#burglar's tools

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Charged With Stealing Furs,” Kingston Whig-Standard. October 24, 1932. Page 1. ---- Seven Men and One Woman Appear in Toronto Police Court ----- TORONTO, Oct. 24 —Seven men and one woman, alleged to have stolen $7,500 worth of furs; to have received the furs, and to have been in possession of burglar tools appeared in police court today and were remanded for one week. Bail of $10,000 each or a total of $80,000 was requested. 

The woman, Hilda Reynolds, is charged with having the burglar tools; Morris Rosenbaum, alias John Reynolds, and Max Beaver, Toronto, were charged with breaking and entering, while Nathan Tusher, Max Walsh, Mike Pacella, Joe Duranzio, and Joseph Valentino are all charged with receiving the stolen furs.

[giffypudding]

Did you pack it?

[iimr3]

parker may be the best autistic woman representation. she could've sooo easily been Generic Sexy Cat Burglar Woman but instead shes the weirdest little guy who's also extremely talented and intelligent when it comes to her special interest (theft). and the team never really makes fun of her for it. the pilot ep is kind of weird but for the rest of the show, everyone just accepts that parker is Like That and works with her how she needs to be worked with. and when they teach her social skills, its just another tool in her theft belt. shes a little childish sometimes but shes never treated like she isn't a full adult. shes allowed to be blatantly autistic and weird AND have a genuinely sweet romance with someone who cares about making her feel understood. I will never be over the Dubai chess episode where she has what I interpret as a small meltdown & hardison immediately helps her calm down and comforts her. AND the fact that hardison recognizes that she is struggling with alexithymia and works with her pretzel metaphor to say "hey you don't have to figure this out right now, I can wait" !!! queen of television autism now and forever

[13atoms]

Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)

Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean

Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.

Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)

The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.

You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.

It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.

Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.

Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.

“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”

You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.

“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”

“Exactly.”

“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”

Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.

“Not necessarily.”

“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”

His eyes snapped from you to his phone.

“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.

“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.

There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.

“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.

It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.

Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”

The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.

It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.

When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.

Spencer.

He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.

“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”

“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”

You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.

“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”

He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.

Oh, Spencer.

“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.

“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.

 Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.

“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.

You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.

“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.

“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.

A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.

“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”

“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”

“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”

There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.

A rare breed.

You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.

You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.

 “Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.

You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.

“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”

The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.

When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.

“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.

“I think so.”

You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.

“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”

Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.

“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”

“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.

Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.

“I mean, look at it!”

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.

Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.

“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.

“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.

“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”

Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.

“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”

He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.

“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.

“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”

He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.

“Are you okay?” you asked finally.

“I’m okay.”

You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.

 “Spencer…”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.

“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”

He didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.

“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.

Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.

“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”

“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”

“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”

The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.

“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”

 “I… yeah. I suppose so.”

“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”

“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”

You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?

“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.

You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.

“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”

“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”

You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”

“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.

You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.

“I’ve got no idea.”

Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.

“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”

You frowned.

“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”

“Handsome?”

In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.

“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”

You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.

“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”

Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.

[otaku553]

Straw hat women redesigns :) I was trying to doodle some of the crew and came to the realization that I just Could Not with Nami so I wanted to play around with it a little bit

Some more design notes below:

Nami’s design actually went a lot smoother for me than Robin’s! I think canon post timeskip Nami is a very low bar. While you can argue that to some extent Nami being vain and seductive is part of her character, I do feel that there are many more integral parts of her character that can be highlighted in her design, namely map making and her combat. Though not one of the stronger straw hats, Nami does seem to be well practiced with her staff outside of its use for weather manipulation, and I think her being a physical combatant, even slightly, can be better reflected with more loose clothing for better mobility.

For her mapmaking, I wanted her to have constant easy access to her tools and to information about the locale, so around her waist she has one large pouch at the back for books and scrolls and maps in progress and one small pouch to the side for writing utensils and measurement tools. As backup she also has 2 pens in her bun, which also act as pins for keeping her hair up if she ever needs to move a lot.

I’m not sure how clearly it shows up in the notes, but Nami’s shoe soles are also made from whatever artificial cloud material makes up the weather island she stayed on during the timeskip, so that it both pads her steps to make them soundless and bounces for better mobility. The shoes are naturally shaped like heels but without the actual heel, since she tends to move around on tiptoes anyways- a nod to her epithet as cat burglar and her past as a thief.

I made her shoulders a bit broader because I think they probably get a lot of exercise with her staff, and changed out the bikini top for a more supportive chest wrap, with a loose tank over it for breathability. The compression socks and sleeve are more stylistic than anything, since I like layers, but they might come in handy for her if she spends extended amounts of time sitting down making maps for the crew.

Robin’s was a bit more difficult for me to figure out, and I might go back and revisit it at some point. For Nami, it was a bit easier to imagine what would pair well with her combat methods and her needs as a mapmaker, but with Robin, she’s an academic who fights almost completely hands off, without a specific weapon to her name. Because her strength lies mostly in her devil fruit, she has a bit more room for style over functionality, but I also still wanted her to have something that made sense with what she was. I don’t really think I succeeded in that regard, but it’s also hard to convey what she does visually— she’s more of like a professor than a field archaeologist I think.

I really really enjoy her cowboy hat but I didn’t think it would match with the rest of the outfit so I switched it out for a wider brimmed hat and kept the orange sunglasses on it, as a nod to the revolutionaries with the combination of headwear and eyewear. She deserves a trench coat. I don’t make the rules. And the rest of the fit mostly came down to things I think I would enjoy wearing, haha

The trench coat is partially a nod to the scholars of ohara, who seem to wear white coats like lab coats in some screenshots of robin’s backstory. I think also the reading glasses help to make her seem a bit more academic, but aren’t prominent enough to leave a strong impression. All in all I do wish robin’s design had more functionality in it but I also think that robin is a character who probably enjoys dressing up nicely like this, especially in the comfort and stability of the straw hats.

[emporium]

Tumblr Yearbook Magnet (Three Pack) • $6.00

So why should you buy a fridge magnet? Well, let’s start with the obvious, they’re the low-cost alternative to a home security system. How, you ask? Well, imagine a burglar entering your kitchen only to be distracted by your impressive collection of magnets from around the world. He might even start organizing them by continent, or wondering why there’s a magnet from a place called ‘Boring, Oregon’!

Now, on a more serious note (or maybe not), they are the perfect tool to hold up your kid’s artwork or those utility bills you keep pretending don’t exist. And let’s face it, your fridge just feels naked without them. In a nutshell, if you ever felt the need for a mini-gallery of randomness in your life, fridge magnets are your best bet!

Each order includes 3 magnets

1.96″ x 1.7″ in size

Thin & lightweight

[nanenna]

Today I remembered that my favorite thing about having so many AUs is to pick up 2 AUs like Barbie dolls and clack their faces together while making smooching noises.

Behold my beloved DCxDP AU amalgamation monster: DeamonTwinAU and PhantomThiefAU (aka: Selina gives Danny a slutty slutty cat suit, good times)

The story vaguely goeth thusly: Danny is a halfa, the Balance, the Bridge Between Worlds, he is....... the Observants' glorified gofer. You see, there are a lot of cursed/enchanted/ghostly artefacts floating around loose in the living Realm and they need Danny to go retrieve them. Danny would rather not, but they just won't leave him alone about it. Can't a guy just live? At least let him poop in peace! Ancients! Fine, he'll do it if it'll get them to shut up. (Spoiler: it does, in fact, not get them to shut up.)

But you see, Danny has a secret: he was raised in an assassin ninja cult (at least for the early years) before getting adopted by the Fentons. Now the killing? Not a fan, no thanks, he's working on not increasing his kill count, thx. But the sneaking? He could use that. Sneaky ninjas are also good thieves, right? So he cobbles together a knock off League of Assassins outfit, buys a cheap portable lock picking set, and decides to make a game of how far can he get without using his powers (much. He's new at this okay?)

Batman is not having fun. There's some (possible?) League assassin running around stealing verified cursed/magical artefacts! Is Talia planning something? Is Ra's planning something? (Isn't he for real dead? Silly reader, no one is ever for real dead in DC.)

Robin is super frustrated. For all the same reasons Batman is but also because he just knows this new rogue is taunting him. Personally. Because he's Damian al Ghul Wayne and the whole world revolves around him, obviously. (And also because he once pointed at Robin and laughed before jumping out a window.)

Selina is intrigued. Who is this kid? How does he know what to go after? How does he keep evading the bats? Luckily she runs into him mid heist (fortunately they had different targets, she's intrigued but not enough to hand over her shinies to him) and oh he's adorable! She has to train him, it would drive Brucie up the wall. But then she sees his face and oh, she knows exactly who he is, even if he seems oblivious.

Because Danny? He's in Gotham for the ecto, for the Thomas Wayne full ride scholarship he managed to snag, and also because for some reason Gotham is full of so many cursed/ghost artefacts. (Lady Gotham is seething, she worked hard to collect all those curses! But this is her beloved dark knight's kid and she kinda wants him home. But she also doesn't want to give up her curses!) Back to the point: Danny doesn't care about ANY of the rich bougie people. The Waynes give out a lot of scholarships? Cool, that's nice and all. They probably also rub elbows with Vlad or Sam's parents. No thanks. Doesn't care. He's got better things to worry about.

Selina has got a plan though! She's gonna teach this boy how to thief properly, starting with better tools (including the slutty, slutty cat burglar outfit). She also knows that she can't let any of the Waynes (in or out of costume) meet Danny (out of costume). So does Lady Gotham. So does the universe apparently (or just Clockwork maybe), because all kinds of unlikely things keep happening to prevent it.

Danny is having so much fun though! He's learning new skills. Selina is giving him an allowance so he's not living off ramen and peanut butter sandwiches, he's doing well in school, he gets to stretch his ghost powers regularly to go above the smog cover and star gaze in peace. Everything's coming up Danny.

Selina decides it's time to flaunt her find in front of Brucie and makes Danny go to a gala as her date, she spends the entire time clinging to his arm and introducing him around to everyone. Including Bruce himself (who just so happens to have Damian in tow). Danny may not recognize Bruce, but he sure recognizes Damian, and Damian recognizes him if his utterly flabbergasted face is anything to go by. But Danny remembers what it was like living in the League. And so far as he knows Damian is still in it, he was the Demon Head's heir after all. Damian made sure of it.

Oh it. Is. ON! Now Danny is on a mission! A sibling rivalry mission! He is going to make Damian's/Robin's a living hell. Selina going on a heist that has no magical artefacts? Danny's there anyway, always have back up. That necklace in the museum has barely any powers and he wasn't even going to bother with it? Too bad, it's back on the list. He has no reason to be out at all but the bats are on patrol? Well so is Danny. Catch him if you can, suckers!

It's good for Danny, it's enrichment!

[shotmrmiller]

I can just imagine blue collar Simon surprising us with his retired military skills when we get burglarized one day and he saves us. Who would’ve ever thought the plumber was ex special forces

argh i love it so much.

hearing the door being broken into and simon's just like get in the closet *hands you gun he pulled out of his tool box* anyone other than me comes in you send hate their way and starts going through your cleaning chemicals because guerrilla warfare

i would fuck him after as a thanks for saving my life js

[little-mouse-adventures]

@orangerosebush's post here, with my comment and @fowlblue's tags today got me thinking.

Artemis Senior has been teaching his son matters of business from a young age. Not only was Artemis, at 11 years old, discussing stocks with his father, but Fowl Senior had been imparting his wisdom onto his son for years by that point, discussing the ever-increasing value of gold with him before tucking him into bed. Even outside of pure monetary value, Sr. had tried to go legitimate with his business dealings, leading Artemis to have a few legal ventures of his own.

We also see very early on in the books that Artemis has been regularly using Butler as a resource for his plots: bouncing ideas off him was apparently a fairly common tactic when he was scheming.

Both Artemis Senior and Butler are interested in (or at least, not opposed to) educating Artemis on the ways of their lifestyle(s). It would be Artemis Senior who would have taught his son the value of banks and safety deposit boxes and hidden safes but it was Butler who was actively working with Artemis to rob those safety deposit boxes.

In the same vein of breaking-and-entering, TLC also gives us the fun little moment where Butler hands Artemis his own lockpicks, to get into the workings of the bomb.

With one line we learn that Artemis knows how to pick locks, but does not have his own set of lockpicks. Butler, on the other hand, has both the tools and knowledge how to use them. Partnered with a brief mention in TTP of some the specific trades of those previously employed by Artemis Senior (including such things as crime lords, insider traders, and cat burglars), we can extrapolate that Artemis Senior would generally hire someone to pick a lock for him, rather than do so himself.

It's pretty logical to conclude then that Artemis learned big-picture management from his father, and day-to-day skillsets from his bodyguard.

Essentially, Artemis Senior taught Artemis how to run a criminal empire. Butler taught Artemis how to be a criminal.

[tossawary]

So, the Jackson "The Hobbit" movies get rid of the dwarves having musical instruments, rather adding a very atmospheric humming to the "Over the Misty Mountains" song. And I like this adaptational choice just fine, I think it sounds good, and because the question of "What happens to the instruments? Are they taking clarinets and a harp and etc. on the quest?! Are the musical instruments magical?" has bugged me for years. And I do think this choice suits the general *waves hand vaguely* more "serious / grim / lower high fantasy" aesthetic cultivated by the previous Jackson "Lord of the Rings" films.

But I do like the mental image of the Company being a very literal band going on a quest, because I think it's funny and delightful and unique. If I was doing an animated movie in particular, I would not like to be rid of the musical instruments during that scene. The vibe is very magical. Very whimsical. And whimsy does not have to be wholly separate from very serious subject matters! I think it would be very cool if the dwarves had more casually magical tools generally, which would do some easy additional worldbuilding for the level of craftsmanship in this world, and could fit in perfectly well alongside hidden doors and invisibility rings and mithril shirts and glowing swords and jewelry that never comes accidentally undone.

If someone did a version where all the dwarves are carrying musical instruments throughout most of the quest in this way and the creator really leaned into the music generally and audio-visual relationship in film specifically, I would absolutely watch it. That sounds amazing. It wouldn't necessarily have to be a musical or an opera as well, though that would also be extremely cool. (Personally, I would even also watch a "Fantasia" version of "The Hobbit" FOR SURE. I am an artsy dork like that. Though it might not be my first choice in my ideal creative project.)

I think you could could do some great, whimsical scenes with the dwarves singing at various points on the road, the musical instruments breaking at certain emotional points, the dwarves trying to do little musical spells at various points, and so on. A lot of this stuff could even just be other members of the Company fussing around with these things in the background (trying to play a musical spell to light a fire) while Bilbo has a foreground conversation with Thorin or Gandalf or something. I LOVE in animated (and live) movies when you can see supporting characters bickering or getting into hijinks in the background of a scene. (Also, this world was sung into being in a way, wasn't it? Why not have more magical music?)

(OHHH, the way that Smaug could be done in a more audio- and music-focused version of "The Hobbit" would be SO COOL.)

Alternatively, generally, I've also imagined that there are other dwarves with wagons nearby to take the musical instruments away again (let's say the instruments are not magical in any way and taking them along would therefore largely just be impractical), and that the night at Bilbo's house was actually also a RITUAL meal/meeting for the members of a long journey. You're going on a quest? You seclude yourself with your company, eat, drink, talk, plan, and sing a little to bond as an exclusive group the night before heading off together. Normally, this would have been done back at their own home or something, but they had to get their burglar first.

I think this would be a cool way to slip in characters like Dis and Gimli even just in the background, as family members come to see everyone off, seen fixing Kili's hair or hugging Gloin as the Company prepares to leave Hobbiton that last morning. Thorin and Balin could be exchanging a couple quick lines about how Bilbo hasn't shown up yet, and in the background, we could see Dis hugging Fili (the true purpose of a well-done adaptation of "The Hobbit" is to break my fucking heart) and Gloin's wife drawing off with a wagon full of musical instruments while young Gimli waves tearfully! You wouldn't even have to have them say anything to slip them in!

Just... I'm listening to the Andy Serkis audiobook of "The Hobbit" right now and I want to see some gloriously artsy visual adaptations of this world.

[aprilrainsimblr]

Return Of The King: Sims 1 Burglar Music Converted to Sims 3

Today I have prepared something that everyone will hate 😊 With this tiny little mod you can traumatise a whole new generation of your sims with a nostalgic flair! Just place the file into your mods/packages folder and enjoy never feeling safe at night again!

Download at your own risk (google drive)

Alternative download (dropbox)

Credits to denton47 from MTS for their amazing TS3 Sound Tool. For better or for worse, this mod wouldn't have been possible without it.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"HAD GUNS, STOLE CAR YOUTH GETS 3 YEARS," Toronto Star. October 7, 1942. Page 7. ---- Kenneth Green Convicted - Companion Given 2 Years ---- Kenneth Green, 19, was sentenced to three years in the penitentiary by Judge James Parker in General Sessions today. He was convicted of breaking and entering, auto theft, having burglar's tools, theft of auto markers and having possession of offensive weapons. to wit, two loaded revolvers, in a car. Richard Dickenson, 20, who pleaded guilty to stealing an auto and receiving tools stolen from C.N.R. sheds, was given two years less a day in the reformatory. Dickenson. still faces charges of breaking and entering, auto theft, having burglar's tools, and theft of markers, the jury having disagreed at the time he was tried with Green and Sidney Birt. Birt, 25, who was to have been sentenced today, was remanded till Tuesday, his honor being desirous of reconsidering his case. He was found guilty on all charges.

[AL: Green was 19, a worker in a factory, single, born in Toronto to an American father and Canadian mother of Irish descent, and had already twice been in the reformatory and once in the Toronto jail. Green was convict #7067 at Kingston Penitentiary, and worked mostly as a garage machine shop worker in the Young Convicts gang, celled in a separate cellblock with other young men, than as a cleaner in their unit. He was released February 1945, joined up with some other ex-convicts and became a member of the infamous Stopwatch Gang.]

[sadesluvr]

CAT AND MOUSE. (IIII)

Miguel O'Hara x Black Cat! F! Reader Warnings: None PREVIOUS CHAPTER | READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST

CURRENT DAY  

“Miguel doesn’t want to see you.” 

Some fucking man he was. Despite the soft spot you held for him in your heart, it was difficult at times to put up with him. One minute he was hot, the next cold…it was nauseating, to the point that it made you want to go out and practically throw yourself into the arms of danger. 

In moments like these, there was only one thing that made you happy – a late night burglary. You hadn’t settled for anything small – no, tonight was for something more serious; a high security lab, one that just happened to be owned by Doc Ock himself. It wasn’t as if you cared about stealing serums, instead you knew that he was bound to have a few high-tech weapons that could certainly be beneficial to your arsenal. 

As you scoured through exposed pipes and racks of spare tools, a prototype on a stand caught your eye. It was a smaller version of the man's tentacles – a size that could certainly fit you. Retracting your claws, you ran your fingers along the crafted object, as if it were the Holy Grail itself. How much of a shocker would it be if you showed up to your next encounter as strong as, or even stronger than Miguel and Jess combined? 

(Was it worth destroying your progress in changing for the better solely because a man wasn’t giving you attention?) 

On a level, yes. Your complicated relationship with Miguel was all about power, and you knew better than anyone how dehumanising feeling ineffectual could be. If he wanted to be petty, you could certainly be pettier.  

(You’re toxic. This attitude isn’t healthy.) 

Who gives a shit? 

You were ready to wrench the contraption right out of its power sockets until you caught a glimpse of something behind you. It was big, it was shiny, and it was certainly expensive, right there in a glass tube. There was a red blinking light on its side, virtually screaming at you that it was dangerous.  

It was time for you to make a choice. Take the contraption and become a stronger villainess, or do the right thing and steal what could be a weapon of mass destruction and save the city? 

(Wasn’t that Spider-Man’s job?) 

Both outcomes involved you taking the contraption regardless. It was down to you whether you wanted to use it for good or evil. 

In your sick, attention-seeking mind, you rationalised it all with the idea that Miguel wasn’t just ‘any’ man, but one you were quickly falling in love with.  It was as if since meeting him, your entire philosophy had changed.  

Your past run ins with versions of Spider-Man had left you admiring the enigma without caring about the person underneath, but that hadn’t been the case with Miguel. You still remembered your second encounter as clear as day, when he’d run up on you at the Met Museum. 

“Missing me already, huh? How did you know I was here?” You grinned, crossing your arms over your chest. Though Miguel, ever so elusive, kept his mask on, you could practically see his face from under the pixels. That signature, totally disappointed look. 

“You’re predictable. I saw an ad in the paper about an unnamed cat burglar’s spree.” 

“Becoming predictable,” you corrected, jabbing him playfully in the arm. “I never used to be this way. Something’s changed.” 

“Don’t make excuses.” He replied flatly. 

You cocked a brow before shifting your weight, focusing your attention back onto the sculpture in-front of you. It was a weighted, bronze statue of Eros sleeping, his cherubic frame dangling off a slab of stone. His cheeks were puffed and there was exhaustion written all over his face, all flourished with a sense of innocence to it. After all, he was just a baby.    

“What’re you here for anyway?” 

“Patrols.” 

Miguel’s lip twitched at the lie. This ‘crush’ sort of thing didn’t come natural to him. By the way you were scanning his face, he could tell you didn’t believe him in the slightest. 

How embarrassing. 

“Are you much of an art guy?” You said, changing the subject. “I must say, you don’t strike me as one.” 

Miguel shrugged. 

“Art back home is far different…It’s futuristic. You don’t know what’s what sometimes.” 

This seemed to interest you.  

“And home is…?” You questioned, your voice raising as your eyes widened, hoping for the slightest bit of insight into the strange man who popped into your life. Miguel was silent for a while, contemplating whether he should tell you about Nueva York. Technically, it was safe to – you didn’t have a watch that could take you there – but then he would simply be giving too much of himself away, inevitably having to answer the age old question about family. Between Gabriella and his mother…there wasn’t a favourable option.  

“It’s — Not important.”  

“I don’t think I’d like it,” you sighed, clicking your tongue. His aversion to any kind of prying was annoying. “You can’t beat physical art. I love when you can see every stroke and chip, it’s like you’re watching the artist in real time.” 

Perhaps it was the distant look in your eye at the statue below you, or the soft genuineness within your voice at the statement, but either way Miguel felt an inexplicable urge to remove his mask.  

He hadn’t paid much attention to it at first, but the closer he looked, the more the statue reminded him of Gabi; on the days where she’d be so exhausted from school outings or soccer practice that he’d drape her over his shoulders and gently place her on the sofa so she could nap. The slow, happy times. 

Watching you stand over it, your fingertips brushing gently against the inanimate skin of the boy as you voice lulled did nothing but awake something in him. Motherly, kind… breedable. 

Sometimes it was hard to remember that people were more than just a costume. 

“Are you an artist?” he said, his brown eyes gazing into the side of your face.  

“God no,” you chuckled. “But there were a lot of books in jail and I read about the classics, modernism, that sort of thing. It gave me a new perspective.” 

He didn’t know why he was stunned by this. It came as a bit of a violent wake-up call to him. He didn’t judge those who’d gone to prison – but it was all dependent on the nature of the crime.  

“Jail? Why did you go to jail?” 

“I thought you’d know,” you laughed dryly, placing your hands on your hips. “Trespassing, and, surprise…theft.” 

“I should’ve guessed.”  

“You really should’ve.” 

You hadn’t expected the man to smile, let alone chuckle. It was brief, but it was genuine, and for a second you saw his pearly whites peeking from under his lips, the sides of his cheeks crinkling slightly. It wasn’t sex, but it somehow felt more rewarding than the act. 

“I get it from my Dad, but it wasn’t always this way,” you continued, motioning your hands in the air. “I went to college for social studies, and before that I was a gymnast. I almost joined the circus.” 

Miguel pursed his lips. You had the confidence and charisma of someone made for a life in circus – perhaps you would’ve done well. He knew that the sight of your gravity-defining locks gliding through the air would’ve been a spectacle on its own. 

(Gabi would’ve loved you.) 

He folded his arms. 

“Where did you learn how to fight? I’ve seen you in action. It’s…Impressive.” 

Your demeanour suddenly became strained, and he watched you suck in a breath between your teeth, staring distantly into the unknown. The longer you didn’t reply, the more he worried. 

“My college ran self-defence classes,” you said quickly. “It was just a starting point. Jail certainly taught me something, as did life in the mafia.” 

He nodded. That seemed understandable.  

“Are you not going to arrest me?” You interjected. “I’m confused as to what’s happening here.” 

So was he. 

“You’re not doing anything,” he said matter of factly. “Everything is still in tact. I have no reason to.” 

“Then you could fake perp walk me out the building. It might give you some street cred, I know how you Spider’s like a good photo op.” 

“‘Street cred?’” He repeated inexplicably. It was one of those words the younger Spiders used. “Jesucristo, how old are you?” [Jesus Christ] 

“Old enough to know that me saying that sounded weird,” you smirked. “I keep forgetting you’re not from here. Definitely not a city boy, are ya?” 

He frowned and diverted his gaze, mumbling something in Spanish under his breath. From the corner of his eye he could see you glancing at the security cameras, twitchy as you eyed the doors and the piece in-front of you. How could he have convinced himself that you weren’t there for just a look-around? At the end of the day, you were still a criminal. 

“Well, if you’re not going to arrest me, can you be a lamb and help me move this piece?” You chirped, pinching his cheek. “It’ll look stunning in my living room. Strong man like you can move a ton.” 

He glanced down at the cherub. Its malt-coloured features morphed into ones that were tangible, with long brown lashes and a baby blue football top draped across its pudgy body. 

“This piece?” he remarked, eyebrows furrowing. “No…Leave this one.” 

“Why?” you frowned. “You want it for yourself?” 

There was a flash of recognition in his eye, and your gaze followed his own as you watched his irises scan the child’s gentle features. Absentmindedly, he ran his large fingers along its cheeks and up its fringe, as if to stroke the hair from his face. As if it were human. 

And that’s where you got your first glimpse of the man under the mask. Someone who was possibly yearning. Someone who had probably lost something. 

Someone who was hurt. 

“You know, I’m not in that much of a stealing mood tonight.” You announced, casting your gaze at the man. He frowned, and raised an eyebrow. He was upset. Not necessarily because you hadn’t put up a fight, but because you were leaving. Unfortunately for him, he wanted to stay and talk to you. 

“I’ll see ya around, Spidey.” You grinned, brushing past him gently before escaping through the cracked window you’d entered in, leaving Miguel on his own once more. 

Standing on the rooftop opposite Doc Ock’s lab, you played with the blinking object in your hands, the familiar feeling of goosebumps peppering your skin. Since meeting Miguel, you’d tried so hard to be better that you’d forgotten how much fun it was just to be bad. 

And what was more devious than stealing a detonator from a mad scientist? 

Taglist: @honeyluvsatj @vancehopper1987 @saturnknows

[spanishskulduggery]

Oo! I have a good joke, what tool do bilingual burglars most approve of?

Aprobar.

Please forgive me.

Give me your phone, go to your room, and think about what you've done

[maxwell-grant]

HEROFY: scarecrow

The Scarecrow is a local cryptid of Gotham known for his scary costume, for an ability to induce chemical terror, for being a thorn on the side of Batman and the local supervillain scene, and for being very popular with the younger demographics. Kids love Scarecrow because he's a Halloween-themed swashbuckling boogeyman who scares up bad guys and bullies, and teenagers love Scarecrow because he's an independent lone force and because Scarecrow Drugs are all the rage in Gotham club scenes, easy to smuggle within Halloween confectionery and offering the trip of a lifetime with little bodily harm (potential heart attacks and brain damage notwithstanding). Naturally, this was a disaster for any form of narcotics enforcement in Gotham, and one that was only exacerbated when these drugs started being turned into self-defense tools, and even worse, their formulas started being made into public knowledge.

Afraid of walking alone at night? Instead of pepper spray, try Scarecrow spray, and you can inflict on your attacker far more horrible cruelties than the one they were trying to inflict on you. Is your school bully stealing your lunch everytime? Lace it with Scarecrow juice, boy will he think twice about messing with you. Caught some guy at a bar trying to roofie your friend? Just slip Scarecrow pills into his drink instead and he'll be shrieking his eyeballs out for three nights straight. Yes, lots of people may use Scarecrow drugs to do bad things, but it doesn't even reflect that poorly on him, because The Scarecrow is a hero to the poverty-stricken and vulnerable of Gotham, and every now and then, he makes a point of letting those people, those people who think they can steal fear from him, know where he stands with them. A little public scare every now and then, which is usually when Batman has to get involved.

Why, some will even tell you that if you leave a fistful of straw by your window sill at night, The Scarecrow will take a personal interest in your case. The halls of Gotham schools and universities are filled with rumors about The Scarecrow, who lurks the halls, looking to catch anyone trying to be scarier than him. Nobody has actually caught him, nobody has actually unmasked him, and a lot of people in the city hope that nobody does. Oh sure, it's nice when Batman goes and beats up some drug lord or villain you have heard about in the papers, but he's not exactly gonna come to your help unless you put a big freaking light on the rooftop, is he? But The Scarecrow, why, he's got your back no matter who or what you are. They are more than willing to spread the word again and again on how to make fear toxins and chemicals out of even simple cleaning supplies, and there's always a wild and dangerous new strain hitting the streets.

Which is a real pain in the ass for Professor Jonathan Crane, who has no idea how in the hell did his fear formula experiments get out of hand like this. Jonathan Crane was trying to synthetize a chemical that could induce hallucinatory terror on those infected, and his ambitions didn't really get much farther than trying to start an extortion racket so he could buy more books and make a living after losing his teaching job. He frankly only made the dumb costume so he wouldn't get caught, and sure, maybe he was sublimating a little childhood trauma into it, but it's not like he wanted it to start walking around and being some kind of vigilante, and thus, he is trying desperately to catch The Scarecrow and contain him before this entire legal nightmare is traced back to him, and worse, before Batman finds out he was behind it.

He has no idea how or why it is happening, whether the chemicals did something to his brain and he's undergoing a Jekyll-Hyde thing unknowingly, or whether some burglar raided his lab, or whether one of his test subjects somehow escaped and learned to synthetize their own formulas (they were all accounted for, impossible). He is learning more and more what it means to be truly, profoundly scared, in ways that would frankly excite him if he wasn't very seriously in danger if anyone, criminals or cops or Batman and etc, finds out he's causing this. He has no explanation why this symbolic embodiment of trauma grew legs and started fighting crime, other than, I guess that's what things do in Gotham City.

[elizabethemerald]

Summon the Cat: Part 6

Master Post

Danny crouched, looking down at the McMansion from a neighboring roof. The house was ostentatious to a fault. He wasn’t much of an expert on architecture in general but he had studied this building’s design extensively. It had been built to one up its next door neighbor that Danny was currently waiting upon. Due to trying to get the most of the available acreage the mansion pressed up against its neighbors, rather than the extensive topiary gardens the rest of the rich mansions had. 

The house Danny was on had a pool house that once had a beautiful view, except the garage of the McMansion now overshadowed it. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. All rich people were fruit loops. The continued drama with Bruce just proved him right. 

According to Selina (his new mom!!) Bruce had thrown seven kinds of fits about the Kyle family moving in next door. He had tried to bench Red Robin for selling Drake Manor, but Tim just moved out to his penthouse in Gotham proper and had the occasional sleep over at the Kyle House when he was feeling lonely. 

The kids all seemed happy to have the Kyles and the Sirens so close. Jason and Dick were over every other week, Jason to experiment with his cooking, Dick to train Danny and Jazz in gymnastics. Danny loved Jason’s skill in the kitchen and was paying avid attention so he could learn how to cook, because he certainly didn’t want the Fenton’s terror in the kitchen to infect him. Jazz was content to know that they were both eating nutritious food that they didn’t have to fight. Also, she had apparently always wanted to be in gymnastics but the Fentons considered it less important than ghost hunting and she couldn’t afford the lessons on her own. Danny of course used the lessons during his training with his mom to be a cat burglar. 

Jazz spent a lot of time with Stephanie and Cassandra. Bruce had tried to bench them as well, except Steph had laughed in his face while Cass had stolen any equipment they needed and the pair moved into the Kyle House, more specifically into Jazz’s bedroom. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what the three girls were up to in there, the love bites on Jazz’s shoulders made it obvious, but he didn’t want to think about his sister’s love life, though he was happy that the two girls made her so happy. 

He stuck out his tongue in disgust at the reminder of the one time he had a nightmare and almost walked in on the triad, then groaned quietly as he had licked the inside of his mask. Danny, Selina and the rest of the Sirens worked together to design his new costume. His nose and mouth were covered by a rigid mask and respirator shaped into the rictus grin of the Cheshire Cat. Selina had bemoaned not thinking about covering her face more with her costume. Harley had recommended leaning into his creepy factor, with the grin and slit eyes on his goggles. He could make both glow when he wanted to up the creep factor even more. 

Danny had enjoyed crafting the character he wanted to portray with his mom and his two aunts. He would allow his giggles to get caught on cameras, or the glow of his eyes to be seen. It was fun to be spooky without also getting chased by either his parents or the GIW. He had chosen the name Chesire as his thief name as an homage to his mom’s name of Catwoman. He had heard that there was apparently a villain named Chesire already, but he hoped that considering they were interested in such different crimes she wouldn’t be mad. 

His outfit was equipped with top of the line tools. Some he had made himself, some he had pickpocketed from the bats, including his own father. He made certain that he kept a clear division between when he was out as Chesire and when he was hanging out with the Waynes as Danny Kyle. He didn’t want them to worry about his intentions when he was with them. Harley had sewn his costume and the reinforcements necessary to tangle with the Justice League and the Bats. Ivy had given Danny some toys as well, his respirator could filter out any plant based toxin, and he had some pollens, spores and toxins of his own to knock out guards. 

On top of the mask and goggles he had a loose cowl with cat ears on top that completed his look. The cowl hid his identity without hampering his movement like the stiff ears Batman had would. He loved the spookiness of allowing his eyes to glow through his goggles from the depths of the hood. 

Danny tilted his head as a click sounded in his ear piece. He grinned and jumped across the high fence to their target. Selina was used to working by herself so she kept any conversation to a minimum, relying on small signals to show him when it was time to move. 

He landed lightly on an air conditioning unit, using just a touch of flight to slow his landing and eliminate the sound. He stood on his tiptoes and pulled a screwdriver from his kit. He had rebuilt the small tool himself, making it whisper quiet. Even the small sound of the tool was covered by the whir of the AC unit as he unscrewed the vent above his head. He gently pried the vent cover off, then hooked a cord through the vent itself so it dangled from the opening. 

Danny levered himself up and into the small opening. He couldn’t imagine his mom squeezing through the small gap, even though she had to do that herself when she was younger. Fortunately, he was skinny as a twig and had his ghost strength to lift himself up. Aunt Harley called him wiry. Jason called him a shrimp, though he changed his tune when Danny dead lifted him. 

He crept across the ductwork above the garage, looking down on the cars after he pulled the vent cover back into place with the cord and secured it with a bit of plain Blu tack. Mom insisted that you could have the best tech in the world, but sometimes simple solutions were the best. They had considered stealing the fancy showpiece cars, but cars were much easier to track and they already had Bruce breathing down their necks so they weren’t worth it. That didn’t mean they couldn’t cause some chaos, just for fun. 

Danny hooked his ankle around one of the duct supports and leaned down until he was upside down and took careful aim with a grapple he pickpocketed from Nightwing only this past week. He had been practicing this shot for hours every day for weeks. He took a deep breath, then triggered the grapple. The hook bounced off the concrete under a fake Model T at the perfect angle to hook the top of a storage rack against the wall. The rack was filled with tools and parts so the rich prick who owned the McMansion could pretend he actually worked on the cars himself. 

He reeled in the grapple until the shelf was on the verge of tipping forward, the cable straining against the bottom of the Model T, and he couldn’t help his namesake Cheshire grin. He hooked the grapple gun onto the duct support and playfully tapped the taut line like a piano string. This would make a delightful mess to cover his exit. 

Another click in his ear reminded him that they were on a time clock. Selina had bought them a couple of hours free of the Bat and that time was closing steadily. He finished making his way into the house proper. He found the central control for the house’s security system easily enough. He broke the cover off the panel and quickly bypassed the security. 

Selina had been surprised by his ease with bypassing electronic systems. Danny had learned a lot from Tucker and repeated encounters with Technus, but he had been dealing with the security systems of the Fentons for as long as he could remember. He could rewire and bypass most security systems in his sleep, and they wouldn’t even shoot him if he failed. 

He tapped his ear piece sending a single click and after a few moments he was joined by his mom as she walked in the front door, bold as brass. She smiled at him and rubbed his head, causing Danny to preen and his core to thrum in his chest. 

“Well done, kitten.” She said, practically purring in pride, before she glanced around the ground floor of the McMansion. “Now, Cheshire. You picked this mark, let’s get away with everything we can.” 

The mother-son duo made quick work of the mansion’s valuables. Art pieces and statues were slipped into a bag that Danny had connected to the Infinite Realms. The ectoplasm would short out any electronics or trackers and they wouldn’t have to worry about fleeing while loaded down. He would be able to recover the larger goods later when the heat had all but disappeared. He didn’t have perfect control over his portal abilities, but it was enough to get back and forth from the Realms. Training his powers with Selina and his aunts had really improved his skills. 

The two of them worked in tandem, flawlessly stripping valuables, cracking a safe in the bedroom, and taking everything they could get their claws on. Danny felt flushed with happiness. He was working alongside his mom, stealing from a rich prick who stole from his workers, he felt amazing. 

A click sounded in both of their ears, causing them to pause. Their window of Bat free time just closed. They slung their collection of valuables over their shoulders and began to race back through the house. Selina split off, her whip cracking as she swung off to another building. Danny made his way back into the garage as Robin and Red Robin landed behind him. Danny smiled, and allowed his eyes and mouth to glow for the full Cheshire effect. 

He activated the grapple gun as he passed and with a whir and an almighty crash the storage rack collapsed down onto the vintage vehicles. Red Robin yelped as he tried to follow but was forced to dodge a bouncing tire. Robin was far more nimble making his way through the mess, but he was still delayed enough by the wreckage for Danny to dive through the vent and jump to get back to the roof of the pool house next door. As soon as he was out of range of the cameras he vanished and lifted up into the air, flying silently and invisibly. He carefully moderated his body temperature so he was exactly the same temp as the surrounding night air. He didn’t want to risk showing up on heat sensors used by the Bats. 

Danny followed another crack of his mom’s whip to where she was running just ahead of the Bat himself. He scowled as Bruce threw a pair of Batarangs at her, though he was relieved as she nimbly dodged them. Danny may have had numerous problems with the Fentons, but at least he never had to be afraid of one of them hurting each other. Seeing his mom in danger from the man who should be his dad filled him with a cold anger. He tapped his ear piece to let her know he was free of the mansion and that he was close. 

Selina stopped running and turned, to saucily sashay towards the heavily armored Batman. He had considered making his costume super flirty and evocative like his mom’s but it made him uncomfortable, like ants were on his skin to have people stare at him like that. Jazz had reminded him that he didn’t have to do everything exactly like Selina did, and that it was important for him to carve his own path forward. 

“Catwoman. Enough is enough. I need you to submit to testing. You are being controlled.” Batman growled, and Danny struggled not to growl right back. He wasn’t controlling her! And how dare this jerk growl at his mom!

“Submit? To you? That’s not how our arrangements usually work.” Selina said with a coy smile as she swished her whip across the rooftop, not even acknowledging the rest of his words. Apparently after the past couple of months she had grown bored with trying to argue with him, and she was refusing to be tested for mind control just to antagonize him. 

Also, gross. 

That was another reason he was glad he didn’t copy her flirty persona. His mom was very comfortable with her body and her sexuality and she admitted she got a thrill when she used either to control people around her. Danny, who was still coming to terms with possibly being ace and had all the body issues of a bullied teen, only felt anxious when he tried to flirt. 

He crept through the air towards his mom, pulling strongly on his intangibility and control of his own temperature to make himself completely undetectable. He carefully watched the Bat for any sudden moves. 

“Catwoman-” 

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Selina asked, still playfully swishing her whip across the roof. “You’re so certain you’re right, even after months, even in the face of all evidence. Honestly you’re just like the Fentons. I know you’ve looked into them, think about that the next time you want to have me submit to your battery of tests.” 

Bruce tried to keep his emotions locked down, but Danny could see the micro expression even with the heavy cowl. The small twitch would have been a full flinch in a lesser man. Danny’s scowl deepened as he realized just how similar he was to the Fentons. He just hoped this time wouldn’t end with him strapped to a table. 

“Selina-” 

His voice had softened, but Danny saw his mom move her arm to the side, the signal they had agreed on. He grabbed her, passing his flight and intangibility to her as he allowed his invisibility to roll back enough to reveal his grinning mask. Bruce stiffened, his lips tightening in fury. He reached for some tool from his belt, but Danny wasn’t going to stay around to see what it was. He lifted his mom effortlessly from the roof, and let himself giggle as he rocked his head side to side as his invisibility rolled over him until just his smile was visible, before vanishing completely. 

He flew with his mom in his arms, finding themselves on the other side of Gotham close to Selina’s old penthouse. He set her down and pulled his invisibility back so they both appeared out of thin air. He knew the rictus grin on his mask and the cat’s eyes on his goggles were glowing brightly as his core flared in delight. 

“Amazing job, Chess.” Selina said fondly, pulling him to a hug before she pushed his cowl back so she could kiss his head. Danny held her tightly and let his core purr wildly to show his delight. She pulled back her own cowl, revealing her face and her tight black curls. She looked him over closely to make sure he was uninjured. “Cheshire, you and I are a team made in thief heaven. I look forward to watching your perspective as you went in.”

Danny smiled widely, and pulled his own goggles over his head, and lowered his mask. 

“It was great! I even made that trick shot I was practicing, brought the whole rack down onto his stupid fake vintage cars. Of course if they were real, they would basically shrug it off, but they crumpled! Ruined his whole collection.” 

Danny had started floating as he laughed through his retelling. He transformed with a thought, his ghost form matching his Cheshire costume more and more as the months went by. His tail whipped back and forth through the air as he excitedly paced back and forth above the roof they were on. 

“Danny…” He paused at the solemn tone in his mom’s voice. She had a sad tilt to her eyebrows that he had noticed she had occasionally when she looked at him in his ghost form. 

“Y-yeah?” His voice cracked a little, he was more trepidatious than he wanted to admit. 

“Danny, would you like a grave?” Selina asked. 

He felt like the word thundered through his head, and he found himself landing on the roof next to his mom, his mouth open.