#harley beaker

[bog-water-030]

Beakers Rotation 5

mmm. fire!

previously // next

Okay quick recap: Loki really wants to be abducted a whole bunch and last rotation, in his fifth abduction he got pregnant with his 4th and final Subject baby.

Baby 4 was named Nomore Subject, i am the worlds smartest comedian i know unfortunately baby Nomore came at a crowded and complicated time

Atom's always loved canines. Dogs, wolves, werewolves, doesn't matter, he's just loved them more and more as he got older

so he made friends with the local head wolf Ichabod. And became the very first werewolf in Strangetown! He's super happy about it and his father is proud of his love of exploration and study

Everyone else on the other hand hate it. Every howl and snarl tanks their aspiration further, so I worry someone might make him change back or go crazy trying.

Then the back porch caught fire.

And then the kids were left behind on a busy day. Loki was back in work for the first time in years, Circe ran out of vacation days, and the nanny didn't show up. everything went wrong

Nomore, Green and Spare were all taken away by Simcial Services and sent to the best equipped family they could think of.

All of the Subjects gone right before their birthday... except one

Space Subject made it to class before everyone was locked inside and managed to have his birthday at home with his dad. He grew into a handsome and skilled teen and aged up well

But Circe made sure to remind Loki why he was still around...

And with how badly he's been doing taking the grim subjects place, she'll be reminding him a lot

Meanwhile Harley, who had their birthday the very same day rolled the Fortune Aspiration as per tradition with the Beaker kids

Ludvig gave Harley the birthday brawl. For some reason Ludvig insists on fighting anyone and everyone in sight. Without warning and almost excessively even for a sim

Wait

Well what about the other Subjects? Where did they end up?

Well Simcial Services searched high and low for the only other household with a strong understanding of aliens like them

The Smiths were too crowded

Pascal was getting up there in age and couldn't keep up with 3 more kids

Vidcund is still in debt and just doesn't have the money to make space for them

Chloe just had her own baby and Lola doesn't really want kids to begin with

but Lazlo had just moved into the Tech Flats, made decent cash and loved raising his family's kids. He's been an uncle 20 times over, whats another 2 or 3

and the kids love him. Green and Spare loved all the attention and baby Nomore never had toys and a crib.

Green aged up well and is already excited about going to school and college. She rolled the Family aspiration

Spare, who rolled Popularity, didn't recover nearly as quickly as his sibling but he doesn't blame Lazlo for it

I'm almost ashamed to say the Beaker house is turning out to be my absolute favourite, especially now that the house is emptying out.

[waitimcomingtoo]

This Means War

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: Peter and his crush on you feel threatened when your childhood best friend Harley Keener comes to visit and clearly harbors feelings for you

Masterlist

“Do you think I’d explode if I drank this?” You asked and swished around the insides of the beaker you were holding. Peter looked up at you through his lab goggled and chuckled.

“I don’t know. You should try it.”

“You say that now but you’d be so sad if I exploded.” You insisted. “You’d have no one to watch Over the Hedge with.”

“Wait, can we watch Over the Hedge tonight?” He pleaded. “I forgot about that movie. I love it so much.”

“I know you do. Which is why you’re gonna be sad and alone watching it tonight and thinking wow, I wish I didn’t let my best friend explode.” You shrugged and put the beaker down.

“Um, excuse you. I would never be best friends with a girl. You have cooties and go to Jupiter to get more stupider.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” You chortled. “Because I actually went to college to get more knowledge. It’s boys who went to Jupiter to get more stupider.”

“But if I, as a boy, successfully figured out how to travel to Jupiter, wouldn’t that make me the smarter one? Since I cracked interplanetary travel?”

“I think you should drink this.” You said after a beat of silence and held the beaker up. Peter laughed and you did too. He snuck another glance at you as you combined the contents of two flasks and made a tiny explosion. You often accompanied him in the lab when he was at the Avengers tower despite not being much of a scientist yourself. You just liked to help and watch as he did his thing.

“Thanks for helping me, by the way.” Peter said. “I’m sure you have a million other things you’d rather be doing than helping me develop new kinds of web fluid.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrugged. “If you throw out the words “tornado web”, of course I’m gonna want to help you make that possible. Plus, I like spending time in the lab with you.”

“You do? Because so do I.” He said as a blush covered his face. You looked up from what you were working on and gave him a smile. Peter sucked in a sharp breath and cleared his throat.

“Um, so, I’m just gonna throw this out there and you can tell me how you feel.” Peter began. “I was wondering if maybe sometime you’d want to-“

“Where is she?” Peter was cut off by an unfamiliar voice booming through the lab. You immediately looked up and pulled your goggles down.

“Harley?” You asked, sending a twinge of jealousy down to Peter’s stomach.

“Who?” He asked you. His question was answered by a tall, sandy blonde guy walking into the lab. He wore an oversized corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows that made him look the kind of effortlessly cool Peter could only dream of looking.

“Harley!” You exclaimed and put your beaker down to run to him. Peter watched with furrowed eyebrows as you threw your arms around Harley’s neck and hugged him tightly. Harley wrapped both arms around you and lifted you off the ground as he spun around.

“There’s my girl. I missed you so much.” He said into your ear as he swayed back and forth with you in his arms.

“I missed you too.” You told him as you pulled out of the hug but stayed in his arms. Peter felt like he was about to pass out and maybe even die over the sight in front of him so he cleared his throat to remind you he was there.

“Hi. Sorry, your girl? Who is this guy?” Peter asked you through a forced laugh as he shit daggers at Harley.

“Oh, sorry. Peter, this is Harley Keener. He’s my dad’s friend.” You explained as you slid out of Harley’s embrace but kept an arm around his torso.

“Your dad’s friend? How old is he?” Peter asked.

“He is your age. Feel free to direct any of your questions at me, by the way.” Harley said sarcastically but playfully to Peter.

“Harley, this is Peter. My dad’s other young adult male friend.” You told Harley. Harley held out his hand and Peter shook it as hard as he could while never breaking eye contact with who he had now deemed his competition.

“Right. I’ve heard of you. You’re the one that can shrink down really small, right?” Harley asked while still shaking Peters hand. Peter narrowed his eyes at Harley when he registered the subtle shade and tightened his grip.

“No. That’s Antman. Peter is Spiderman.” You explained. Peter gave you a look that told you to stop talking since you had just revealed his identity.

“It’s okay. We can trust Harley. He’s known everyone’s secret alias’s from before the Avengers were even a thing. He’s not gonna tell anybody.” You assured Peter.

“Yeah, you can trust me. But sorry for the mix up. I just assumed you had shrunk yourself to be that short.” Harley smirked as he stopped shaking Peter’s hand.

“I’m not short.” Peter defended. “I’m the average height of a woman.”

“I bet you are.” Harley snorted. “You said it was Peter, right?”

“Yes. A man’s name. That makes one of us.” Peter mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“That’s weird. You’ve never mentioned him, Sands.” Harley said to you as he slung an arm over your shoulders. Peters jaw tightened as his eyes flickered between you and Harley.

“Sands?” Peter asked you.

“Oh, it’s an old nickname from when we were kids that he still insists on using for some reason.” You said and playfully rolled your eyes.

“How cute.” Peter scrunched his nose. “Who doesn’t love nicknames?”

“I’m guessing you do, Spiderman. How did you get your powers anyway? Did you fall into a giant tank of spiders or something?” Harley asked, making you laugh.

“No. No one has a giant tank of spiders just lying around uncovered. I got bitten. And then it got infected. And now I’m really sticky and sensitive to loud noises and don’t need glasses anymore.” Peter stated with zero amusement in his voice.

“Hm. I’m starting to see why you didn’t bring this guy up, Sands.” Harley whispered in your ear but Peter still heard. He gulped and felt his jealousy grow as you leaned into Harley to hear him better.

“I’m sorry, how did you say you two know each other?” Peter asked through another fake laugh.

“My dad befriended Harley when we were kids. He’s a family friend now. He and his mom come over for holidays and family dinner sometimes but I haven’t seen him in a while since his band went on tour.”

Peter fought the urge to laugh at him being in a band but didn’t when he remembered that you had a thing for band guys. He looked Harley up and down and had to admit that he was your type to a T.

“So you grew up together? Thats great. You must have a real sibling bond now after knowing each other all those years. And you know what they say about siblings.“

“And what do they say about siblings?” Harley asked him with an amused smile.

“Well I didn’t think I’d have to explain why incest is bad to you but I guess I don’t know how you do things down in…wherever you’re from.”

“I’m originally from Tennessee. And you’re right, we do have a special bond. Y/n was my best friend before her dad sent her to fancy private school and she got all pretty and made rich friends.” Harley teased and gave your shoulder a squeeze.

“Hey. We’re still friends.” You insisted.

“Best friends, though?” He asked skeptically. You laughed and looked at Peter, whose expression immediately made you drop your smile. You and Harley were not as close as you used to be and in his absence, you’d grown close to Peter. In that moment, you didn’t really know who you considered your best friend.

“Peter and I were actually just in the middle of making something. You can totally stick around and help but I know you’re not much of a science guy.” You said to change the subject.

“That’s okay. I’m gonna go say hi to your mom and catch up with you later, all right?” Harley asked as he placed a hand on each of your shoulders. He was so touchy with you and to make matters worse, you looked perfectly comfortable with it. Despite you and Peter being close, you were never the type of friends to show physical affection.

“Okay. Thanks for saying hi. We’ll talk later.” You replied.

“We will. Now come on. Bring it in.” Harley smiled and opened his arms to you. Your eyes flicked to Peter again who looked like someone had take his batteries out. You felt inexplicably guilty as you stepped into Harley’s arms for a hug.

“Missed you.” Harley hummed as he rubbed his hand in circles on your back.

“Missed you too.” You said as you stared into Peter’s eyes over Harley’s shoulder. Harley gave your arm a squeeze before leaving the lab, leaving you and Peter in awkward silence for a while.

“What?” You laughed nervously to break the silence.

“You really never mentioned me to him?” Peter asked quietly.

“I have. I definitely told him about the time you got your finger stuck in that park bench.”

“Okay, well that was really traumatic for me so thanks for bringing that up. I’m glad that’s the one thing worth mentioning about me.” Peter grumbled and went back to working on his web fluid.

“Peter, come on.” You groaned. “Don’t be mad at me. I talk about you all the time. He probably just didn’t remember because I usually call you “my friend” when I tell a story about you since he doesn’t know you.”

“Okay. That makes sense. But how come you never mentioned him to me? Did you know want me to know about this other guy best friend or something?”

“I have mentioned him. Remember I told you about the friend I used to play house with? But we’d always fight because we both wanted to be the dog?”

“He definitely looks the part of the dog.” Peter mumbled.

“Hey.” You laughed. “Be nice. He’s my friend.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little weird that this whole time there was this guy you have whole history with and I didn’t know anything about him until today. I guess I just thought we knew everything about each other.” Peter said without looking you in the eyes.

“You’re right. It is weird. I guess I just never really thought about explicitly telling you about him. He’s just kinda been a passing figure in my stories from my childhood. But you know, you and I have deep history too. So deep that when you and I are together, I’m not thinking about other people I know. I’m only thinking about you and how God damn annoying you are when you ignore my ideas but then magically come up with the exact same one ten minutes later.”

“Because only men are allowed to have good ideas.” Peter laughed now that you had put some of his nerves to rest.

“You’re right. Sorry, sir. I forgot.” You said meekly, making Peter laugh. He was able to relax now that you talked it out but he was still curious.

“So, did you and Harry-“

“Harley.” You corrected.

“Yeah, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Did you guys ever date or anything?”

You were quiet for a minute which was exactly what Peter was afraid of. It looked like you were thinking of something, a memory that Peter didn’t have access to but desperately wished he did.

“No. We were only ever friends.” You said finally.

“But did you ever like him? Like, like like him?”

“Like like like?” You teased him.

“You’re avoiding the question.” Peter said without sharing in your laughter. You stopped smiling and shrugged a little.

“I don’t know. I’ve known him a really long time. So yeah, I’m sure there were a few times where I wondered if we were meant to be more than friends. But nothing ever happened between us.”

“Oh.” Peter said curtly and nodded his head. You snuck a glance at Peter but he was looking down so you couldn’t tell what his face was doing.

“Why do you ask?” You wondered.

“I’m just curious since I don’t know anything about the alleged childhood best friend of my young adult best friend.”

“Well don’t be. Because there’s nothing to know.”

“You’ve been friends with him since you were kids but there’s nothing to know? How boring is this guy?” Peter snorted and hoped you’d say he was the least interesting person you knew.

“He’s not boring. You remind me of him a lot, actually. You guys are very similar.”

“Does that mean you’ve ever wondered about us?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. You froze and looked up at Peter who was bright red under his goggles.

“Um…” You began. Before you had a chance to finish that thought, the contents of your beaker exploded and webs shot all over your section of the lab table. You jumped in surprise and Peter ran over to you to pull you away from the explosion. He kept you behind his back as he threw a towel over the smoking beaker to snuff it out.

“Maybe that’s enough lab work for the day.” You said as the smoke alarms began to blare. Peter covered his sensitive ears with his hands and you smiled apologetically before putting your hands on top of his to further block out the noise.

“I have, by the way. I have wondered about us.” You admitted as you looked into his eyes.

“What? What about pus?” Peter shouted over the noise. You smiled tightly and shook your head.

“Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”

A few days later, you and Peter were back in the lab to work on some things. Harley was still visiting, much to Peter’s dismay. But nevertheless, he was grateful to have alone time in the lab with you without any interruptions. That is, of course, until you were interrupted.

“Hey, you.” Harley greeted as he walked into the lab in water another oversized jacket that made him look like the love interest in an 80s movie.

“Hey, you.” You smiled in response while Peter discreetly rolled his eyes.

“Hello Peter.” Harley said with a tight smile.

“Hey, Harry.” Peter replied. Harley caught the intentional misnomer but didn’t say anything.

“Woah. Why does it smell like badussy in here?” Harley grimaced as he sniffed the air.

“Stop.” You groaned. “It does not.”

“What’s badussy?” Peter asked.

“Um, butt, dick and pussy. Obviously.” Harley replied as if Peter should have already known that.

“No. Not obviously. I only know what two thirds of those smell like, so.” Peter shrugged.

“You’re telling me you’ve never walked into a humid public bathroom and it smelled like straight up cooch in there?” You asked Peter.

“Um, no.” Peter stated. “I have not. Men’s public bathrooms usually smell like wide open ass. No notes of cooch.”

“He’s right.” Harley agreed. “Especially New York bathrooms. And there’s usually poop or blood or after birth smeared on the walls.”

Peter stifled a laugh and turned his head when he found it harder than he expected. Harley noticed Peter laughing and smirked.

“It’s okay. You can laugh at my jokes.” Harley told him.

“I wasn’t.” Peter lied and held in another laugh.

“You so were. You guys don’t have to sworn enemies, you know. You’re allowed to be friends.” You told them.

“No we can’t.” Harley shook his head.

“He’s right. Shockingly. We can’t.” Peter agreed.

“Why not? You’re like the helvetica and comic sans version of each other.”

“Who’s comic sans?” Peter asked at the same time Harley said, “I call helvetica.”

“See?” You laughed. “You guys are meant to be friends. So get off your high horses and French kiss each other already.”

“We are so not gonna French kiss.” Peter mumbled.

“Yeah. If I’m French kissing anyone in this room, it’s not gonna be him.” Harley replied. His sentence both flirted with you and took a dig at Peter, giving Harley the upper hand once again.

“She doesn’t want to French kiss anyone. She infamously thinks that’s the grossest form of kissing. I’m surprised you don’t know that. I thought you guys were best friends.” Peter tilted his head to the side just to piss Harley off. Harley took the bait and folded his lips in.

“I’m surprised too. When did she tell you that? Did she mention it while you guys were braiding each other’s hair and making foul smelling potions?” Harley asked and swished the contents of the beaker around.

“First of all, they’re not potions because we’re not Minecraft witches.” Peter snapped. “And secondly, we don’t braid each other’s hair. She gave me one braid one time when my barber actually left a long strand of hair and I wanted a tiny padawan braid.”

“You’re telling me this smoking beaker of green fluid isn’t a potion? What the hell even is this? Fuel for a fart gun?” Harley grimaced and put the beaker down. You laughed at Harley’s questions, sending white hot jealousy through Peter’s veins. He could feel you slipped through his fingers and falling right into Harley’s arms.

“No. Because I’m not a character from Despicable Me, it’s not fuel for a fart gun.” Peter replied and snatched the beaker.

“Then what is it? Don’t tell me you made a love potion to get her to fall for you. Because I hate to tell you this, but it’s not gonna work. No matter how many strands of her hair or fingernail clippings you threw in there.”

“Stop teasing him.” You warned. “It’s a not a love potion or a fart gun. We’re trying to make a web fluid that doubles as a stink bomb in case he needs to make a quick escape.”

“Ew. What the hell is web fluid? And where does it come out?” Harley grimaced and looked Peter up and down.

“For a dollar, I’ll show you.” Peter said with a wink.

“Web fluid is one of Peters many inventions. It helps him swing from building to building.” You explained.

“Oh yeah? Why do you have to make it in a lab? Shouldn’t Spiderman be able to produce his own webs?” Harley asked Peter.

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you be in school or an AA meeting for skinny jeans or something?” Peter shot back, making you laugh.

“How would it be an AA meeting if it’s for skinny jeans? Wouldn’t that make is skinny jeans anonymous?” Harley pulled apart his joke, making Peter clench his jaw.

“Well I don’t attend the meetings so I’m not sure what they’re called.” Peter shrugged and looked away.

“Right, right. Hey, why don’t you tell him what you said about my skinny jeans?” Harley said to you.

“I said nothing.” You mumbled.

“Come on. Tell him what you said.” Harley laughed and poked your side. Peter watched the interaction and clenched his toes in his shoes.

“What did you say?” Peter asked you, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“I said I liked them because they remind me of the frat boy pictures of Harry and Niall from back in the day, okay? Specifically that picture with the yellow hat and white shirt. Is that what you all wanted to hear? Are you both happy now?”

Peter discreetly punched the table out of frustration because he knew exactly what photo you were talking about. He knew because you had shown it to him when teaching him out the epic high and lows of reading One Direction at a formative age.

“Well she once told me that my outfit reminded her of Alex’s hot Italian boyfriend from Wizards of Waverly Place.” Peter replied in an attempt to level the playing field.

“Dean Moriarty.” You gasped. “He was so fucking hot.”

“Oh yeah. I remember him. We used to watch that show together after school. In my living room. Sharing one blanket.” Harley recalled the memory while looking at Peter to see if that bothered him as much as he hoped.

“Okay well I see your one musty blanket and raise you the time she sat on my lap because there weren’t enough seats in the car. And her pony tail was in my mouth for the whole ride. Sounds like a really comfortable blanket, though. Congrats.”

“Oh my God.” You groaned. “Guys, stop. I can’t listen to you trying to one up each other with what you think are impressive things. I’m friends with both of you and that’s it. I’m not gonna be the yard stick in your dick measuring contest right now.”

“Yard stick?” Harley laughed. “Damn. What type of guys have you been dating?”

“Not you, obviously.” Peter mumbled.

“And why is that obvious?” Harley asked him.

“Because you’re wearing the Bella Hadid of skinny jeans right now and they don’t leave much to the imagination.” Peter shrugged. You shot him a look but he wasn’t backing down.

“I don’t even know what that means.” Harley snorted.

“It means your jeans are really tight, Keen.” You whispered to him. A smile tugged at Harley’s lips over the nickname and he took that as an opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“Sorry. You know I’m not great with pop culture references. I’m more into the classics.”

“You literally just mentioned frat Harry and Niall but okay.” Peter mumbled under his breath.

“Stop fighting.” You warned. “This weird little competition you have going on it stupid and unnecessary. I want you guys to be friends. Then we can all hang out.”

“We can never be friends, Sands.” Harley told you.

“Yeah. That was the second time the broken clock was right.” Peter agreed. “Because he’s Gale and I’m Peeta. He’s Jacob and I’m Edward. He’s Jesse and I’m Jake. He’s Tom Hardy and I’m Chris Pine in that movie we watched where they’re both spies and fall in love with Reese Witherspoon.”

“This Means War.” You snapped your fingers when you remember the name of the movie he was talking about.

“Hold on. I’m pretty sure you made yourself the guy who gets the girl in all those examples.” Harley pointed out.

“And I’m pretty sure you 100% understand pop culture references so I’m not sure why you lied a minute ago.” Peter replied.

“If you’re gonna keep this up I’m leaving.” You told them.

“Fine. We’ll stop. But if you’re not too busy with this web stuff, I could use your help with a song.”

“You sing?” Peter sighed in defeat. He had hoped Harley was just the water boy or something for the band he was in.

“A little.” Harley shrugged.

“He’s being modest.” You insisted. “Harley has a great voice. And he plays the guitar. You should come with me the next time his band has a show. He’s the frontman.

“Jesus Christ. Of course he’s the frontman. Do you ride a motorcycle too?” Peter asked mockingly.

“Yes, actually.” Harley replied. He had Peter beat in the cool bad boy department and they both knew it.

“Did you bring it?” You gasped and squeezed Harley’s arm.

“I did. You want to take a ride and go get some food?” He asked you.

“Yeah. Sure.” You smiled excitedly.

“You’re leaving?” Peter huffed like a little kid.

“You should come.” You replied. “You haven’t eaten yet. And we can show Harley around the neighborhood.”

“No, thank you. I need to finish this. By myself.” Peter grumbled as he stared daggers at Harley. Harley just smirked and gave Peter a shrug that said “better luck next time”.

“While you straddle a guitar players bike.” Peter mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” You asked him.

“I said I hope the weather stays nice.” Peter lied through an exaggerated smile.

Peter tried to stay busy in the lab for a while but he couldn’t stop thinking about what you and Harley were doing. Your conversation did little to ease his mind about your history with Harley so now all he could think of was the worst case scenario. The image of you getting whisked away on the back of Harley’s bike with your arms wrapped around his waist was playing in Peter’s mind no matter how hard he wanted to push it out. You were probably laughing at all his jokes and leaning into his side at some restaurant. To clear his head, Peter went for a walk to clear his head. When he came back, he heard the sound of a guitar coming from your bedroom. His curiosity got the better of him and he went to your room to see what was happening. When he pushed your door open, he saw you and Harley sitting on your bed while the played the guitar for you.

“Oh. Sorry. Sorry to myself that I had to hear that. Wait, what? Sorry, what did you guys say?” Peter played dumb and looked between the two of you.

“We didn’t say anything.” You laughed and knew exactly what he was doing.

“I was just playing Y/n the song I wrote for her.” Harley told him.

“You wrote her a song? Well isn’t that just peaches and cream?” Peter smiled tightly.

“Yeah. Would you like it hear it?” Harley smiled innocently and strummed a few chords.

“It’s really good.” You said. “It’s about our friendship and always being there for each other despite living in different places.”

“Sounds really magical and effervescent. Didn’t realize your cycles synced up.” Peter said quickly but you still caught what he said.

“What was that?” You asked him.

“I said I would love to hear it so bad.” Peter lied. Harley started to play the beginning of the song but slowly stopped playing and cleared his throat.

“What’s wrong, Keen?” You asked, making Peter roll his eyes.

“I’m feeling shy all the sudden.” He laughed shyly.

“Really? Because of me?” Peter asked. “I thought you’d be used to singing to men. Because that’s who I assume is your target audience giving all the pins on your guitar strap.”

“No. Because of you, actually.” He admitted to you. “I haven’t played you the second chorus yet. And it’s pretty vulnerable.”

“Well, let me hear it.”

“Yeah. Let’s hear it. Let’s all hear it.” Peter said to remind you both that he was there. Harley smiled timidly at you before starting to play the song again.

“Though we’re miles apart, you’re still in my heart. Fought with paper swords when we were kids. I wish we still did.“ He sang in a smooth voice that even Peter had to admit was good. You looked utterly in love and rested your chin on your knee as you listened to him sing to you.

“The ribbons in your hair, playing truth or dare. We grew up too soon. Cause now I miss you.” Harley continued singing and you covered your face with your hands to hide your smile. Peter couldn’t take it anymore and felt himself losing the urge to interject.

“Do you guys ever think about how mozzarella sticks-“

“Peter! Shh.” You hushed Peter and quickly returned your attention to Harley.

“Now I live in a different city. I saw online that you’re still pretty. I text and ask how you’ve been. You send back Checkers but never win. I wish things didn’t have to change. Like when you went to a school far away. You came home but we were never as we were. I love you now but I sometimes miss her.” Harley slowly stopped strumming the strings and looked at you with a shy smile. You gasped and clapped your hands for him while he blushed a deep red.

“Sorry. I know it’s cheesy.” He said. “It’s about missing how close we were when we were kids. I know we still talk but it’s not the same. We catch up every now and then but I miss when I knew about every thing about your day.”

“That’s really sweet, Keen. We should talk more. Because I miss our friendship too.” You said and squeezed his shoulder. Harley smiled and toyed with his guitar.

“Peter, what did you think of…” You trailed off when you realized Peter wasn’t there anymore. You immediately felt guilty because you weren’t sure when he left.

“Damn it.” You hissed. “I gotta go talk to him.”

“No. Let me.” Harley said and put his guitar down. He walked down the hallway until he found Peter’s room and knocked on the doorway.

“Hey.” Harley greeted. Peter looked up at him and rolled his eyes.

“If you’re here to sing to me-“

“I’m not. I want to talk to you.” Harley cut him off and went and sat on his bed. They sat in awkward silence for a moment as neither knew where to begin.

“You know, if you and I keep this rivalry up, we’re only going to hurt her.” Harley said after a minute.

“I know that.” Peter said quietly.

“Look, Peter, you seem like a nice guy. I can tell why she likes you. And she obviously really enjoys your friendship. But that’s all that’s ever gonna happen between you two. A friendship. Because I’ve been playing the long game.” Harley said earnestly. He wasn’t trying to be mean or hurt Peter, just being candid.

“So have I.” Peter told him.

“And how’s that going for you?” Harley asked with genuine curiosity.

“I’ll have you know I accidentally brushed against her boob once and she didn’t even bat an eye, so.” Peter shrugged like what he said mattered.

“Yeah?” Harley laughed. “We’ve kissed.”

Peters world came crashing down in that moment. He felt a hot rod of jealousy pierce his heart and cut him straight down the middle upon learning this.

“What?” He asked with a dry mouth.

“I was her first kiss. She didn’t tell you?”

“No. She never mentioned that.”

“Peter, I didn’t come in here to hurt you.” Harley began. “I just wanted to let you know what my intentions are. I came back to New York for her. I think it’s finally time she and I give it a go. And I think she feels it too. But I hope that you and I can put this aside and become friends. Because I genuinely think we’d get along.”

“If you and her start dating, there is no way we’re gonna be friends.” Peter said without making eye contact.

“Why not?” Harley asked, sounding a little hurt.

“Because I’m gonna kill myself.” Peter snapped, making Harley laugh in surprise. Peter couldn’t help but laugh too when he heard how ridiculous he sounded.

“I hope you don’t. Because she’d miss you. And I would too.” Harley told him. The boys looked at each other for a moment and ending up smiling. Peter felt his animosity towards Harley dissipate and realized they were just two boys who liked the same girl. And on top of that, Peter couldn’t blame him for liking you. How could he not?

“Please don’t.” Peter blurted.

“Don’t what?” Harley wondered.

“Don’t go for her. You’re so handsome. Like, in your face, Greys Anatomy doctor level handsome. You have the bike and the guitar and the floppy hair. You could go out and get any girl. I will even help you find one. But please, don’t go for her. Because I can’t compete with you. I can’t write her a song like that. I tried to write her a poem once but I was too scared to give it to her.” Peter said as he pulled out his notebook to show Harley his poem. Harley read over the poem a few times as his eyebrows knit together.

“You rhymed “go the movies” with “the shape of your boobies”. Two separate times but they’re completely different trains of thought. I’m not even sure how you did that. This stanza just says “perchance.” You can’t just say “perchance”. And this line is just a lyric from Pound the Alarm.”

“Do you see why I need you to back off?” Peter sighed and took the notebook back.

“You don’t think I feel the same way? I can’t compete with you either. You get her in a weird way that I never could. I see the way she laughs at your jokes. And relaxes around you. She and I have shared history but sometimes I wonder if we’re just rehashing the good memories and never making any new ones. If she and I met today, I don’t know if she’d like me. But you two formed an organic friendship. There’s no wondering whether or not she likes you or just likes the nostalgia. And I know she adores you. She tells me about you all the time. I know every story of every person you’ve ever saved. But she loves the regular side of you too. She once told me about this time you got your finger stuck in a park bench and she was laughing so hard during it that I didn’t even hear half the story. Her real laugh, too. The one where her head falls back and she kinda wheezes. I haven’t been able to make her laugh like that since we were kids.”

“Okay unfortunately you’re right and I actually do want to be friends with you.” Peter said after hearing Harley be vulnerable with him. Harley chuckled and Peter found himself laughing too.

“Let’s just promise that whoever she chooses, the other backs off and lets her be happy. She deserves that.” Harley said and Peter nodded in agreement.

“If it’s you, you better treat her right.” Peter told him.

“Or what? You’ll shoot me with your fart gun?” Harley joked.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Peter laughed.

“I’ll take care of her. You would too. I know that.” Harley said once their laughter died down.

“I’m glad you know. But I’m not worried. She knows where home is. Sooner or later, she’ll stop eating shrimps with the wimps and come eat lobster with the monster.” Peter shrugged and gestured to himself.

“I don’t even understand what that-“

“Me either.” Peter cut him off.

After their talk, Harley went back to your room and found you playing with his guitar. You looked up at him when he walked in and smiled.

“Hey.” He said and sat back down beside you.

“Hey. I think I still remember how to play Hey There Delilah on the guitar.” You told him and gave a bad attempt at playing the chords.

“Do you?” Harley asked skeptically and you laughed.

“I guess not. How’s Peter?” You asked and set the guitar down.

“He’s fine. I don’t think he liked my song, through.” Harley joked.

“It’s okay. I liked it.” You replied and gave him a fold smile. Harley smiled back and took your hand in his. You gulped at the contact because you felt something was coming.

“I really do miss you.” He told you.

“Miss you too, Keen. You should visit more.”

“I know. But you need to give me a really good excuse to come up here because I’m not a fan of the flight.”

“What kind of excuse?” You smiled nervously. To answer your question, Harley slipped a hand behind your head and started to pull you into a kiss. Before your lips could touch, you turned away and hung your head so that you didn’t have to see his face.

“I can’t.” You said quietly. Harley withdrew his hand and put them on his lap.

“Because of him?” He asked and you nodded your head. Harley laughed shortly and nodded as well.

“I get it. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. But I have to admit, I always thought you and I would just go for it one day.”

“So did I.” You admitted.

“So why can’t we just…” He trailed off and gestured between the two of you. You finally looked into his eyes and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Because I’d always wonder about him.” You answered. Harley smiled sadly but nodded in understanding.

“Can we still be friends?” He asked you.

“Are you kidding? Of course we can. This doesn’t haven’t to change anything.”

“Good. Because I don’t have anyone else to play IMessage games with.”

“I’m sending Checkers right now. And winning.” You said as you pulled out your phone.

“We’ll see.” He laughed.

Peter slept at home that night in fear of hearing the sounds of you and Harley consummating your new relationship. He put his earbuds in and listened to his sad boy tunes and cried until he fell asleep. He got up the next day with puffy eyes and got dressed to prepare himself in case you wanted to see him. Just as he was getting up to leave him bedroom, you appeared in his doorway. He jumped a little and sat back down on his bed.

“Hey. I thought I’d see you last night.” You said and folded your arms.

“Yeah, sorry. I needed to come home and clear my head.” He said without looking at you.

“Oh, okay. Is it anything you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly, no.” He replied. You have Peter a look up and down and let out an amused laugh.

“What?” He wondered.

“You’re wearing skinny jeans.” You pointed out with a cheeky smile.

“Psht. No.” He scoffed. “These are regular jeans.”

“Those are absolutely your skinny jeans from when we went as Kurt and Blaine for Halloween. And you didn’t gel your hair today. Oh my God. You’re trying to look like Harley.”

“I am not.” He lied but upon looking in the mirror, he realized he had definitely channeled Harley when getting dressed.

“You are. Which I don’t understand. I like your gelled hair and dorky t shirts. Why are you trying to be someone else?” You asked as you sat beside him on his bed.

“I don’t know.” He lied again because he couldn’t tell you that he was trying to look like the boy you liked.

“Harley said he talked to you yesterday after he played his song.” You said to change the subject.

“Yeah. We talked. He mentioned that you guys kissed.” Peter admitted without looking up at you.

“Yeah. We did.” You nodded. Peter clenched his eyes shut at you confirmed it and hung his head.

“I didn’t know that.” He said quietly.

“Because it was so awkward that I never tell anyone. We were like 11 or something and acting in a very poorly rehearsed summer camp rendition of Grease. I was Sandy and he was Danny. But my dad brought all his business man friends to come see me and I got so nervous I threw up during Hopelessly Devoted.”

“Oh.” Peter couldn’t help but smile now that he knew the kiss was nothing to worry about.

“Yeah. You feel stupid now, don’t you? You got all worked up over a peck between two 11 year olds.”You teased him and poked his aide.

“I may feel stupid but at least I wasn’t a theater kid.” He mumbled.

“Hey.” You said warningly and smacked his arm.

“Sorry.” He chuckled and rubbed his arm.

“So are we okay?” You asked him and turned to face him.

“I don’t know. Is your boyfriend gonna be okay with us staying friends?” Peter asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Well I don’t know either. Since I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Peter asked as hope grew in his chest.

“Peter, I don’t like Harley like that.” You insisted. “I told you that.”

“I thought you were capping.” He shrugged.

“I wasn’t.” You chuckled. “He’s not the one I like.”

“So you do like someone? Who is he? Is he bigger than me?” Peter asked with his jealously coming back with full force.

“Oh my God. You’re honestly so annoying.” You groaned and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. Peter wasn’t expecting this so he froze for a moment before kissing you back. He’d been waiting a long time for this so he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you close and full enjoy the moment. When you pulled away, you both laughed shyly and rested your foreheads together.

“Was that just as friends or…” Peter trailed off and looked at you for answers.

“Uh huh. Yeah. That was a friendship kiss.” You replied sarcastically before pulling him back in.

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

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 @officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

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@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Mistake

Pairing: Scarecrow/Reader (6.1k words)

Summary: Sharing a basement with Jonathan Crane proves to be every inch the nightmare it could be as an error on his part results in him being left victim to his own fear toxin while you are left to pick up the pieces of his mistake.

Fic Masterlist /// Link to AO3

Whole Day Off Masterlist

“And what about Harley Quinn? She seems nice. I mean- outside of all the obvious crime stuff.”

“Harleen has the potential to do great things but allows herself to be misled as she rapidly falls into co-dependency with her romantic interests. She would do well to develop her own skills and attempt to forge her own path but it seems unlikely.”

“Well, yeah, but is she nice?”

Visibly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Crane nods. His knees are tucked smoothly under his desk, spine curled into its usual shrimp-like positioning as he hunches over the chemicals which are slowly being mixed by his expert hand.

“Yes, I suppose she has a certain charm to her when she’s not running her mouth.”

Delighted by the confirmation, you roll onto your side as you sink further into the semi-comfortable fabric of his couch. As naked as a babe, the chill of the room feels wonderful against your skin and you shift your thighs as you disturb the pleasant ache there.

You couldn’t quite recall who had been responsible for initiating but it didn’t really matter as you had quickly found yourself wrapped around his cock as you perched your ass off the edge of his workstation. He hadn’t even bothered to undress, simply releasing his cock from his slacks as he gripped at your hips with thin, insistent fingers. It had been messy and sloppy and ridiculously fucking hot as your hand brushed various papers aside in their fight to gain some purchase against the wood.

Crane had been just as enthusiastic, finishing surprisingly quickly and taking a moment to use his fingers to bring about your own release while he enjoyed his own comedown. Minus your usual toys and games, your body feel relatively peaceful after you had both finished – with the only exception being a deliciously aching, red mark which Crane had sucked into the heft of your left breast, just above the nipple.

A quick shower had washed away the mess left between your legs, your combined release swirling down the drain as you grimaced at some of the mould which you could see developing in the corners of the barely maintained bathroom. A mental note to maybe pick up some bleach before your next visit was neatly filed away for future consideration and leaving the bathroom had resulted in your naked frame dropping to the couch as you allowed your body to finish drying naturally.

To his credit, Crane has taken your willing nakedness with little more than a raised eyebrow as he glanced back at you from his workstation – the papers neatly rearranged as he fell back into his work routine with a casualness that suggested he hadn’t just fucked someone in that same space not ten minutes earlier. He had already taken a moment to explain that he was developing a new and experimental strain of toxin and that his attention would be mostly pulled towards that for the remainder of the evening.

But that couldn’t stop you from asking questions.

When his attention was split in such a manner, you had long since found it easier to get certain types of information from Crane as his mind chose to focus on his actions rather than his speech. Mostly you liked to ask about trivial matters, such as his opinion on various topics and his thoughts on his fellow costumed villains.

“Is Harley the nicest one? Like, if you had to choose.”

“Probably.” Crane confirmed, adding a few clear droplets of liquid to the beaker in his left hand. “Her danger lies in how loose her lips are when it comes to sharing information with others, mostly her clownish paramour.”

Sensing a slight tension in his tone, you follow up with a curiosity that makes your head tilt further towards him. A shark smelling the blood of fresh gossip.

“Are you and the Joker friendly?”

At that, Crane fully pauses his work and spins in his chair to face you fully.

“Joker is friends with no one as the concept is beyond him. He acts as more of a useful tool or a roadblock depending on his ever-changing mood. I do not enjoy spending time in his presence as his unpredictability is contemptuous.”

Falling into a comfortable silence, you know what you want to ask but uncertainty over how to do so respectfully makes you hesitate for a moment.

“Not to mention that he once almost beat me to death with a wooden chair.”

You ignore that, having learned that follow-up questions rarely led to any further information.

“The Joker, does he, like, can you- the toxin?”

You wince at how disjointed the question sounds but Crane doesn’t seem to mind as much as he shakes his head and spins back to his desk.

“If my toxin afflicts him then he shows no outward sign as such.”

Interesting.

“Then who’s the worst? Of all the costumed villains, which one is the most dangerous because the news stations and papers can never seem to agree. Lots of them say Joker but, y’know, you know them better than they do.”

Swirling two identical beakers between his fingers, Crane appears to consider the question for a moment as he pushes his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

“Lazlo Valentin is a particularly disturbed individual. Most of my colleagues – Nygma, Dent, Ivy, etc – do not have a tendency to play with their food for long, mostly preferring to kill and move on with their plans. However, what Valentin does with his victims is cruel. Full body modifications with a complete removal of all mental individuality, a living puppet with no will and no purpose. A walking corpse with no joy, anger, or fear.”

Crane sniffed distastefully before continuing.

“A fate worse than death. Even those enthralled by Ivy quickly succumb to her toxins or are saved from them, but those dolls of Valentin’s are unsalvageable.”

You shudder at the thought, flexing your fingers against your hips. Professor Pyg always looked quite frightening in the arrest photos which littered the tabloids as his crazed eyes - always dilated and wild - shone from that horrible pig mask he donned as his blood-soaked heft was bundled into a police van.

“A couple of the girls I used to work with always thought the Riddler was handsome.” Forcing a slight tease into your tone, you slip your arm under your neck to prop your head up. “They liked his suits, I think. And they said he was cute.”

The derisive snort was all the response you needed as Crane refuted the very idea.

“I believe your friends would benefit from severe psychological interventions.” He offered dryly.

Laughing at that, you shift enough to stretch; raising your hands overhead until a satisfying pop sounds somewhere in your shoulders.

Glancing over, you just manage to catch Crane watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Easily distracted, Dr. Crane?” You ask, rolling back into your original position.

He chooses to disregard the tease – his attention focusing back on his toxin as his shoulders drop into a more relaxed position. The quiet is comfortable and you take the opportunity to plan out the remainer of your week, from work goals to nightly dinners. Your apartment had been left in some state. The constant fluctuation between your time there, at work, and your ongoing meetings with Crane had left little time for some much-needed deep cleaning and if you were going to be picking up bleach for this nasty basement then it seemed outrageous to not get your own shit in order.

A crash of something which sounds like smashing glass brings your attention back to Crane and your whole body flinches in place as it is immediately followed by a sharp bellowing noise as Crane throws himself back from his chair to stand with an almost inhumane speed.

“Hey! What’s wron-”

In lieu of an answer, Crane dashes towards you and the sudden movement causes a full-bodied recoil as you push yourself further into the couch. Your obvious fear makes no difference to him and you gasp as his hands wrap around your shoulders and pull you harshly to your feet. Something wet touches at your shoulder and you glance down to see a streak of red painting your skin.

Fresh blood.

His blood.

The wound on his wrist, sharp and clean and an obvious result of the glass which had smashed, doesn’t look too deep and your attention snaps back to his face as you go to ask if he needs help fixing it up.

However, your words die in your throat once more as you take in his expression and the genuine anger and urgency which lies within it.

“I’ve made a mistake. The toxin in that smashed beaker has laced the fresh cut. You have only a few minutes to leave before I succumb to its influence.” Grunting as he rolls his shoulders, Crane’s hands slip to your jaw and tense to hold your head in place roughly. “The dose is nowhere near fatal but the experimental elements will increase aggression until the fear takes full root. I would rather you weren’t the subject of my violence. Leave. Now.”

Listening to his explanation with a thudding heart, the coppery scent of his blood makes you feel almost nauseous as you panic in kind.

“I can’t leave- not like,” you gesture to your naked frame with wide eyes, “I can’t make it out like this. My stuff. My keys.”

“This strain blurs the line of fight and flight. If you do not leave my sight then there is a very real chance that you will be severely hurt, little mouse. A fact neither one of us will be particularly enthused about. You are not built to endure the violence this toxin will force upon you.”

Growling the words, Crane’s head darts around the basement as he rapidly seeks a solution – his hands growing tighter on your face until you have to whimper and pull away due to the discomfort.

“My chair.” He hisses out from between clenched teeth as he visibly forces himself to walk towards the dental chair. “Restrain me in my own chair and we will both be kept safe from harm. I have no idea if this strain with cause violence towards the self so this will work well.” The last sentence is spoken with more of an inward inflection as his brilliant mind works in quick overdrive.

You follow him with shaking limbs, adrenaline thrashing through your veins as you watch him drop into the dental chair – his shirt, slacks, and lab coat making his positioning uncomfortable. He takes a moment to strap his own legs in, his teeth biting at his lower lip as he powers through whatever the hell the toxin was beginning to wreak on his trembling frame. Unable to do much more than agree to his demands, you wait until he’s lying back to pull the thick strap over his chest and secure it before doing the same with the wrist restraints.

“If,” Crane grunts, struggling to speak coherently, “if it looks like my vitals are dropping too low then there is a syringe with adrenaline within the drawers. It may help.”

“Jonathan” your body moving on auto-pilot due to the panic and stress which is thumping within your head, “what do I do? You need to tell me what to do. What if-”

“I value you for more than just your body, witty girl. React to the situation as appropriate and do what seems right. But I would like you to leave me, I’d rather not be subject to your observations.”

The strain of his voice and body is palpable, every word taking an obvious effort as he tested his strength against the restraints which held him in place. His hair, the various strands already mussed from your earlier fuck, is pushed back from his face and you take a moment to press your fingers to his jaw in unspoken support as you take his advice to heart and beat a hasty retreat.

Still nude, you do as instructed and let instinct guide you.

Having left him to his heavy breathing, you immediately dart to the stairs and take them two at a time as you twist and lock the latches to the basement door – ensuring that no fresh company can make itself known. In doing so, you are also wilfully locking yourself down here too and that fact doesn’t slip by your thoughts while you dip your hand into your handbag and pull free the bottle of water that you had stashed in there before leaving your apartment.

Taking a gulp of the water, the warmth of the liquid is vaguely repulsive and you swallow it down with a grimace as you quickly throw on your abandoned panties and shirt - not bothering to button the fabric up properly as you attempted to give yourself at least some decency given the turn of events.

Peeking around the corner of the room as a sudden howl of anger makes you jerk in place; you take in Crane’s appearance with a soft inhale.

It's hard to see him like this.

His composure, so typically set in stone and utterly unshakeable, has been stripped away by his own mistake and the sheer scale of the emotion on display makes you feel as though you were bearing witness to something profane.

Something wrong.

Snarling like a wounded animal, Crane pulls at the thick restraints which hold him in place without care. The dental chair creaking dangerously, it does seem capable of holding him back but the knowledge does nothing to bring you any peace as you circle behind him silently.

"I'll kill you!" Crane snarls, his voice high and strained as he screams at nothing. "I'll kill- I'll rip you apart - you fucking bitch!"

Taken aback by the sheer hatred in his voice, your chest shudders as you clutch at your shirt.

"I did it once and I'll do it again…dig you even deeper…show you how little Johnny died well before you did."

It was impossible to not listen, to not steal the little titbits of information which his heightened state was allowing to slip free, and you stow his words away for later consideration.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Someone he had killed in the past? Maybe his first kill? Given the amount of hatred in his voice, it must have been a woman who seriously wronged him. Hell, maybe even his mother. Or a sister.

It’s new information but information which leaves you with more questions than it answers and you continue to stare at him as his rage-filled expression refuses to leave the ceiling – whatever demons existed in that space tormenting him more than your quiet presence ever could.

Eventually, after the seconds had long grown into minutes, the fight seems to leave him and his body goes limp against the chair. Panic swelling in your chest, you slowly approach him to check his vitals.

His chest is moving rapidly, heavy breaths making you relax slightly as you hope that exhaustion will make his experience a little easier. He had said something about aggression being the altered factor in the compound but it was still his fear toxin so a sinking feeling told you that the worst was still to come.

Crimson drips from the restraint which circles his right wrist and the sight of it makes you wince as you recall his earlier injury and how it has still not been treated. Given his relaxed stance, you touch around the skin gently, unable to see the extent of the damage hidden below.

Glancing uncertainly at his lined face, your fingers work quickly to loosen the restraint, unlatching it enough to free his hand as you turn his palm up to see the damage.

As though hit by an unseen electric force, life springs back into him in an instant and you scream in fright - not expecting his sudden movements to spark up again. In a flash, his hand flips the script to wrap around your own and his fingers wrench your pinky back with so much force that you feel the bone creak like an old floorboard before it slips out of place with a jerk. Roaring in pain as a white-hot agony spreads from your damaged finger, you lean down in a frantic effort to use your good hand to pull him off.

Again, it proves to be a mistake as his animalistic growling grows somehow more feral as he drops your hand and instead lashes out with his clawed fingers. He's lightning quick and you feel his sharpened nails digging into the sensitive skin of your throat before you can even register just how much you had messed up. The toxin having stripped him of his sensibilities, his face twisted into something awful and he bares his teeth like a beast as he claws into your neck.

"Jonathan, stop!" You choke out, scratching at his hand with your own fingers as you attempt to pull yourself free. It makes no difference to him, the words not registering in his mind, and the tears in your eyes are quick to blur your vision as you choke and panic. "Dr. Crane!"

Digging your thumb as harshly into his wrist wound as possible, he hisses as he releases you and you can't even take a moment to gather your breath as you throw your entire weight into forcing his hand back into the restraint you had foolishly allowed him free of. It takes a moment, despite his best efforts, and his anger only seems to increase as he finds himself trapped again - his unseeing eyes focusing back on the ceiling and whatever demons are tormenting him.

You run from him, leaving the dentist’s chair to instead get closer to his workstation. Hands shaking so terribly that you can barely open the drawers of his desk, you bring your thumb to your eyes as you wipe away the pained tears that refuse to stop flowing. Your pinky is sitting at an odd angle, the digit throbbing with pain with every slight movement, and your neck feels savaged and wet as small droplets of blood sit on the skin where his nails have dug deeply enough.

Pulling free some alcohol wipes, you tear them open with your teeth and rub them across your neck to clean the small wounds. It stings like hell and a sobbing inhale is all you can manage as you fix yourself up as best you can. The finger will require a doctor but you suspect that it is only dislocated and not truly broken.

Again, he had hurt you.

And again, you were staying to see the events through.

A small voice, one born of fairness given the circumstances, whispers that he wasn’t in his right mind and that he didn’t mean to hurt you in that moment. But with it came a voice of equal measure, one which echoes past events that were better left unspoken.

He didn’t mean it.

He never did and yet…

Shaking your head to knock the thoughts free, you refocus on the task at hand as you gently touch at your pinky with a soft wince.

“Do you want to hit me, Dr. Crane?”

“Right now? Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I don’t know. If it were anyone else-”

You had seen it then, the desire to hurt, to lash out and make himself feel better but he had stayed his hand despite your own attempts to push him into violence.

“I’m sorry.”

Startling at the sudden cry, you almost drop the alcohol wipe which is still clenched between your fingers. Where anger had laced his tones, the voice which now carried across the basement couldn’t have been more different as it contains an anxious desperation. Something entirely foreign to what you know of him. It does make you curious though and your feet move softly against the floor as you creep back around the other side of the basement and glance around the thin curtain which separates that area from the rest of the space.

His eyes are closed, the wire-rimmed glasses haven fallen from his face to lay across his chest, but you can see his eyes moving rapidly beneath the shut lids as they dart around, unseeing. The lines of his face are more pronounced than ever as his features twist with every whimpered word – forehead creasing and lips wrapping around the soft words which spill free.

"I'm sorry, great granny. Don't-don't send me to the church. Not the birds! Please."

A memory rose, unbidden in your mind, as you recall your hands rolling across the expansive skin of his back and the scarring which lay there. Some of the marks were white with age, small and scattered across his shoulders and upper back, and his words gave them a history that made your chest ache.

Despite the many documentaries and conspiracies which cropped up about many of Gotham's finest criminals, their choices and crimes making them a prime piece of media fodder, the details of many rogues were shaky at best when it came to their histories prior to their criminality.

Exceptions like Dent, whose rise and fall had been documented in the public eye for all to see, were rare and a lot of the mystery surrounding the various costumed villains who terrorised Gotham made them almost like folklore curiosities.

I did it once and I’ll do it again.

Had Jonathan killed his great granny?

He howls and your neck jerks, igniting discomfort in the fresh claw marks, as you approach him slowly. His eyes are still snapped shut, mouth twisted in distress as his head thrashes from side to side – each movement making his shock of hair grow steadily more unkempt and messy. A thick sheen of sweat coats his skin and you pull the cuff of your shift over your fingers as you attempt to wipe away the worst of it.

At the soft touch, Crane startles as though burned and his eyes are wild as they meet your own – the absence of clarity sending a thrill of anxiety through your chest. His lips move but no words can escape, only a stilted whimper which slips free as his head flinches away from your touch.

“Shh, Jonathan.” Shushing him with the softest possible voice you can muster, you allow your shirt to pull back to your wrist as you card your fingers through his damp hair. The restraints are holding as strong as ever and since his aggression has passed, you feel safe in trying to offer him even a little comfort. “There’s no one here but me and you.”

The worst of the toxin seeming to have passed, you grow bolder in your movements as you slip your free hand across his cheek – feeling the bones there pressing into your skin as you soothe him.

Something heavy curls in your stomach, not quite pity, but a sympathy which lies alongside the anxiety and discomfort that pounds within your head.

“Go to sleep and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Surprisingly, the gentle words appear to work as whatever strength is keeping him alert seeps from him in a long exhale and his eyes stutter closed. His breathing still erratic as hell, you continue to stroke along his hair until you are convinced that he has passed out.

Once certain, you pull away and retire back to the couch; body slamming against the fabric with an exhausted sigh as you settle in to wait for him to wake up.

x-x-x-x-x

Two hours pass in a blink and the first sign of life from Crane is a hoarse coughing fit which makes your fingers flinch as they thumb through one of the many psychiatric journals which litter the basement. Now empty, the plastic bottle of water which you had been slowly sipping from lies by your side and you accidentally knock it to the floor as you jump from the couch as though electrocuted.

Padding your feet across the basement floor, you can see he is awake as you come closer but you pause at his side to allow him to make the first move. Tension sits heavy in the air, awkwardness and stress hanging between you like a weight.

Crane is a mess.

He looks awful and you can’t help the grimace which stretches your lips as you approach him with all the caution of a handler approaching a wounded lion.

“Are you okay?”

A basic ask and one that is met with emptiness as Crane flexes his hands.

“Let me out.”

Nodding quickly and ignoring the sharpness of his tone as it pierces your chest, your fingers move swiftly as they work through the various restraints which hold him in place. Starting with the ankle restraints, they all remove easily enough until you reach the strap which holds his injured wrist in place. The leather is stained with his blood, the wound having stopped bleeding at some point, and you shudder as you gently pull his wrist free – not wishing to do any more damage than what is already there.

No longer held in place, Crane’s body moves shakily as he pushes himself free of the chair. His expression is queasy and it doesn’t surprise you too much when his first port of call is to make a stilted dash for the nearby bathroom, his long legs visibly trembling with the effort of carrying his struggling body. After a moment, you hear the sound of retching and grimace at how viscerally it echoes across the virtually silent basement.

Uncertainty roils in your heart, a desire to follow and make sure he was okay battling it out with a vague understanding that any attempt to help him at this fragile moment would result in backlash. As such, you remain in place, carefully keeping your dislocated pinky free of the arm of the chair to limit the damage.

Eventually Crane reappears and you can see that he has take the time to make himself presentable. His clothing is neatly fixed into their familiar positions, shirt and pants smoothed out as the lab coat circles his thin frame like a blanket. The wire-rimmed glasses are perched back on his nose, pushed as close to his eyes as possible, and you can tell from the slight sheen of his skin that he has splashed water on his face.

But it does little to hide how obviously worn out he is.

“It would be better if you left. Now.” Crane states, the words coming out as plainly as though he were commenting on the outside weather.

“What?” Not quite sure you had heard him correctly; you give him the chance to repeat.

Despite the casualness of his words, you can see the irritation spark as his instructions go unheeded and he’s forced to make his point once more.

“Your services are not required. So, leave me.”

Stepping away from the dental chair with a swift motion, you don’t bother to hide the genuine confusion you feel as you watch him approach you with a tactical hesitation. “After all- after all that? That’s it? Just leave?”

You can see his struggle, the forced nonchalance barely holding in place as his fingers shake and his lips set into a harsh line as he stops before you – deliberately straightening to his full height to ensure that he towers over your shorter frame. He was angry for sure, but below the anger you could see the shame which really guided his words; the loss of control which always makes him dangerously volatile.

“Whatever you saw, whatever you heard, is meaningless. So, leave me to my work and I will decide when I want to see you next.”

Fire igniting in your soul at the thought of being dismissed like a child, you stand your ground as your partially opened shirt flutters around your thighs.

“No. Absolutely not! Not after all the shit I just had to go through for you.” Tilting your chin up at him with open defiance, you are too annoyed to really take in the anger which sits on his features. “I didn’t wait all this time to be kicked out lik-”

“I said, LEAVE!” Crane hollers, his voice raising heavily on the final word as he lashes out with a careless hand to push you away from him. Unfortunately, since you weren’t expecting the physical touch, his hand catches you off-guard and you trip over your own feet, falling backwards on your ass as your hands splay out to prevent your body from falling any further.

A bolt of pain, sharp and intense, lances across your injured hand as your pinky connects with the floor and you can’t hold back the howl of pain which rips free of your lips as you quickly pull your wrists forward to cradle your hands to your chest. Facing both the stress of the last few hours and the agony of your hand, there’s no fighting the tears which immediately begin to fall from your eyes and your sobs quickly grow stuttered and messy as you sit there like a pathetic beast, content to wallow in adrenaline-fuelled misery.

Not expecting you to fall, nor the intense reaction which followed, Crane pauses long enough to look down at you – truly look down at you – and even through the hail of tears you can see the genuine regret which passes across his pinched face.

“What happened to your hand?” Crane asks, his hands dropping to loop around your shoulders as he pulls you to your feet once more with a surprising gentleness. His voice is tight, resigned to the answer which he knows is coming.

“You.” Rubbing at your eyes with your good wrist, you can’t hold the truth from him. “When you were on the chair. It lo-looked like you were passing out and I wanted to check the bleeding in your- in your wrist.”

“Let me see.”

His voice softer than it has been in quite some time, you can’t help the flinch of your arm as he takes your other wrist in his hand – examining the damaged pinky with an unreadable expression.

“Hmm, no break. Possible fracture but most likely dislocated.” He mutters to himself, diagnosing the injury with a clinical precision before speaking more clearly as he held your watery eyes with his own. “I will need to reset the bone.”

Nodding even as your lips stutter out a thinly held sob, you know it’s going to hurt like hell and you try to brace for the discomfort as much as possible.

“This won’t be pleasant and I apologise for it. I would never intend to-” Crane cut himself off, perhaps sensing that his words were meaningless in the moment. “But I will fix it and give you some painkillers to manage the discomfort. Follow me.”

He guides you to his work bench and you move on autopilot, allowing him to open a bottle of unknown pills and drop two into your good hand; an offering which you take without hesitation as you swallow the pills dry, ignoring the horribly acrid taste they leave where they press against your tongue. As you do, Crane takes the opportunity to spread your injured hand out on the edge of the wooden table – ignoring the spilled mess which still litters the floor.

“I will need to relocate the bone. Might I suggest that you bite down on your shirt because it won’t be a particularly enjoyable experience.”

Following his advice, you bite down on the cuff of your shirt from your free hand. The fabric tastes of nothing and you choose to focus on the texture as you refuse to look at your injured hand while Crane gently locks his hand around the dislocated pinky, ready to fix his errant mistake.

Without warning or additional comforts, he wrenches the pinky forward before setting it back into place in one swift motion.

The hot pain which explodes from the area has you stamping your feet against the floor as you bite down harshly on the shirt in your mouth. But Crane is as efficient as ever and the intensity of the pain dies as quickly as it started and the dull, aching throb which follows is much more manageable as your bleary eyes attempt to flex the digit – a choice which sparks fresh pain but also a smidge of relief as the pinky twitches at your command.

Giving you a moment to compose yourself as the painkillers still need time to truly kick in, Crane’s attention is snatched up by your throat as you roll your head with a loud exhale to centre your thoughts.

“The marks on your neck?”

A nod.

His jaw flexes and you can feel the disappointment rolling from him in waves as his thin fingers extend in an unspoken question as they hover in the space before your neck. You accept his touch with a slight incline, allowing him to ghost his fingers over the fresh scratches which are no longer bleeding as your throat constricts beneath his digits.

He doesn’t need to ask, already knowing the answer, so he instead takes a step back from you – allowing you some space from him in a vague show of apology. Taking in his appearance, from the tightly pinched expression which has lost all of the earlier irritation which his shame had sparked, to the miniscule tremble which sits in his limbs as he forces himself to still as much as possible, you can feel how tired he is.

How tired you both are.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I-” He begins his retort but it dies in his throat, unable to deny the accusation. His gaze is dull, lacking its usual intensity, and something within it melts the anger which is swirling within your own thoughts.

Reaching out with your good hand, you grasp his hand within your own as you silently lead him over to the couch. Surprisingly, he allows it and you use that to your advantage as you gently push him down to sit on the old fabric.

“I’ll leave when I see you lying down.” You mutter, willing to meet him halfway. “You can’t work like this and it’s only going to result in another accident.”

“You’re right.”

Twisting on the couch, his long frame fills the space in an instant as his legs shift to hang over the arm. His agreement was unexpected and it brings a soft smile to the edge of your lips as you turn and your hands drop to close around your handbag, quickly rifling through it to check that you had everything you needed. Happy to uphold your end of the bargain and leave, you only pause when his voice catches you unawares – the weariness in his tone undeniable.

“You can stay.”

Not willing to pass on the opportunity, you nod at the offer.

You turn back to stand before the couch, looking down at him with a calm expectancy and he grunts as he pulls his upper body up, giving you enough space to slide into the space he had just vacated. Taking the offered seat, you recline comfortably and allow him to lie back once more – his head dropping into your lap with a muffled thud.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” you begin quietly, “and I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t see or hear anything.” At the words he stiffens against your thighs, but you press on regardless. “But I’m not going to ask and I’m okay with staying here until you’ve slept.”

Tracing nonsensical shapes along his hairline with your right hand as you attempt to soothe out the deep lines of his forehead, you inhale softly as his hand loops around your left wrist. Two firm fingers press against your pulse point, feeling the steady beat which thurms there, and the sensation seems to bring some peace to him as he relaxes further into your touch – exhaustion having robbed him of much of his typical stoicism and defensiveness.

“Would you like me to sing something?” You offer, thinking of the small beat-up old radio which sits at the furthest end of his work desk, a testament to his subtle enjoyment of music.

“Please,” he mutters in response, the words barely slipping free of his tight lips as his eyes drift closed, “my day has already been ruined and I think that tone deafness you indulge in may push me over the edge, witty girl.”

Not expecting the teasing insult, it nets him a soft chuckle as you pull at the hair which sits atop the crown of his head with a gentle tug and respond in kind with a similar mutter.

“Bastard.”

[gilly-moon]

For Vlad and Danny, or pompep if you're interested, night I ask for:

29, 92, or 97?

~harley

I am realizing I have NO confidence in writing these two together so this really felt like a practice piece?? Tried to throw in some hints of Pompep though, I hope it's any good!

-

29 : “You’ll end up dead if you keep that up and it won’t even be at my hands.”

Danny had the final boss of Doomed 2 down to a sliver of its health bar when Vlad Plasmius came skidding out of the Ghost Portal.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he groaned, yanking off his headset and mourning the hours of progress lost as ‘Game Over’ appeared in bold letters across the computer monitor.

Phasing into his ghost form, he turned with an ectoblast already gathering in his palms. Across the room, a cart of spare gadget parts had been knocked over, several glass beakers shattered across the floor beside it. Vlad was pulling himself up against the far counter of the lab, fangs bared and red eyes glowing.

“It’s three in the morning, asshole,” Danny grumbled. “Let’s make this quick.”

Danny thrust his hands out, the blast of energy narrowly missing Vlad as he lurched sideways. The movement was sluggish - a far cry from Vlad’s typical ease and grace in battle. He almost seemed tired, though the arc of energy he released with a sweep of his arm was just as intense as usual. Danny dove down to avoid it, the heat of the blast singeing a few of his hairs.

“How wonderful,” the older halfa sneered. “We actually agree on something!”

Danny phased into the floor to avoid a barrage of pink blasts. When he emerged from the wall behind Vlad, it was easier than anticipated to land a blow between his shoulderblades, knocking him forward onto his knees. Vlad cried out from the impact, clutching at his stomach.

His stomach?

“Feeling a little off your game tonight, fruit loop? Need some tums for your tummy ache?”

When Vlad didn’t respond or stand up immediately, Danny moved cautiously around him, still on guard in case this was another of Vlad’s stupid schemes to catch him by surprise. His fists dropped as soon as he saw the pink ectoplasm dripping onto the floor.

“What the hell, Vlad?”

“Shut up, Daniel,” Vlad growled, his hand still pressed over the wound on his abdomen.

It must've been deep, considering the sizeable stain on Vlad’s front and the growing pool between his knees. Their fight must’ve reopened it, or maybe Danny just hadn’t been looking close enough to notice it until now.

Studying its vibrant color, Danny realized he’d never even considered whether Plasmius could bleed. He’d never landed a blow on the halfa that would cause anything more serious than some scratches and bruises.

Someone must’ve been really determined to kill Vlad.

“You pissed off another ghost in the Zone, didn’t you?” Danny accused, unsure if this new development was hilarious or annoying. “Who the hell did you piss off? Was it Dora? I’ll have to thank her later.”

Vlad scoffed, eyes narrowing. “I would not be maimed by an emotionally unstable dragon.”

“But you did piss someone off. And you really thought it was the best idea to come here and pick another fight?”

Vlad didn’t reply, gritting his teeth as he slumped back against the counter. Now that Danny had a moment to really look, he could see Vlad’s outfit was covered in rips and burns, scratches torn through his cape and across his shoulder. One of his cheeks looked heavily bruised, the skin already darkening beneath his eye.

“You’ll end up dead all over again if you keep that up,” Danny said, phasing back into a human. “And it won’t even be at my hands.”

Grabbing a clean work rag from one of the cabinets beside Vlad, he knelt down and held it out, a metaphorical olive branch. Vlad eyed the cloth, but didn’t reach for it despite the ghostly plasma oozing between his fingers.

“I don’t need any lectures from a C-average teenager who failed his English midterm last week.”

“God, you’re such a creep.”

Danny sighed, scooting closer and forcibly lifting Vlad’s arm so he could press the cloth over the nasty-looking laceration - definitely made by a set of well-sharpened claws. He was met with little resistance, though it was hardly a surprise considering the tremor in Vlad’s hands and the choked-off yelp when his stomach was exposed.

Thankfully the wound was already healing, but if Vlad returned to his human form too soon they’d been in a far stickier situation. Danny tried to convince himself he was just helping so his parents and Jazz wouldn’t find out when he had to call an ambulance for the wounded billionaire in their basement, and not because he was actually worried.

What was he getting himself into?

“You attacked me,” Vlad said, his voice somewhat strained.

“What?”

Danny looked up, his hands shifting slightly where they pressed over Vlad’s stomach. The older halfa tensed, fangs bared and fingers scraping over the floor. If Danny’s eyes lingered on the muscles flexing along his neck for a moment too long, neither of them mentioned it.

“I didn’t come here for a fight.” Red eyes peeled slowly open, staring at the ceiling. “Have I ever come into your home just to fight you?”

“Does it matter?” Danny pressed his hands down a little more, definitely not just to see Vlad squirm again. “You’ve come here before just to threaten me. Close enough.”

The short breath Vlad exhaled might’ve been a laugh.

“Touché,” he conceded. “But my initial point still stands - you threw the first blow this time.”

Danny caught his lip between his teeth, retracing the last several minutes and realizing that the stupid vampire was right.

“So, what?”

“So, dear boy…” Vlad’s hand found his bicep, wrapping around it completely as the other curved over the back of his neck, keeping him in place. “I’d say that means you owe me a favor.”

“I’m already trying to save your life here,” Danny said, trying not to think about the heat spreading up his arm and across his shoulders. His gaze flicked up and got stuck on the sight of Vlad’s hooded eyes aimed at his neck.

“Your father still hides bottles of alcohol behind the kitchen cleaners upstairs, yes?”

Danny’s brow furrowed quizzically, some of the heat in his body dissipating.

“Y-yeah, but -”

“Be a dear and grab me the darkest bottle of red wine you can find, hm? To help take the edge off.”

The gloved hands release him, leaving something warm and sticky behind. Danny stood, hesitating with a barely-formed protest on his lips. He swallowed it in defeat, turning on his heel and marching up the stairs.

Only when he reached the top did he remember it was still three in the fucking morning and Vlad Plasmius was in his basement. He considered calling on Tucker, who was bound to be awake, or sneaking upstairs to wake Jazz. It only took a moment to decide against either. There was something unappealing about the idea of letting anyone else see Vlad in such a vulnerable state.

That in itself was a thought that made him pause as he squatted in front of the cabinet storing various cleaners and a few crusty pairs of rubber gloves.

Why hadn’t he finished what he started? Vlad was weak. Danny could’ve taken him down with one more blast and shoved him right back into the ghost zone. It would’ve been quicker, easier, and far more simple than whatever he was doing now.

The memory of a hand wrapped thumb-to-fingers around his bicep sent blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he grumbled at his own mind, snatching the first bottle of red wine he spotted.

His dad sure thought he was clever with his hiding places. Though he certainly wasn’t clever enough to notice the handful of times Danny had taken sips from any of the already open bottles. Surely he wouldn’t notice one missing thing of wine, either.

“Just get him his booze and get out,” Danny muttered to himself as he crept back down the stairs. Better to end this interaction soon, before something really weird happened.

Apparently Vlad had thought so, too.

The lab was empty when Danny emerged from the stairwell. It was only him, the faint eerie wail of the ghost portal, and a smeared pool of pink ectoplasm.

Heaving a sigh, Danny ripped the foil off the wine bottle, phasing the cork out from the neck and taking one long swig. He frowned when the rich taste and the burn of alcohol reminded him of one deeply annoying, vampiric halfa.

Slamming the bottle down on the nearest surface and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Danny glared at the ghost blood streaked across the floor.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

[forthegothicheroine]

Hmmm... what about a Batman Regency au?

The vibe I'd go for is "Hammer Frankenstein meets The Scarlet Pimpernel." Ruffly clothes and glowing beakers of ambiguous science everywhere!

The Bat is not pro-revolution, pro-monarchy, or pro-any country or empire. He rights wrongs no matter the side!

I'm normally not the biggest fan of the Joker, but I think an evil Commedia del Arte troupe would kick ass. Joker and Harley as Harlequin and Columbina!

You know I've got to throw the Scarecrow in here, so he's the anarchist. Similar to the Liberation of the Night in Fallen London, he does not believe that anarchy will lead to a utopia but to a world made democratic in chaos and fear. He was probably at the Villa Diodati and has had an unrequited thing for Mary Shelley ever since.

Selina Kyle is a mistress of disguise. She might be that unaffordable courtesan, that blushing ingenue having her season, or the masked highwayman holding you up, but she'll disappear with your heart and your money in each situation. Bruce disapproves, but doesn't think she should hang for it.

[agerefandom]

Other Fandoms

fandoms in red are fandoms that I don't know personally, but I've done art or moodboards for them! fandoms in purple are ones that I have moderate familiarity with, but I can't write every character. The rest are ones that I just haven't made as much content for.

Ace Attorney regressor!apollo edit regressor!edgeworth with cg!gumshoe moodboard

The Addams Family caregiver!morticia moodboard

All For The Game regressor!kevin and cg!andrew moodboard

Avatar: The Last Airbender Flourishing in Sunlight: post-canon fic with cg!Zuko and regressor!Katara gaang agere art regressor!sokka moodboard

Barbie Movie regressor!ken moodboard

The Boy regressor!brahms headcanons

Castlevania (Netflix) regressors!trevor and alucard moodboards/headcanons

Check Please regressor!jack headcanons (ask game)  regressor!bitty art

Coraline regressor!wybie moodboard

Corpse Bride regressor!victor van dort moodboard regressor!emily art

Criminal Minds season one gang regression headcanons regressor!spencer and cg!derek art

Danganronpa regressor!toko, chihiro, and yasuhiro edits bunny regressor!mikan tsumiki moodboard regressor!chihiro moodboard caregiver!sakura moodboard regressor!ishimaru moodboard w themes of cg!mondo

DC Content regressor!harley quinn moodboard (comics) regressor!oswald moodboard (gotham) regressor!joker moodbard (telltale series) regressor!flash moodboard (cw)

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Once Upon A Midnight Dreary: fanfiction with regressor!henry jekyll

Frankenstein  regressor!victor frankenstein headcanons regressor!adam (the monster) headcanons

Ghibli Movies  big sister kiki headcanons  agere edit of haru (the cat returns)

Heathers agere!JD art regressor!veronica art regressor!heather macnamara moodboard

Hadestown caregiver!hades headcanons regressor!eurydice moodboard

Hunger Games caregiver!katniss moodboard

Interview With The Vampire To Have, To Hold, To Drink: fanfiction with cg!louis and regressor!lestat regressor!lestat moodboard

It caregiver!pennywise headcanons

Labyrinth  caregiver!jareth and regressor!reader

Little Shop of Horrors Skid Row Blues: fanfiction with orin walking in on regressor!seymour regressor!orin headcanons

Lore Olympus regressor!hades and cg!hecate moodboard

The Magic School Bus caregiver!ms.frizzle headcanons

Maze Runner regressor!minho moodboard regressor!newt moodboard

Les Miserables Calling You Home: fanfiction with regressor!Enjolras and caregiver!Grantaire

The Muppets regressor!beaker moodboard

My Little Pony cg!starlight glimmer moodboard regressor!sunset shimmer art/edits

The Mysterious Benedict Society regressor!kate moodboard regressor!nicholas benedict moodboard/headcanons

Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812  Natasha is Young: fanfiction about regressor!Natasha and cg!Helene

Night At The Museum caregiver!Jedediah and Octavius art

The Owl House regressor!willow moodboard regressors!ed and em moodboard

Raven Cycle headcanons (gansey, ronan, noah, adam, and blue)  regressor!noah moodboard

Rick and Morty regressor!morty headcanons

Rocky Horror Picture Show regressor!rocky moodboard

Sandman regressor!desire headcanons thoughts on regressor!dream regressor!dream moodboard

Sherlock regressor!sherlock and cg!john headcanons cg!john watson moodboard

Smile For Me regressor!boris habit moodboard regressor!boris habit edit regressor!habit with cg!kamal art more regressor!habit art

Star Trek regressor!jim and caregivers!bones and spock headcanons regressor!jim moodboard w themes of cg!bones regressor!jim and cg!sam moodboard(strange new worlds) regressor!jim and cg!spock art

Stranger Things regressor!eleven headcanons

The Untamed regressor!lan zhan moodboard regressor!wei ying moodboards

V for Vendetta caregiver!V headcanons cg!v moodboard

Welcome To Night Vale regressor!cecil and cg!carlos headcanons cg!carlos moodboard cg!cecil moodboard

Wicked regressors!elphaba and glinda headcanons

World’s End regressor!gary king headcanons

X-Files regressor!Dana and Fox headcanons

Youtubers  regressor!dan howell headcanons cg!markiplier moodboard

[acen404]

Op I saw your bunsen & beaker pins from the Disney pin tag and I felt obligated to share these hallmark ornaments with yiu

OMG!!!

They look so cute

I want them as well

Thank you so much @harley-the-pancake for showing me this

[hxney-lemcn]

I'm making a Jonathan Crane x reader one shot and holy shit it's taking a turn. Went from a silly little mutual pining into "uh oh reader almost died 🤭". It's not any specific scarecrow, just general. Here's a small snippet because I really like this one 😊

Snippet under cut

Seeing as none of the other rogues contacted Dr. Crane, I decided to check out the lab and make sure everything was in order. I’ve only been into the lab a couple of times. Dr. Crane didn’t like anyone entering, and the times I had been in there were to escort Harley out into his office instead. The lab is where he kept his most vile of fear toxin samples. Building off of his old works to create more potent toxins to warp Batman's mind. 

I knocked on the door first, wanting to make sure I wasn’t intruding. When I didn’t hear anything, I cracked the door open, peering into the room. Tables are littered with burners, tubes, vials, flasks, pipettes, beakers and basically anything you could possibly need for creating toxins that drive people insane and possibly kill them. My eyes finally fell onto the brown haired scientist, slumped over the table with beakers surrounding him. Orange liquids filled some, others were a dark brown. 

Taking a tentative step back, I shut the door as quietly as I could. I made quick work of grabbing the jacket I wore today and quietly slipped into the lab. I scooched the beakers back (keeping them in the same order) to give Crane some more space. I then gently placed my jacket over his shoulders, which made him stir, causing me to tense, only for him to continue his slumber. Carefully, I slid his glasses off his face so he could sleep a bit more comfortably. Folding the legs of his glasses, I placed them near his head.

I should wake him up. It was my job to make sure everything was in working order. Keep an eye on the goons, make sure transactions were upheld, and report any problems to Dr. Crane. Yet seeing how he tended to overwork himself, neglecting his needs, I could only hope that he won’t be too irritated at my decision. Double checking that the space was as safe as it could be, I left the lab. I was just glad he didn’t leave any burners on overnight.

[jovialjuggernaut-draws]

Ok last one: 97 hattercrow 🙏🙏🙏 (ur hatter specifically plzzz)

"You're so cute when you pout like that."

Bunny scrunched up his nose, waggling his whiskers. His soft-furred ears drooped back to brush his bony shoulders, tensed as they were. "Focus, Jervis," Bunny ordered.

The Hatter couldn't help but giggle. It was so absurd, the hare acting so serious, looking so cute as he did. He wound his fingers into Bunny's unruly mop of strawberry hair, kissing the sweet straw where it sprouted between knobby knuckles.

"This is not the time, damn it!" Bunny snapped, roughly shoving the Hatter's arm aside.

Jonathan stalked off, tension sharp in his shoulders. At his work table, he stilled, nails digging like claws into its weathered surface.

"...Shouldn't have dragged you with me…" Jonathan lamented. "Risky enough without dead weight dragging me down…"

"Sorry, Bunny," Jervis tried. His lip tasted of the tang of blood where his teeth dug into it. "Didn't mean to make you cross."

Jonathan shot a glare his way, but it softened in an instant, all fluff again. "Shit, Jervis, you're bleeding-"

Bunny rushed over, one of those thick, soft napkins he used for chemical spills pressed to the Hatter's bleeding lip. His wispy eyebrows drew close, etching deep wrinkles into his forehead. The Hatter lifted a hand, palm cupping Bunny's fluffy cheek, his thumb stroking a line from his twitching nose to his strawberry hair until the wrinkles softened and smoothed.

"...Listen, Jervis, I…" Bunny sighed, nuzzling into Hatter's palm. "It's not your fault. I'm just… frustrated. It's been very stressful, this business with Joker- with the Duchess."

Hatter nodded, catching onto Bunny's meaning. "Squabbling with the cook again."

"Yes." Bunny kissed his palm before drawing away again. Hatter let him scamper off, back to his work table with its potions in their beakers. "This power struggle with Harley has a body count already. They're dragging anyone they can into the crossfire, and it's only a matter of time before one of them turns eyes to us. I need to be ready for that. To protect you."

Hatter smiled fondly, his serious little Bunny pouting cutely again. "That's sweet, Bunny."

The wrinkles sank into Bunny's forehead again. Hatter checked his lip, worried the bleeding may have begun anew, but his fingers came away clean. "Jervis, please. I want to impress on you how dangerous this situation is. Those mad clowns will stop at nothing-"

Hatter beckoned his Bunny over, arms outstretched. The hare hesitated, of course, but he gave in in the end, allowing his Hatter to embrace him, wild strawberry hair tickling under his chin. "Bunny, bunny, bunny. So skittish, so scared. Aren't you already armed from hill to dale, keeping Alice and her cat from imposing at our table again?"

"It's not the same," Bunny insisted. "The Bat's goals are never lethal-"

"The Duchess also hasn't half the wit of that grinning cat," the Hatter countered. "Self-absorbed and singularly focussed. Even this squabble with the cook means only to teach Alice some lesson or other."

"But how can we be sure-"

"We can never be sure," the Hatter acknowledged, stroking Bunny softly as he did, to soothe before he could spook. "Nothing in this life is sure. A pawn may fall in battle, or she may become a queen. The tears you shed today may wash you into a sunny day the next. Time may speed or slow or still, but it does not reverse, and we cannot see what is to come."

Bunny shook his head, his hair scratching across the Hatter's collarbone where he pressed his forehead close. "You're mad," he accused.

"Aren't we all?" Hatter reminded him.

Bunny pouted up at him, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, fighting a smile. "You especially."

Jervis couldn't help but return the fond look. "You know, you're cute when you smile, too."

[homestuck--edits]

Could I get a sprite edit of June Harley (Jadeways ofc <3) with a long, white labcoat, goggles ontop of her head in green/blue and keeping the dog ears in Jades dog-teir? a little blue scientific beaker beret in my hair would be really cool and my shirt can just be comfy :3 I remember having freckles all over my body!! I had black, medium length hair thats common in like most june art i guess!!!

here ya go!

-mod davesprite

[mzminola]

Talking with Muppets & Bats with my brother and he put on Gonzo’s voice to say “I will now fire myself. Out of a cannon. Over the Lazarus Pit!”

So obviously Gonzo is now Ra’s and the chickens get ninja gear. Rizzo is the beleaguered second-in-command. Talia is one of the characters played by an actual human actor.

Kermit the Frog’s nephew is canonically named Robin so that gets the Dynamic Duo squared away.

And with Bat!Kermit, Miss Piggy needs to be one of the love interests and since she was framed in The Great Muppet Caper she should obviously get to be a jewel thief for real, and therefore is Catwoman.

Sam the Eagle plays Alfred, Fozzie is Commissioner Gordon.

Beaker is Harley Quinn and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew is Poison Ivy.

[bog-water-030]

BEAKERS ROTATION 4

Previously // Next

Agony~ far more painful than yours~ 🎶

Starting slow, Circe and Loki both advanced to lvl 6 of their respective careers, which is handy now that they need a nanny and a maid to keep up around the house...

To recap, Circe and Ajay had a mild affair in his rotation. I imagine, knowing how Circe tends to be, the feelings aren't equal/mutual. Circe would have completely forgotten about him if he wasn't at her doorstep every other day.

I don't know if his developing friendship with Loki makes the affair better or worse. Maybe he's into it...

In other news, the twins and the subjects all aged up. Ceres, in her usual dramatics, declared her childhood awful and terrible. She was just in a bad mood

Ceres aged up into a Romance sim

And Atom aged up into a Knowledge sim (i dont know why hes dressed like that dont ask me)

I was hoping the added maturity would end their petty squabbles but alas no such luck.

Harley and Ludvig aged up the very next day. Ludvig aged into a Fortune sim

and Harley, god bless her heart, looks like she can smell fear. Very much like her dad.

speaking of dad, the asshole got himself abducted AGAIN so baby 8 is on their damned way

there is no freedom from baby hell

[escapingpurgatory]

Title: "The Llama Hoof Obsession"

INT. GOTHAM CITY - ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

(The warehouse is dimly lit, cluttered with vats, beakers, and cauldrons. Large posters of llamas cover the walls. A MANIACAL LAUGH echoes throughout the room. A crazed figure steps into the light. It’s the JOKER, his hair disheveled, wearing a chef's apron splattered with mysterious liquids. His focus is on a boiling cauldron where something grotesque stews inside.)

JOKER

(sniffs the air, delighted)

Ahhh, the aroma of artistry! The perfect blend of madness and... llama hooves! giggles Who knew such delicate treasures could make a stew so... luscious?

(He stirs the pot with a ladle, his face contorted in manic glee.)

JOKER

(talking to the pot)

Oh, my precious little hooves. You’ve been running around, trampling grass, carrying those fluffy fools. But now... now you serve a higher purpose! laughs wildly

(Suddenly, HARLEY QUINN enters, a look of confusion and mild disgust on her face.)

HARLEY QUINN

Puddin’? What’s... what's with the stew? And... uh... what’s with all the llama stuff? Are we robbin' a petting zoo or somethin’?

JOKER

(turns dramatically, eyes wide)

Harley, my dear! Can’t you see? Can’t you smell? We’re not robbing petting zoos anymore! Oh no... we’re crafting art! The art of obsession, the beauty of culinary perfection! The humble llama hoof, you see, holds the key to madness!

HARLEY QUINN

(eyebrow raised)

Llama hooves? Seriously? You're pullin' my leg, right?

JOKER

(gleeful)

No, no, no! You don’t understand! Llama hooves have this... delicate texture. When boiled just right, they make the creamiest broth. It’s unlike anything Gotham’s seen. Batman won’t be able to resist. One sip of my Llama Hoof Stew and he’ll be hooked! And then, Harley, I’ll break him... with the power of culinary brilliance!

HARLEY QUINN

(snorts)

You think Batsy's gonna lose his marbles over... stew?

JOKER

(menacingly serious)

Oh, Harley, it’s not just about the stew. It’s about the ritual, the sacrifice... the madness! Llama hooves symbolize purity. They carry the weight of fools, but never complain. Much like Gotham's citizens. But now, I hold their strength in my hands!

(He holds up a llama hoof triumphantly.)

JOKER

(maniacal)

With each stew I perfect, with each hoof I boil, I inch closer to the ultimate recipe! A dish that even the Bat can’t refuse. And when he takes that final sip... the taste of defeat will be delicious!

(Harley watches in disbelief as Joker dances around the cauldron, tossing in herbs and spices, humming an eerie tune.)

HARLEY QUINN

(muttering)

I swear, puddin’, you’re gettin’ weirder every day.

(Suddenly, there’s a CRASH from the rafters. Batman’s silhouette looms in the shadows, his voice cold.)

BATMAN

(gravelly)

Joker... what’s your game this time?

JOKER

(delighted)

Ahh, Bats! Just in time for dinner! chuckles I’ve been slaving away, perfecting this recipe. You’re going to love it. Llama Hoof Stew... a dish fit for a king!

(Joker grabs a bowl, ladles some of the bubbling concoction into it, and steps forward.)

BATMAN

(disgusted)

You’ve gone too far, Joker. This is insanity.

JOKER

(wide grin)

Oh, but isn’t that the point? laughs Gotham’s full of crazy, Bats. I’m just the chef who knows how to serve it!

(Joker holds the bowl out towards Batman, teasingly.)

JOKER

One little sip, Bats. Come on, don’t be shy. You’ve eaten worse, I’m sure.

BATMAN

(sternly)

I’m taking you in.

(Joker’s grin widens. He suddenly hurls the bowl at Batman, spilling the grotesque stew everywhere. Harley yelps and jumps back as the liquid sizzles on the ground.)

JOKER

(laughs uncontrollably)

You can take me in, but the taste will haunt you forever, Batman! forever!

(Batman leaps into action, and chaos ensues as Joker grabs a ladle to fend him off. Harley sighs, shaking her head as the fight spirals into madness, stew flying everywhere.)

HARLEY QUINN

(to herself)

I liked it better when we were just robbin' banks...

(As the fight intensifies, the camera pans up to a large llama poster on the wall, Joker’s crazed laughter echoing through the warehouse.)

FADE OUT.

---

End Scene.

This script plays with Joker’s absurdity and obsession, taking it to a new, bizarre level with the focus on something as random as llama hooves. His madness is all about elevating the strange and the mundane into chaotic genius!

fav duo ever

[starlight-time-machine]

Week in Review

09/15/2024 – 09/21/2024

Sunday

Week 32 of missing Cipher Academy

It’s great to see Andy reunited with the rest of the Union in Undead Unluck, but it was mainly a setup chapter so there’s not much for me to talk about.

Monday

Nothing

Tuesday

Reread Kimi to Isshin Denshin! and it’s cute, but nowhere near the 9/10 I originally had it as. It’s a cute premise, and I like the emotional intelligence of the lead, but the amount of awkward prodding and wacky ESP shenanigans made the relationship progression feel all over the place, so I’ve dropped it down to a 6/10.

I’d been slowly picking at it for weeks, but today I finally finished reading My Sister Jodie by Jacqueline Wilson. This is the last of the Wilson books I remember from childhood, and probably my favourite of the ones I’ve read in adulthood. I just love the vibe of Melchester College, and I can understand why Pearl takes to it so much – I love the feeling of hanging out at school outside of school hours in general, and this was that with a heavy dash of dreamy English gothic atmosphere. It’s just really fun to watch Pearl slowly find a place here, and her relationship with Harley is both sweet and a little oddball, which is great. But man…once you know how it ends, the bits of foreshadowing throughout are insane. Pearl and Jodie’s relationship is also so sweet but still realistic, and it really has a different tone from the sisters in Diamond Girls. That just makes the tragedy all the more heartbreaking, though, so it’s hard for me to imagine returning to this in the future…maybe in another decade. And with that, that’s the last of the Jacqueline Wilson books that I wanted to revisit. None of her other books really appeal to me (I’m not into Tracy Beaker, I’m sorry to say), which is a shame, but I feel like I’ve run the gamut of her writing repertoire and had a fairly decent time. Nothing I’d want to own for myself, but still fun to pick up and read from time to time.

I finally read Ei ni Kaita Mochi wo Kaita Mochi – this oneshot came onto my radar back before MamaYuyu even started because it’s done by the same mangaka, and it’s fun seeing the roots of their style starting to get their foothold in this one. I really love the way they play with comic space and typography, and I hope their next run at a serialization is more fruitful. It was a solidly constructed oneshot, and a decent read: 6/10.

Wednesday

Moving all of my manga over to my phone has really done wonders for my manga reading habits (to the detriment of my other work). I caught up with Yuria-sensei no Akai Ito, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Yuria’s potential fling become real so quickly. I love the sense of the messy relationship drama bubbling up underneath the surface of this living arrangement.

Read the entirety of Tamarowa in an afternoon and um…I’ll give it some credit for managing to surprise me a few times and for giving me a lot of lesbian sex scenes and toxic yaoi for what was an extremely het ecchi premise. The whole thing is just banking on being scandalous as possible (in terms of both sex and violence and woAh CrazY MurDereR), but at least it didn’t overstay its welcome and managed to develop its characters somewhat (even if some of their motivations were straight out of a bad soap opera). 4/10.

I checked my notes, and I read Part 1 of Ascendance of a Bookworm almost a year ago??? Literally in the first Week in Review ever?? And then never touched the series again? Well, here’s proof that my dropped series are never truly dropped until I decide to drop them for good, because I read all of Ascendance of a Bookworm Part 2 and I’m well and truly hooked on it now. Watching Myne enter temple life and having to learn how to act like a noble and the responsibilities that carries is extremely my shit – I love the minutiae the author gets into with regards to customs and behaviour, and the manga heightens the tension and makes every potential mishap feel like it could have long-lasting consequences. And I love that Myne trying to establish these new business ventures come with genuine risk and production setbacks, and that she has to navigate these obstacles carefully with the resources and connections that she has. Unlike other isekai, Bookworm’s world feels like a real place with its own culture, politics, class systems, and economics, and it’s so refreshing to see an author actually take those things into account as our fish out of water protagonist clashes with their new surroundings. I really wish the anime was better so that I could watch it, but for now I’ll settle for catching up with the manga and reading the light novels eventually. As it stands, the series gets an 8/10 from me.

Thursday

Nothing

Friday

Nothing

Saturday

Nothing…

[jayesprite]

jade lalonde (roseways) x john harley? jades symbol was a squid from splatoon, with shoulder length curly hair and side bands, pale skin and a pair of purple glasses and a hair clip. john had ginger hair with lots of freckles, pale, almost pinkish skin, his symbol was a beaker with a green chemical in it, and he had no glasses! thank you!!

[theamazingmaddyas]

Okay, it's been almost two months and I've decided that I need to elaborate because I'm still thinking about it.

1) They both started attending Camp Half-Blood at a super young age (most probably both seven, as Harley is 8 in The Hidden Oracle and has already been at camp for at least a year and a half since Leo says the Hephaestus Cabin hasn't had any new kids before him and after the "Curse")

2) They are both extremely clever and inventive (Harley's Three Legged Death Race is 100% something eight year old Annabeth would make)

3) Both are coddled by Chiron, who can't say no to them (Annabeth learning about the Great Prophesy at way too young an age, and Chiron allowing the 3 legged death race to happen again despite Paolo literally losing a limb)

4) The reason Chiron can't say no to them is that they lost their older sibling (Thalia and Leo respectively, though Harley also lost Beckendorf most probably, depending on when he first started at camp)

5) Said older sibling comes back from the dead, and then proceeds to leave camp and find another family of their own (Thalia—the Hunters, and Leo—everyone at Waystation)

6) The reason said sibling was able to come back has to do with them (Thalia—the fleece which Annabeth got; Leo—the beaker that Harley made that helped him find camp)

So clearly I've been thinking about this too much. If anyone else has any additions as to the similarities between Annabeth and Harley, add them!

Harley in Trials of Apollo is what Annabeth was when she first arrived at camp, and I will not be elaborating.