that kinda sounded the way you sound when you lie.” Franklin sighed. 

“I mean… I had some fun,” he tried, instead. “But I just… I just wish there was more I could do, you know? With y’alll. It’s alright though. I’m not mad.” Everybody else piled back in the van then, and Franklin assume that would be the end of that. Until after everybody got settled, and Sally spoke up. 

“Hey-” she said. “Y’all want to go bowling?” 

Franklin was excited the whole way to the bowling alley. Because finally, for just one time on that trip- everybody wanted to do something he could participate in. 

“I do have to warn you,” Jerry said, as he drove them towards the bowling alley on the map. “I am kind of the greatest bowler of all time.” 

“Sure, man,” Kirk said, with a laugh. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Pam added. 

“Well, you’ve got some pretty stiff competition,” Sally said. 

“Oh yeah? You’re gonna out bowl me, missy?” Jerry asked with a grin. 

“Prob’ly not,” she said. “I’m terrible. Franklin, though, you’ll have to look out for.” 

“Oh, really?” Jerry asked. Franklin swallowed nervously. 

“You can bowl in that chair?” Kirk asked. 

“I mean, yeah,” Franklin said. “I- uhm. I can bowl pretty well. I dunno about bein’ competition.”

“You’re the best at it in our whole family,” Sally said. Franklin smiled, just a little. 

“Well, yeah, I guess so.”

“This is gonna be fun! All five of us doin’ somethin’ together,” Pam said, like it was some sort of novelty to include him. Franklin held his tongue about that- happy to be included at all. 

“Oh yeah, I think this is gonna be great,” he said. 

The staff of the bowling alley was a bit confused, at first, and they had to call a manager about Franklin’s predicament. But eventually they loaned him out a pair of bowling shoes. Which Jerry thought was pretty funny. 

“Do they think he’s gonna miraculously stand up just for bowling?” he asked Sally, with a snicker. 

“Well uh, that’s why I’m so good at it,” Franklin said, surprising Jerry a little, as he was broken away from his conversation with Sally. “I stand up to play and everybody else is so shocked they drop their balls.” Jerry seemed to actually think that was funny, for once, laughing at his dumb joke. Franklin felt a lot better than he had the rest of that trip. Until- 

“Oh, God, look at that,” Jerry said. Franklin looked at what he saw. There was a young man, who could walk, but seemed to have some trouble with it- swaying oddly as he did- using one of the bowling ramps. Kirk laughed too. 

“What’s wrong with that?” Pam asked. 

“He’s a grown man,” Kirk said. “Those are fine if you’re a kid, or a thousand years old, or stupid. But if you’re normal, that’s pretty much cheating.” Franklin waited a moment, hoping one of the others- especially Sally, who knew he usually used one of those, because the armrests of his wheelchair would scrape up his arms and jab him in the side if he didn’t- would say something else, would disagree with Kirk and Jerry just a little bit. But none of them did. After everybody got their shoes, the cashier stopped, and asked Sally, while pointing at Franklin. 

“Does he need a ramp, or-”

“No,” Franklin answered for himself. “I don’t.” 

Franklin was the last person put on the board, which he didn’t mind so much, since it gave him a chance to think about how he was going to do this. The armrests of his wheelchair didn’t go down. He wasn’t a small man, and it was pretty difficult for him to lean over the side of his chair long enough to do something like bowl. He waited, nervously, for his turn to come around. 

When his turn finally came, he rolled up to the ball rack, and grabbed his ball. He had hoped he could get a lighter one, but he was stuck with a 15 pound’er, the only one big enough he could get his fingers in it. With his ball mostly secure in his lap, he rolled up to the lane. Franklin paused a second, holding it nervously. He really wished Sally hadn’t bragged about him being good. He felt like he had to be good now- or he was letting everybody down. He thought he heard Kirk whispering. And Pam laughing. He was never quite certain if that was at him or not. Franklin did his best to steady his nerves, took the bowling ball in hand, and leaned over the side, the armrest digging in to him. He slid his arm back, and then forward, with as much force as he could manage, hoping, almost praying, the ball would actually go the right way. 

And for once, it actually did. 

“Hey! Way to go, Franklin!” Sally called. He sat up straight, returning to them excited, having bowled a strike on his first try. 

“Hey, not bad, man,” Jerry said. “Maybe there’ll be some competition after all.” 

The whole damn time, Franklin and Jerry were neck and neck, back and forth on the top of the leaderboard. Sally was pretty close too, occasionally taking second place from one of them, which made sense. Their family went bowling fairly often- it was one of the only things they liked to do that Franklin could do with them. Pam wasn’t too far behind, usually clearing most of her pins, and occasionally getting a spare, and one strike too. Kirk was firmly at the bottom of the heap. 

“Man, I think I got a screwed up ball,” Kirk started. 

“Oh yeah, man, the ball’s what’s screwed up,” Jerry said. The two of them got in one of their play fights, then. 

“Guys, cut that out,” Pam said. “We’re gonna get kicked out!”

“We’re just playin’ around a little, mama-” Kirk began. 

“Sure,” Pam said with an eyeroll. Franklin went to get his ball again. He wished, sometimes, that he could have had that. A chance to be young and stupid, and play rough with his guy friends. But everybody always treated him like he was made out of glass. And he didn’t really have guy friends. Or friends of his own at all. Though maybe someday, that could change. Maybe Sally’s friends would start to actually like him, and he could end up just being one of the guys. He liked that idea a lot. He went to the lane, leaned over again and bowled. He caught the tender, scraped up flesh of his arm on the armrest of his wheelchair again, and flinched. Looks like this one’s gonna be a spare. He rejoined the rest of them, waiting for his ball to come back. 

“Losin’ your touch, man?” Jerry asked. Franklin tried to sound confident as he replied. 

“You wish.” 

Franklin came up in second place, behind Jerry by a good bit. He wasn’t even sure he deserved that- it was entirely possible in his mind that Sally had started throwing the game when she noticed he was falling behind. In the very least, he did beat Pam and Kirk fair and square, but he was still a bit sad about it. He thought he really could’ve beat Jerry. If maybe his ball were lighter. Or his wheelchair didn’t have armrests, and he could bend down more properly. Or if he hadn’t gotten all scraped up. Or if he had just used the ramp. 

Jerry convinced everybody to play one more round. Franklin wasn’t sure he would enjoy that one, so much. He didn’t say anything, though, just sat there, picking at the scabs forming on his inner arm, waiting for it to start. 

“Oh God, Franklin, what happened to your arm?” Pam asked. Franklin paused. 

“Oh. Uh. The side of my chair kind of scraped it up a bit,” he said softly. “It’s alright. That just sort of happens. Not a lot I can do about it- it’s just the arm rests and-”

“Sally come look at this- “ 

“She doesn’t have to-”

“What is it?” she asked, coming over with the purple ball she traded her other, heavier ball for. 

“Look at Franklin’s arm-” Franklin flattened a bit, feeling exposed. 

“It ain’t anything important-”

“Does this happen every time y’all go bowling?” Pam asked Sally, though Franklin could’ve answered that fine too. 

“No,” Sally said. “I’ve never seen that before-”

“It’s just ‘cause of my armrests,” Franklin said quickly, unable to look either of them in the eye. 

“They don’t usually do that-”

“Well, yeah, that’s cause I usually use the ramp,” he said, softly. 

“Well why don’t we get you one?’ Pam asked. 

“Well I-” 

“C’mon,” Pam said to Sally, the two of them running off to get it. Franklin deflated just a little bit further. So much for makin’ cool new friends. 

The second round he used the ramp, as much as he kind of didn’t want to. Franklin was at an impasse. He didn’t want to rub blisters onto his arm, he wanted to have fun. But he also didn’t want to be seen as less-than, or a cheater. But he knew he couldn’t have both. And he didn’t even really get a choice of which of the two he wanted. Both in one day. Great. 

His bowling game was about the same as it was before, just with a little more help getting set up. He wasn’t any better than he had been before- he thought he had proven himself just a little. But every time he went up to bowl, he heard snickers from Kirk, or Jerry, or Pam, and the occasional sharp whisper from Sally that confirmed in his mind that it was definitely about him. Franklin started to regret wanting to be included. 

The game was almost over, again. Franklin was in third, behind Jerry and Sally. Pretty close to Pam. His heart really just wasn’t in it. Kirk was still in the way back. Which was why it burned his biscuits so much when he heard him whispering behind his back. 

“.. Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t be dead last if Franklin weren’t cheating.” Franklin rolled his ball into the gutter on purpose, fucking up a perfectly good spare, and rolling himself back to the benches, trying not to look upset. He picked at the sores on his arm and wished he was at home, knowing damn well none of them would have his back. 

“Well, Kirk, why don’t you try usin’ the ramp?” Jerry asked. 

“Huh? What would I need it for?” 

“Well you said a while back it was for kids, and old people, and the stupid. And you’re pretty stupid-” Franklin snorted, feeling a little better despite himself, and those two had another one of their play-fights. Then Kirk went up, not moving the ramp.

“Alright- alright- I’ll show you.” He lined everything up right, then shot the ball off the ramp way too hard, knocking over two pins. He walked back to the laughter of everybody in the group, Franklin included for once, though he tried to keep from laughing too much, not wanting him to turn his attention to him. “Yeah, yeah- yuck it up. I think I got a flat ball or somethin’-”

“It’s not flat, you geek, it’s a bowling ball,” Jerry said. “I think you just blow.” 

“I think you blow-” Kirk said, with a laugh, shoving Jerry a little. He paused then, and looked down at Franklin, then away. “I still don’t get the ramp thing, though. Like at that point we might as well put up those little kiddie rails.” Franklin looked away again, back at the ground. 

“Oh! We should!” Sally exclaimed. 

“What, worried you’re not gonna beat me?” Jerry asked, smugly. 

“No, I could beat you with my eyes closed,” Sally said back sassily, “I just wanna try to do trick shots.”

“Trick shots? Now what kind of bowling is that?” Jerry asked. 

“It’s one thing to throw a bowling ball straight, it’s a whole ‘nother to bounce it off both walls thirty times and still get a strike. Unless, of course, you’re not up to it,” Sally said, with a shrug. 

“Oh, you’re on!” 

The rest of that round, the ramp and the side railings were in and out of play, used by just about everybody. Sally managed to come out on top, after somehow, literally, out-bowling Jerry with her eyes closed. All frazzled up and competitive, Jerry paid for one more round, and the five of them played again, using everything at their disposal. Franklin used the ramp, his left hand, and bowled hand in hand with Pam when she asked for help. Sally bounced the ball off those walls like the whole thing was a pinball machine. Jerry tried his hardest to still bowl perfectly straight, but either as slow or fast as humanly possible. Pam was bowling pretty much normally, occasionally closing her eyes or turning around when she did it, or requesting the help of Sally, or Franklin. And Kirk somehow managed to bounce the ball and get it in the gutter with the walls up on his first try- which became his mission after- to hit as few pins as possible. 

In the end Franklin didn’t even remember who came out on top after that one. He was just glad he got to have fun with his friends. As they left the bowling alley and headed on the last leg of their trip, over to Newt to see their grandparents’ old house, and then on down to Houston, Franklin finally had a feeling it really was gonna be a fun trip.

[miaitzia]

About Natsume and Ranpo

//spoil about the end of light novel 4

“Good work on finding the place.” Fukuzawa lightly bowed before showing the cane in his hand. “Oh, why, if it isn’t the cane I lost some time ago. You came all this way to return it to me? How commendable.” “Your reputation precedes you, sir. If you would pardon my intrusion, I came to ask a favor.” “Don’t be so formal. Come, have a seat.” Fukuzawa bowed before taking a seat in the nearby chair. Ranpo, on the other hand, quietly stared at the man before him without even moving. “No way… I didn’t notice before, but he’s—”“I owe you my gratitude for saving me that day, my dear boy.” The man cackled. He wasn’t wearing a suit this time, but he still had on a bowler hat. “Oh, okay,” Ranpo mumbled as if he were standing on pins and needles. His voice was hoarse. “You saw through that trap at the theater from the beginning. You noticed the rug’s adhesive, and yet, you allowed yourself to fall into the trap. Why? Was it to lure out the enemy—? No, there were plenty of ways you could have done that—” “Whether I did or not, I owe your father.” He smiled faintly. Ranpo stood absolutely still as if he were struck by lightning. “Don’t tell me… From the very start, you—***” “I came with a request,” Fukuzawa abruptly said, cutting him off. it wasnt in the fantranslate version,but in my physical copy he said “Don't tell me...from the very start,you want to lend me a helping hand—”

In their conversation,it's heavily implied that Natsume purposely got caught because he want to "help" Ranpo.Because he own Ranpo's father(Clairvoyant) some favor.I assumed the "help" here means let him and Fukuzawa meet n cooperate thus deepen their bonds.

It's about building up the agency too,but I believe it's mainly about helping Ranpo.

Makes me wonder if part of the reason Clairvoyant asked Ranpo to go to Yokohama is because of Natsume?Just how cool Ranpo’s dad was that even THE strongest ability user owes him some favor?Maybe we can get some flashbacks of Clairvoyant and Natsume if Asagiri ever wants to develop that part of Natsume's character.though the chance is low since Clairvoyant didn't even get mentioned in anime.

My question is,how much did he do or know to help Ranpo?Did he originally not plan to get kidnapped,but recognized Ranpo in the theater and decided to help him?

Or did he set up Fukuzawa and Ranpo to meet?Isn't it too convenient that V's plan of kidnapping happened the same day they met?Actually everything is a little bit too convenient.Natsume can easily leak his whereabouts to make it happen.

theory about Natsume's pov with Ranpo

Now here's a little theory explaining why he didn't help him himself before,even let him live on the street for a few months.

1.he's busy he's powerful he probably has to save the world once a month or something He couldn't always keep his eyes on him.

2.He didn't know Clairvoyant died and Ranpo's in Yokohama until like idk months later,we don't know when exactly Ranpo's parents gone.

3.Ranpo's father.Ranpo didn't know ability exists until Fukuzawa told him.His parents probably planned to tell when he grow up.Again his parents are very protective.

so Clairvoyant perhaps told Natsume something like"if something happened to me,please make sure my son is okay,but dont drag him into the dangerous world of you ability users"

Natsume didn't interfere at first because Ranpo seemed "fine".Sure he's lonely and unfit,but at least he's safe,he's smart he'll pull it through and find a way to fit into society right?

But he didn’t,things had been getting worse and worse,Ranpo's desperate and helpless.he's homeless,so lonely so close to having a breakdown.HE NEEDS HELP.

Like i said,he couldn't have always kept an eye on him.but i'd like to imagine when he realized how desperate Ranpo actually was,he started to take action,aka finding someone who can help him aka Fukuzawa.

He didn't take him himself because he gotta keep his mysterious vibe and has a loud smart brat would ruin that isn't the best choice when Fukuzawa is right there.Even if Fukuzawa wasn’t there he’ll find someone else for him(not Mori though,that guy is not allowed near children),if there's no other choices ultimately i think he would take care of Ranpo himself.

cannibalism arc

Another theory,Ranpo knew Natsume would interfere in the cannibalism arc.He knew he would be trapped in the book for a few days and there’s no way he thought Ada would successfully murder mori.But he still did it.Why?Because Chuuya is too powerful,his existence would simply change the situation,so to make sure Natsume’s plan won’t mess up,Ranpo had to take Chuuya out of the picture.Fukuzawa will be ok as long as the plan worked.

Relationship

I'm curious what their relationship is like?In untold origins,Ranpo seemed neutral,mostly because he was shocked by Natsume’s words and therefore didn’t have many other expressions.Even after that they’re having a serious conversation so yeah really can’t see much.i think he did respect Natsume to some degree,not so much like Fukuzawa,but still.

Now that he knows Natsume had a connection with his father and mayhaps knows him personally.(yk Natsume didn't have to keep his promise since no one else would know but he still did,either he’s just that loyal or him and Clairvoyant r good friends).He’ll be glad someone else remembers his dad not as “Clairvoyant” but his own person. I think they would have a good relationship.

Actually if they were really that close,do you think Natsume ever told Ranpo how proud his dad would be at him if he’s still alive,or or telling him stories of his father to keep the memories alive.

Ranpo&Natsume AU idea

I'm too deep in this rabbit hole but hear me out.We often talk about what would happen if Ranpo didn’t meet Fukuzawa like instead Mori or Fyodor got him.But what if is Natsume who adopted take in ranpo.Wouldn't it be cool?

If he can’t find someone to help him and eventually he had to take him himself.He can’t let Clairvoyant's son keep roaming on the street like that right?Imagine he thought it’s just temporary babysitting until he found somebody else.But no,Ranpo has clinged onto him and actually is slowly growing on him too.then BANG new father n son duo unlock.

ok but based on how the narrative describes Natsume,he’s very intelligent too.I think Ranpo would be happy around someone who is also smart too.Reminds him of his parents.He can help Ranpo adapt(?.Heck he may even help Ranpo without telling him he's an ability user.

idk what would yhe plotline go.Maybe the ada still somehow establish.Maybe Ranpo become a solo detective that's known for carrying a cat with him when solving crimes.Maybe Ranpo becomes some little assistant of Natsume,appears here and there,mysterious just like him.

ok i remember seeing a fic like that,but it's not focus on Natsume.basically it's just young Ranpo running around with Natsume on him and messed with skk.

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 13: Damsel Not Distressed

Some independent hero I must be. Abducted by two idiots and tied to a chair. What an icon.

How long have I been out? The sack’s still over my head.

“Where the Hell am I?” I try to give authority but my croaking voice wouldn’t startle a kitten.

“She’s awake!” One of the voices from earlier whispers nearby and heavy footsteps approach.

The sack is ripped off and sunlight blinds my eyes. On top of that my hair piles over my face and gives me no clue to where I might be. All I can see through the strands of hair is the chair I’m bound to.

“Whoever you are, I have nothing to give. Go ahead and kill me.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” a familiar voice calls from overhead.

A hand folds back my hair and a better view of my captive environment is allowed. It’s an abandoned skateboarding rink. A concrete arena. The goons who abducted me are still standing behind me. Up above is the one giving the orders. Edward Nigma.

“I’m truly sorry it’s come to this, Callie.”

Through the blazing sun I make out his new appearance. Instead of the prison suit I last saw him in, Nigma has donned black trousers, a green blazer, and green bowler hat with a giant question mark painted on it.

“Nigma, this is ridiculous. Why keep me hostage?”

“Because I need Crane to cooperate.”

“With what?”

“I need him to stop terrorizing the workers at the bank. That’s where my next scheme is. As much as he hates to admit it, he does care about you. When he sees you like this he’ll budge.”

If it weren’t so saddening I might actually laugh. From how Crane acted when he ushered me out of his lab I don’t think he holds any amount of affection for me.

“Sorry to disappoint you but he doesn’t care, Nigma. He’ll probably encourage my death. The only reason he keeps in touch is because he’s obsessed with my psychosis.”

Bang!

A gunshot rings out and I look around for the source. It’s- An umbrella? There’s a strange-looking portly man in a black suit holding an umbrella with smoke coming out. Is that umbrella a gun?

“This foolish game is taking too long, Nigma. I want assurance that my own business will remain untouched as well.”

Just how many people are using me as bait?

I look up, annoyed at the riddling villain. “Nigma, who the Hell is this guy?” 

“Oh! Where are my manners? I am Oswald Cobblepot, at your service. Or should I say, your untimely death.” The man does a dramatic bow and tips his hat. The Penguin.

“Et tu, Cobblepot? Do I need to spell it out? I’m not a suitable bargaining chip!”

A shuffled noise alerts me to the edge of the rink and a flash of green catches my eye.

“Really, boys? You can do better than this. Leave Callie alone.”

I smile gratefully at the familiar botanist. “Thanks, Ivy.”

Ouch. The sun’s beginning to burn. I can feel my reddening skin rubbing against the ropes I’m tied up in. At this point being shot might be a decent way out of this. No more Gotham, no more sunburn.

“Did anyone tell him?” Ivy drones in a bored tone as she leans against the stone wall.

Nigma chuckles. “I sent a riddle-” 

“Never mind,” Ivy cuts him off. “Do not need any elaboration.”

Penguin shuffles around impatiently. “I’m starting to agree with Ms. Prentiss. I don’t take Crane for the affectionate type-”

“What are you doing?” Another familiar voice asks from the shadows.

“Or perhaps I spoke too soon,” Penguin says. “It appears he figured out your riddle.”

I can’t see! Where is he-? Oh. He did come after all. Although I don’t doubt his motive is to watch the show of me being cooked. Dr. Crane strides into the arena. He’s wearing the same clothes except for one accessory: the Scarecrow mask. Is this a rumble or what?

Nigma cackles with glee and hops down from his pedestal. “Delightful! Now that you’re here, let us establish our terms. You stop gassing the bank tellers, and we don’t hurt Callie.”

“Callie?” Crane whips his head to where Ivy’s pointing at me and his face darkens. “What’s she doing here?”

“Just a little insurance that you’ll cooperate,” Penguin explains smugly.

Dr. Crane’s eyes don’t look away from me. “You’re hurting her.”

“We haven't cut a hair off of her-”

“It’s the sun. She’s burning.”

He noticed. How attentive. Whether or not he cares if I’m being burned is shielded by his plain tone. Who does start to show concern is Ivy.

“He’s right. Get on with it, Nigma. Don’t worry, Callie. I’ve got the best aloe for you.”

Nigma tilts his head, still watching Crane’s alertness towards me. Cobblepot, however, is growing impatient.

“I’ll do it myself,” he mutters. He waddles closer and points his umbrella straight at my head. “You’d better be right, Nigma. Close the deal, now. Or else I will take my associations elsewhere.”

Crane’s body stiffens. Behind his mask I see his vibrant eyes flash. He can’t be serious-

“How about a compromise?” The fear doctor suggests.

Penguin lowers his umbrella by a fraction. “I’m listening.”

“You can do your little bank scheme, but also steal an adrenaline compound for me. You get your petty cash and I get a new ingredient for my experiments.”

He’s actually going along with this? Nigma struts up wearing a devious smirk and holds out a hand. The two men shake and he leans in to whisper something to Crane. Can we please get this done? My back feels like it’s about to char. 

“Pleasure doing business, Ms. Prentiss. Perhaps next time it will be on more friendlier terms.”

Penguin tips his hat to me and disappears into the shadows. While Nigma and Crane continue their whispering Ivy comes over and sets down a white bottle.

“Aloe. Apply twice daily. This should clear that burn up right away. It was good to see you, Callie. Stay safe, stay in touch.”

She too walks off and I’m left to wait for the squabbling geeks to stop arguing about… whatever. I don’t care.

“Remember: I’m not a flower, but I bloom in the heart,

In many stories, I play a part.

I can make you cry, or make you smile,

Through hate or sadness I reconcile,” Nigma chants tauntingly.

What the Hell kind of Riddle is that?

“Now let her go!” Crane orders.

Nigma shrugs. “Very well. There’s no need to hold onto her anymore.” He pulls out a knife and slices the ropes behind my back. “Sorry again, Callie. See you later.”

“Try to use me as bait again, and you will regret it,” I hiss as the ropes rub against my skin.

The chair pulls away and I fall onto my hands and knees. The pavement is hot enough to cook an egg. I don’t even want to know how red my back is.

“You owe me.” A hand grabs my arm and I’m tugged up to stand.

“Ow! In case you forgot, I am here because of you." I sneer at Crane. "Somehow I’m a valuable bargaining chip. Care to explain why?”

Dr. Crane doesn’t answer. He finishes untying the ropes around my legs. When he’s finished I bent over to pick up Ivy’s aloe. Every inch I move causes my skin to yell at me.

“Is it safe?” Crane asks in a lazy voice.

“I trust Ivy. Plus my skin can’t get any worse now anyway.” I practically limp into the shade and lean against the cold concrete. “I was just held hostage in broad daylight. What do you expect?”

“I expect it hurts.”

No shit, genius!

“Yes. Yes it does. Now please get your gloating over with so I can be miserable in peace.”

A small dose is all it takes. I pour a small drop of the green goo onto my hand and smear it across my arm. Thank you, Ivy! It feels like liquid relief-!

“Here.” Crane takes the bottle and suddenly more aloe is being rubbed gently on my back. “This should help.”

Oh- God, he’s good at this. Of course he is. He studied anatomy the same as I. But why does he have to be so frustrating?

“You’re helping? Are you high?”

“Hardly. These actions are based on pity, Dr. Prentiss. You look like a cracker dipped in ketchup.”

Surprising. He still has a sense of humor. Probably because it’s directed at me. 

I fight the urge to moan and pull away before I let my trust slip. I pivot and walk through the alley towards the main street. Where do I go? What direction is-?

“Your apartment is that way, Dr. Prentiss.” Crane points north.

I pull my face into a tight smile. “Thank you,” I reply stiffly.

Continuing onward. And he’s still following me.

“Did you know that- Oh come on, take it off!” I yank Crane’s mask away and shove it into his hands. “We’ll get caught! Anyways, did you know that New York built the first electric chair in 1888 because they were seeking a more humane method of execution than hanging?” 

He takes a minute to adjust to the bright sunlight. “That seems rather dark and random for you.”

“I find it interesting. We still kill, but look for more humane methods. In my line of work I’ve seen many criminals design their methods of death. Including you.”

We get to the intersection across from my apartment. Good. A hot shower- Scratch that. A freezing cold shower for my skin and some fresh clothes. My poor black dress from last night is wrinkled and dusty. With a little luck it can be saved. Some hero. Dressed the part for damsel in distress like a pro. 

“Would you like me to escort you?”

Escort? God, he’s right. I am poisoning him with thoughts of chivalry. This does not sound like the Dr. Crane from five months ago. First he lets me live from a Nigma’s crazy scheme and now he’s offering to escort me.

My tone turns gentle. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

Crane nods. “Take care of those burns. Good day, Dr. Prentiss.”

He walks straight past me towards the docks. Back to his lab. So that’s it, then? Him popping in and out of my life when it concerns him. I shouldn’t care… But then why does my heart drop the further he gets down the sidewalk? Maybe Nigma’s right. Maybe he does care. Why else would he have acted to preserve my life today? Or it’s to earn a favor from me. I ‘owe’ him. Well, favor or not I’m still going ahead with my plan.

I strike first tonight.

[blacklister214]

Honesty and Codology: Chapter 1 (Eejit)

I've had Scarnash on the brain since 4x06 and a strong hankering to write a POV fic for Patrick. This one takes place in the middle of 2x06 while Patrick is recovering in the hospital. I may do more chapters, but I have to warn you, my muses are fickle. Replies, questions, and reblogs are always appreciated! Apologies in advance for the typos I'm certain I missed. Enjoy!

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Patrick shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. There had been times when he’d slept on much worse, but the feathered bed he'd used for the past five years had spoiled him.

The nurse had administered the pain medication, so his leg was no longer leaving him in constant agony, but the ache was still there. Perhaps it was better to focus on that, than the disquiet of being alone in the hospital room. Patrick never liked silence. It gave him too much time with his thoughts.

He’d had his men stake out every entrance to the building, so he could, theoretically, go to sleep without endangering his own life. Unfortunately, some instincts were harder to overcome than others. How much did he really trust his men? If the bribe were right, would one of them allow his would be killer chance to finish the job? Such contemplations made it rather hard to relax. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and willed the medicine to send him into a peaceful slumber.     

“Hello Patrick.” Patrick’s hand immediately dove beneath his sheets to where he’d hidden his pistol. He tried to blink the blurriness from his vision as he aimed his weapon at the figure in the visitor’s chair. 

Black bowler hat. Worn green waistcoat. Pocket watch. Fond, but vaguely disapproving expression on his face. It was Michael, exactly as he’d been the last time Patrick had seen him alive. 

"That laudanum must have been strong.” He’d been warned about the possible side effects of the drug, but he didn’t recall seeing spirits as being one of them. 

“Interesting way to greet your brother.” Patrick realized that he was still pointing the gun at Michael…no not Michael…at the empty chair where he was imagining Michael to be. Still, best to return the gun to its hiding spot before a nurse returned and caught him with it. Strictly speaking patients weren’t allowed weapons, but he’d gotten Clarence to smuggle one in. 

“You’re not my brother. Just a hallucination, brought on by painkillers.” It was important for Patrick to state it out loud. He’d enjoyed reading A Christmas Carol as much as anyone, but he did not believe in ghosts. 

“Does that mean you’re not pleased to see me?” The vision raised one eyebrow in a manner that was so familiar, so perfectly Michael, that Patrick had to swallow hard to keep tears from welling in his eyes. To see a memory animated before him was a miracle he’d never dreamed he’d witness.  

“Nice to have visitors of any sort, I suppose.” Patrick frowned. He’d been aiming for nonchalant, but that had come out a bit self-pitying. He didn’t need a constant stream of people bothering him while was trying to rest. 

“Clarence stopped by.” 

Patrick almost asked about how Michael knew about Clarence, since he’d been hired after Michael’s death. Then he remembered he’d already decided that “Michael” was a product of his own brain. Whatever Patrick knew, Michael would as well. 

“He needed me to sign some papers. God forbid my being shot interferes with the running of the accounts.” Clarence was a good employee. Loyal, hardworking. Certainly one of Patrick’s shrewder hires. Still, it wasn’t like they had a friendship. Employer and employee was a difficult line to cross and frankly they didn’t have much in common beyond a desire to see Nash and Sons succeed. 

“Maggie would be here, if you’d bother telling her what happened. Eamonn, as well I suspect.”

The tone of gentle chastiment was all too familiar to Patrick’s ears. Whenever Patrick has caused mischief, and he had quite frequently, it was always the same. Why Patrick? Why did you leave a dead mouse in your teacher’s desk drawer? Why did you throw Liam O’Toole’s fishing pole in the river? Why did you steal the tart off Ma’s tray, when she told you to wait until after supper? 

“No point in worrying them.” He’d gotten to know the witnesses to his brother’s murder over the years, and Patrick liked them both. Still, the dark history that bound them all together made him reluctant to form any tighter bonds. He was convinced he’d only survived his brother’s death because of Nash and Sons. He poured everything he had into the business, into making Michael’s dream a reality. Patrick couldn’t have done that with regular reminders of what he’d lost. 

“True. What are a few bullets in a leg in the grand scheme of things? You have two, after all.” 

Patrick has a strong impulse to cross his arms over his chest. He was no longer a child attempting to stand his ground with his much older brother. Patrick realized with a jolt that they were the same age now. Good god, seven years had flown quickly. What once seemed an impossibly large chasm was no more.   

“The situation is well in hand. I have the best investigator in London working the case.” He considered qualifying that statement, with “outside himself”, but rejected it. “Michael” was in his head, and Patrick had no illusions about how he rated against Eliza Scarlet.  

“The lady detective.” 

There was something odd in Michael’s inflection when he used the sobriquet. Perhaps a slight emphasis on the word “lady”? Patrick doubted that even a Michael of his imagination would take issue with a female PI. Their own mother, God rest her, had had a commanding presence that generals would envy. 

Perhaps it was the poshness the title implied. Patrick himself had made the mistake of dismissing the “Lady Detective” for that very reason. Women of the middle and upper classes, as a rule, hadn’t much in the way of grit. The only ambitions they were encouraged to nurture were of a matrimonial bent.  

“She’s very good. Tenacious. Ambitious. Clever. Hoodwinked me, more than once.” St. Clair had been furious when he’d shown up at the office, ranting about “that woman” making fools of them both. Patrick had agreed to buy up every available copy of the circular just to calm him down. Months later and Patrick was still using the story of his humiliation as tinder for his fires.  

“That must have been quite the experience for you.”  

Patrick looked down, smiling to himself at the memory of surprising her at her home. She had been confused by his smile and words of congratulations. She had a right to be. By her own admission her trick had hurt his relationship with St. Clair, embarrassed him in the eyes of the public, and potentially stuck him with a lawsuit. By rights he should have been furious with her…but he wasn’t. 

The fact was, he couldn’t remember a case where he’d enjoyed himself more. As he’d told her, he loved a challenge, and Eliza Scarlet was nothing if not challenging. Any anger he felt at the outcome was overpowered by the swell of admiration for her and the intense desire to make her a part of his agency. 

Patrick, glanced back up, suddenly aware he’d been musing to himself for over a minute. That was rude, even to a figment of his own imagination. Michael did not seem at all perturbed at being ignored. On the contrary, he was smirking at Patrick in a disconcerting manner, as though he were enjoying a joke at Patrick’s expense. 

“The point is, she’ll find out who was behind it.” Who had shot him, and why? A difficult question to answer. Someone he’d put away? A source of information he’d squeezed one time too many? A jealous husband? Not, of course, that Patrick would deliberately dally with a married woman. Too much trouble. But it wouldn’t be the first time a woman claimed widowhood a bit prematurely. Then, of course, there was always the possibility it was O’Driscoll. He had received no word from Eamonn or Maggie, but ships came in and out of the docks every day. It was possible his brother’s killer had avoided them, choosing to have Patrick removed before eliminating the more vulnerable targets. 

“Does it trouble you that you’ve angered so many people, you haven’t a clue who wants you dead?”

Patrick looked at Michael sharply, the memory of O’Driscoll coating his tongue with bitterness. 

“You’re a fine one to talk.” An old anger blossomed in Patrick’s chest as he returned to that night in his mind. Michael had gone to the docks alone that night, rather than wait for Patrick. If Patrick had ever done something so foolish, Michael would have tanned his hide.  

“That’s unfair.” 

“You should have taken me with you.” They were supposed to stick together. That was the deal they’d made. Michael, for the first time in his life, had broken his word, and he’d left Patrick all alone. 

“You weren’t there when the tip came in.” 

A fact continued to haunt Patrick to this day. He hadn’t been there. He’d been down at the tavern drinking and flirting with lasses.  

“We’d worked for two weeks straight on the case for next to nothing. I needed a break!” The words felt hollow, even as he said them. Selfish. As hard as Patrick worked, Michael had worked double. He never complained either. He had been so good. He’d always been so good. Patrick sometimes wondered if his being born was the universe balancing things out. 

“I never said you didn’t. I told you to go, remember?” 

Of course he did. Michael had forever been Patrick’s greatest advocate. Smallpox took both their parents when Patrick was only 8 years old. Michael had kept them both housed, fed, and clothed, working odd jobs until he was old enough to join the Royal Irish Constabulary. When Patrick was old enough, Michael had given him a recommendation. Patrick had been drummed out for insubordination, and Michael had immediately resigned his post. He’d gotten them passage to London and worked menial jobs until they’d saved enough to open Nash & Sons.      

“You should have come with me.” Just once, couldn’t Michael have been selfish? Ignored responsibility for a single evening? 

“I couldn’t. I’d made a promise.” Patrick briefly closed his eyes. He remembered the look on the faces of Maggie’s family, desperate for their daughter’s return. Did he really blame Michael for not wanting to waste time tracking Patrick down? No. Not with Maggie’s life on the line. In his heart of hearts, he knew where the blame truly lay.

“You and your honesty.”

“You and your codology.” 

Their old refrain. He remembered returning to their very first office with a small sign engraved “Nash and Sons.” When Michael had pointed out neither of them actually HAD sons, Patrick had explained that they were the “Sons.” The name implied that business was inherited, with a legacy of success, rather than an upstart agency. Michael had shaken his head in exasperation, but allowed Patrick’s his way.

Patrick had often joked that if it bothered him so much, he could find himself a wife and have some children. Michael had always smiled and said, “Or you could.” Then they’d both laugh at the likelihood of that happening.   

“You’ll be pleased to know I have been a bit more truthful of late.” The look on Michael’s face was skeptical.

“Oh really?”

“Miss Scarlett. I offered her a fair rate for referring cases to her, rather than just taking my finder’s fee off the top.” 

Today had actually been something of a success, bullets in his leg notwithstanding. His months of careful planning had paid off. Sending cases her way. Paying Detective Phelps for news regarding Inspector Wellington. He’d waited for the perfect moment, then struck. 

At first his proposal had not had the warmest of receptions, but in the end she had capitulated. Not totally, of course. Not yet. And naturally she’d managed to rest a small victory of her own from the encounter. Still, being out an extra month’s pay was more than worth the exhilaration that came with going toe to toe with a worthy opponent.  

“A noble gesture, I am sure. Not in the least self-serving.” Patrick rolled his eyes at the rebuke. 

“I didn’t grow our business to what it is today by being altruistic. Besides, Eliza despises charity. I would have mortally wounded her pride.” 

Her disgruntled tone when she decried needing his help told him everything he needed to know on that score. She could accept a business exchange, but under no circumstances did she want his pity. She was a unique woman, who was more offended by chivalry than chicanery.

“Eliza?” Patrick realized that he’d unintentionally used her first name. Odd, that.   

“I meant Miss Scarlett. A slip of the tongue.” 

“That would be a first.” Michael wasn’t wrong. Patrick's words were his best weapons and he usually wielded them with great care. Patrick shook his head and attempted to shrug it off.

“I am, as I mentioned, on rather strong medication.” 

Michael made a non-committal sound and rose. 

“Perhaps it's best I leave you to rest then.” He turned toward the door, as though he were a flesh and blood visitor, not a phantom of Patrick’s mind. Phantom or no though, Patrick wasn’t quite ready for him to disappear.

“Michael?” His brother paused and glanced back at him,  “Why now? After all these years, why am I dreaming of you now?”

Michael scratched his beard.

“I thought you said it was the laudenum. That I’m just in your imagination.” Patrick supposed Michael had a point. Any answer Michael gave would ultimately come from himself. Still, he wanted a response.

“I’m curious about what I’d imagine you to say.” That same mysterious smile from earlier returned to his brother’s face.

“You’re the detective. Has something changed in your life lately? Something you’d want to talk to me about? Or someone?” Patrick’s eyes widened as Michael's implication suddenly dawned on him. Eliza Scarlet. Somehow she had triggered this…encounter. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Michael. What exactly was he saying? That he fancied her? She was strong and clever and funny and pretty and a man would be mad not to be drawn toward that. And yes, she had a disturbing tendency to make him want to be more fair and honest, at least with her. All that though, was besides the point.

His affairs with women were uncomplicated things. He was interested in experienced women who enjoyed occasional companionship, but didn’t want the burden of a husband. That suited him perfectly. He didn’t have time for anything else. Besides, it was clear to anyone with eyes she had her heart set on Inspector William Wellington. Not that the fool deserved her, but that wasn't the main issue either. The issue was that she was going to be an excellent asset to his business, and he would never do anything to compromise that. Nash and Sons came first. Always.

Though he had to admit, it had been nice, when he’d opened his eyes and found that she’d stayed with him from his transportation to the hospital through the surgery. It was nice to have someone who cared, at least a little. Feck.   

Patrick glared up at his brother.

“Eejit.” Since when had Michael been the one to stir up unnecessary trouble? That was Patrick’s role and he’d thank his brother to remember it.  The corners of Michaels’ lips tilted up at the insult.

“According to you, you’re only talking to yourself. Now, get some sleep.” Patrick’s eyelids suddenly felt impossibly heavy and began to close. Fighting against his stupor, he managed to get out the words he hadn’t been able to say all those years ago. 

“Good bye, Michael.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

[epic-arc]

Spider Knight 5: The Spider in the Storm.

Team rwby and jnpr were in the lab that had just come out of renovations after the vulture fight and nora is looking at a vat full of electric eels and jaune walks over and pokes her shoulder with a curious expression.

Jaune: You seem pretty fixated on these eels what's so interesting about them other than giving off electricity.

Nora: Man I just think they're really cool having the ability to generate their own energy and release it in the form of a defense and is very similar to my semblance! Well i mean a littel similar.

Jaune: Yeah i agree with you nora they are pretty cool and maybe if that scientist professor ozpin told us show ups maybe he gonna let us hold them with the right equipment.

jaune and nora were getting attention for pyrrha so they approaching the group and a scientist would enter the room and look at the two team with a big smile on his face and then he would fix his lab coat and put a rubber glove on his shield and grab a grappling hook and went to the fish tank.

Curtis Connors: As in science, in nature everything is connected and as scientists we explore and explore these connections for the benefit of society and as you can see, this tank contains genetically engineered electric eels.

Everyone was impressed and interested in what dr connors was saying and jaune would look at nora who would have an expression of animation and joy on her face which would make him smile.

Curtis Connors: We have the idea of ​​creating an alternative electrical energy source of clean energy.

Nora holds her hand up and Connor sees it and points his finger at her and everyone looks at her curiously.

Nora: So do you believe that using the electricity that eels make we can replace the use of electric dust?

Curtis Connors: Correct our only problem with this type of energy is that it accumulates and this can spoil or even burn the energy limiters that is why in the laboratory we are updating the limiters to avoid any disaster.

Connors would stretch his arm to the side and show Maxwell putting the new power limiters on the tank and he would wave to the group.

Curtis Connors: I thank everyone for visiting the laboratory and hope to see you again on a next visit.

Time rwby and jnpr left the lab and would go back to beacon. Connors walks to his office and sits in his chair and sees on the table 3 bottles containing a green liquid and he would have written on the label on the bottle ''R-serum''. He reached out to pick up one of the bottles but heard a loud noise and left the room and saw 3 strange figures wearing masks but one would be wearing a bowler hat on his head and another figure was holding Maxwell.

Roman(Masked): Wow, I never thought that a altas laboratory would have such weak security.

Curtis Connors: Who are you people?! Why are you here and what do you want?!

Roman(Masked): Well we just want something you have but haven't shown to the public in your freak show factory. We want your dust variants so we can use them much better the way you're thinking of using them.

Curtis Connors: I-I don't have them right now they are still being studied at altas and they are still unstable!

Roman(Masked): Well then the reason I came here was for nothing but as I'm a gentleman I'll leave you an electrifying little souvenir.

Roman would snap his fingers and Kraven who would be in disguise would throw Maxwell into the eel-filled tank and he would let out screams of pain and the whole room would blink and Norman would stare at the scene with terror on his face.Jaune and nora were in their dorm room jaune was on the ceiling reading comics while nora punched a punching bag that was pyrrha and jaune looked at her with curiosity and a little concern.

Jaune: Nora why are you punching pyrrha's punching bag did something piss you off?

Nora: Isn't that right and that after seeing your fights in the newspapers I stopped to think how much time is left for a big, strong villain to show up and leave you all broken?

Jaune: Hey, if you forgot I have the strength of a spider and pyrrha has been teaching me how to fight so I think I can handle it but accepting help is never too much.

Jaune would leave the ceiling and fall to Nora's side and punch her and she would respond and two would laugh until Jaune's cell phone vibrated and he would pick it up showing the notification of a news '' Doctor Curtis Connors' laboratory was attacked at dawn last night by 3 mysterious figures and the disappearance of Maxwell Dillon'' Jaune would look at that and be worried and look at daughter in law who had a big smile on her face.

Nora: Hey jauney what do you think of an investigation of spider knight and his new partner queen of the storm!

Jaune: Nora I don't think this is a good idea because I don't put any of you in danger and then there's the other issue you don't even have a costume to hide your identity!

Nora would chuckle and put her hand on Jaune's shoulder and give him a thumbs up as he just looked confused.A while would pass and spider knight was swinging through the city and he would stop at a pole and look at the police cars and notice yuri seeing some crime scene evidence then he would approach and yuri would look at him with a serious tone.

Yuri Watanbe: I see you heard the news now, don't you?

Spider Knight: You know need sleep too so madam captain, what news do we have?

Yuri Watanbe: My mens are investigating the place and we spoke with Dr. Connors and he commented that the laboratory was invaded by three people wearing a mask one of pumpkin another one being of a lion and the third one was a white one with a feminine face. Maybe it's a new gang and they were looking for a new type of dust that Doctor Connors is making he calls ''D-173'' which seems to give an artificial aura to the person who uses it..

Spider Knight: But also has Doctor Connors' colleague Maxwell Dillon he was in the lab last night any sign of him?

Yuri Watanbe: Well some security camera recordings near the lab captured a recording of some person or being that looks like a creature of energy.

Spider Knight: Perhaps this has to do with genetically modified eels…

The lights and sirens of the police car would start to blink and one of them would start to leave several rays of electricity forming in the middle of the street a man with yellow coloring and a face that looked like a star and he would look at the laboratory with an expression of hate.

Electro: Where is connors?! I need him to heal me!

All cops point their guns at electro who would raise his hands in the air and jaune yells at them to calm down and he slowly walks towards electro.

Spider Knight: Hey max its me spider knight i am your friend lets calm down..

Electro was calming down and lowering his arms until a policeman shot and the bullet passed inside Electro who got scared and released an electrical blast that would push the police and the vehicles turning them around and Jaune would get up but dizzy.

Spider Knight: Yuri send your men to make this area become a non-civilian area. I'll try to take care of the lightning bolt.

Jaune would launch his webs into a sewer cover and launch towards electro who would try to become untouchable again but could not and would take a cover in the middle of his belly, making him roll on the floor.

Spider Knight(Mind): Hmm it seems that when he uses a lot of energy his body starts to become tangible I have to think of a way to defeat him maybe there is an insulating material nearby...

Spider knight didn't realize the electro attack and was throwing it against the wall and was hit by the electon rays making him scream in pain and he felt his aura blinking almost breaking until he started to hear footsteps and saw nora who was wearing a mask similar to his only pink and lightning details and she would sledgehammer electro throwing him against a police car and she would reach out to jaune who would take it and be confused.Spider knight didn't realize the electro attack and was throwing it against the wall and was hit by the electon rays making him scream in pain and he felt his aura blinking almost breaking until he started to hear footsteps and saw nora who was wearing a mask similar to his only pink and lightning details and she would sledgehammer electro throwing him against a police car and she would reach out to jaune who would take it and be confused.

Spider Knight: What are you doing here ?! and what mask is that?

Queen Of The Storm: Well I saw on the news that you were getting pretty kicked out of Lamphead over there so I grabbed a mask from a costume shop and did a quick makeover and shazam came to the rescue hehe.

Electro puts both hands against a pole and absorbed his energy and aimed at the queen of the thunder and shot a blast of energy but nora would use her hammer to defend herself the energy would be around the hammer and go to nora's body but she is absorbing and would let out a laugh of animation. Spider knight seeing that queen of the storm was holding the electricity he would enter the laboratory and take the rubber gloves and approach electro and punch him in the face making him stop attacking her making her fall on her knees tired and panting and her aura it was almost breaking.

Spider Knight: Sorry super shock but now I'm going to have to cut your light!

Jaune would throw one last punch that would make electro get confused and dizzy and jaune starts to wrap his web around electro's arms and legs taking him to the public pool that was empty that day and throwing him into the water making a big explosion and onto the ground from the water Maxwell was fainting but still with traces of energy. The police approached the place and Jaune was leaving to meet Nora who was resting in an alley and Spider Knight took off his mask.

Jaune: Nora are you okay?!

Nora: I just have a little a-aura but I'm fine not to worry and I just eat Ren's pancakes and rest hehe…

Jaune would giggle and put her mask back on and put nora on her back and leave the room swaying in the webs and jaune would stop at the window and look into the dorm and it would be empty and then he would go in and leave nora on her bed and look again at the window and saw ren and pyrrha trained in the school field and that relieved him and he sat on his bed and rested too.

(POST CREDIT!!!)

Dr Connors were at home in his office and he would look at a picture of his son and wife and he would look out the window and see them playing in the garden and he would wave to them and they would wave back and he would go back to his chair and get a I inject one of the secret ''R-Serum'' flakes and he would inject himself and after a few grunts he would look where the prosthesis was and see a new arm he would be with an expression of joy on his face.

(This is nora outfic just imagine with a pink spider man mask)

[yesterdays-xkcd]

This digital music thing will probably reach its endgame sometime in the next decade or so. These are very exciting times.

1337: Part 5 [Explained]

Transcript

[The two men in black bowler hats (RIAA and MPAA agents as known from the previous comic) with their katanas are attacked by Elaine Roberts with her folding knife and Richard Stallman with his own two katanas. Elaine kicks the RIAA man to the left in the back of his leg, while Stallman jumps over the MPAA man to the right, flying high over him from right to left in a flying maneuver hitting his sword while hanging parallel to the ground above the man.] Elaine: Thanks, Stallman! Richard Stallman: 'Tis my pleasure.

[Elaine stands to the left with her knife in one hand having folded it down again. Richard Stallman stands between the two men with bowler hats who are now lying on the floor on either side of him, each with one of Stallman's swords pointing at their throat. Stallman has both arms fully stretched towards them as he looks straight out of the panel. The left (RIAA) man lies flat on his back, his hat and katana lying behind him. The right (MPAA) man is sitting on his knee leaning as far back as he can, since the sword is almost touching the skin on his throat. He wears his hat, but the sword lies behind him, out of reach, even though he is leaning back on one hand close to it. To the far right, a rope comes down from the top of the panel, falling down on the ground so a section of it stretches even farther right in the picture. Down this rope comes a man with googles and a red cape, which is black on the inside. This is Cory Doctorow. He holds onto the rope with two hands, one over one just under his head.] Elaine: So, wait - how did you know we were in trouble? Richard Stallman: My friend here was tracking these thugs from his balloon. Richard Stallman: He called me and I thought I'd stop by. Cory Doctorow: -Hi! Cory Doctorow: Cory Doctorow - It's a pleasure to meet you.

[Elaine has shifted the knife to the other hand. Richard Stallman has moved to the left of the RIAA man, so both bowler hat men are between him and Cory Doctorow. Stallman still points his sword in their direction, but they are lowered. The RIAA man closest to him has picked up his hat in one hand and reaches for his sword with the other hand. The MPAA man now lies on his back, one arm up, leaning on the other. His sword is gone. It does not seem like Doctorow could have taken it. Behind him, Doctorow has reached the ground, the rope hanging behind him. He points left.] Elaine: Balloon? Richard Stallman: Aye. They're up there constructing something called a "Blogosphere." Cory Doctorow: Yup! It's twenty kilometers up, just above the tag clouds.

[The scene is contracted, so to the left, Mrs. Roberts at her desk with her chair and laptop becomes visible (from the previous comic). This without the other people has moved closer. She still types as her son Little Bobby Tables enters and lifts a hand in his mother's direction. He is drawn as a child version of Cueball. Elaine has put the knife away and looks at Richard Stallman, who now stands straight looking at her with the swords crossed in front of his legs. Behind him, just right of the rope hanging down, Cory Doctorow lifts one of the agents up by the throat while looking right and talking to him. The other agent has left the panel. The one he holds has his hat but no sword.] Little Bobby Tables: Mom, I'm hungry. Mrs. Roberts: Hush, I'm coding. You ate yesterday. Richard Stallman: You know, Roberts, GNU could use a good coder like you. Ever thought of joining us? Elaine: Maybe someday. Right now I've got an industry to take down. Elaine: Music doesn't need these assholes. Cory Doctorow: Begone, And never darken our comment threads again!

[Zoom in on Elaine, Richard Stallman, and Cory Doctorow. She stand straight looking at Stallman, who faces towards her swords now on his back crossed. Doctorow is also facing her and holds out both arms towards her. The rope is now outside the panel, as are both bowler hat men.] Richard Stallman: Well, you won't fix the industry with random exploits. You need to encourage sharing in the public mind. Doctorow: Hey; With your music and coding backgrounds, you should get into building better P2P systems.

[The final panel is only a third of the length of the previous panel. The three are still in the panel, but they have moved and are also drawn somewhat smaller. Elaine still faces them right, but now Cory Doctorow is in front of Richard Stallman's swords as before. All have their arms down.] Elaine: What? Straight-up piracy? Cory Doctorow: Sure - have you ever considered it? You'd make a wonderful dread pirate, Roberts.

[To the right of the final panel is a two-column epilogue narrated by Cueball as seen in part 2. It is split into three paragraphs and a "signature." The caption above is centered over the two columns.] Epilogue Cueball (narrating): Elaine shared her ideas with Bram Cohen, who went on to develop BitTorrent. Mrs. Roberts spends her time developing for Ubuntu, and defacing the websites of people who make "your mom" jokes to her daughter. Elaine still stalks the net. She joins communities, contributes code or comments, and moves on. And if, late at night, you point a streaming audio player at the right IP at the right time - you can hear her rock out. ~Happy Hacking.~