#if i chip assign him i'll post it

[yourfavaschips]

The king from fallout New Vegas?

The King from Fallout: New Vegas would be Lay's Southern Biscuits & Gravy Potato Chips!

[delewlew]

i'll kick your ass, verstappen: max verstappen x black fem! reader

request: HEYYYYYYY could you do a max x fem reader when he gets jealous really bad over one of your male friends please. Love your stories keep going 🤍🤍

warnings: jealousy, slight swearing, google translated dutch

author's note: i hope you like this, i lowkey fried my brain trying to make sure i was confident enough to post this...still trying to convince myself. also the title isn't as cute cuz my gradient thingie wasn't working so it'll be plain...sorry bout that. as always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated as well <3

you were in second grade when you met your best friend, nikolaas, after he moved to your school. you were assigned to be his class buddy to help him get comfortable at the new school. the two of you attended the same school all the up to university so you weren't ever really apart from one another. the two of you learned to swim and ride bikes together as little kids. he was there when you went on your first date with the cute guy in your calculus class at the ice rink near your home, and he was there to take you to the hospital when you broke your ankle right after. you were there to help him learn to slow dance before he went to his first formal dance with a girl that wasn't you. he was there to teach you how to walk in that pair of So Kate's you bought without realizing maybe there was a reason nobody but zendaya dared to wear those godforsaken heels. you were there to coach him through confessing his feelings to his first boyfriend. the two of you had experienced so much of your lives beside one another that your relationship wasn't shaken when it was time to move away from home. years passed and he was a professional model travelling the world while you were working as an architect, living in monaco.

since living in monaco you'd been promoted, moved to a nicer apartment, completed a huge project with your team, and met your boyfriend. you met max at an event you'd been invited to courtesy of your own personal connections. from the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you there was something different about you from other women he's met in the past. that night, you both exchanged numbers and he'd convinced you to go on a date with him shortly after.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

for the first time since you'd moved to monaco, your best friend had finally been able to take time to come visit you. he'd flown in two days ago and was staying at your apartment for a bit longer before flying out to korea for some event he was invited to. you sat on your bed and he sat across from you painting a fresh coat of nail polish over his nails since the ocean water chipped it off earlier today. his hand shook slightly as he painted his fingers and your voice cut through the silence, "nikko i swear to god if you get black nail polish on my bed i'll kill you." he looked up through his long, thick, black eyelashes and muttered, "je bent letterlijk de meest dramatische persoon die ik ooit heb ontmoet." you rolled your eyes and huffed, "whatever you love me and you know it." he cracked a smile through the focused glare he held while looking at his fingers, "yeah yeah...speaking of love, how's your man?" [you're literally the most dramatic person i've ever met]

you smiled at the thought of max and answered, "he's really good. the season has treated him well for the most part and he's happy with how things are. we're going back home for his next race so i'm excited i'll be able to see both of our families, and i'm gonna try to stop by your place to see your mom if she's there." he shook his head while keeping his eyes on his nails, "m'ma is in suriname until september because she's visiting granm'ma and granp'pa." your frowned and asked, "were you supposed to go home with her?" nikko nodded and shrugged, "it's alright though, i think i'll be able to make it down there for christmas so it's fine. plus you can see her in september when she comes back." a smile tugged on his lips and he continued, "that is if you want to come see me walk at new york, paris, milan, or london fashion week this year." you nearly tackled him into a hug and screeched, "NO FUCKING WAY- NIKKO?! YOU BOOKED ALL FOUR?!" he laughed and wrapped his arm around you in a hug, "yup i'm booked and busy this year!"

you immediately promised, "i'm going to be at every single show." your best friend nodded, "already reserved your tickets for everything." there was a beat of silence before he asked, "wait isn't max still racing in september- i don't want to make you miss those especially because you missed miami for the met gala with me." this was true, you'd flown to new york city to be nikko's plus one for the met gala but max told you he didn't mind and was happy you were going. without a second thought, only thinking of how exciting this was for your best friend, you waved off his worry, "it'll be fine. besides max likes you."

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

"i don't fucking like this guy." max huffed as he scrolled though his instagram because you posted something. he looked at his screen and clenched his jaw seeing the post you'd made with your best friend.

therealyn

liked by nikko, maxverstappen1, and 643,943 others

therealyn baby's first time in monaco <3

read all 5,423 comments

nikko i wish i could stay longer :(

⤷ therealyn don't forget me when ur famous

sza cuties

⤷ therealyn omg i love you

username1 why is he so close?

⤷ username2 they've been friends since they were 7 and nikko moved to the netherlands from suriname. y/n was his first friend and they've grown up together. don't try to start something out of nothing.

⤷ username3 GET EM SIS

⤷ username4 ngl i kinda see what username1 means...if you look back at some other posts they've made with each other they're way closer than i'd consider to be best friends. i mean i personally wouldn't be that close with my guy bsf knowing i have a man.

⤷ username4 that man is a walking pride flag be so fr rn

⤷ username1 im just saying he's a little close to her. plus she's already missed a race so she can go see him, and i guarantee you she'll do the same again when fashion week comes around.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

reading the comments didn't ease max's mind whatsoever but he did catch a few that did make him realize that maybe you were just being a supportive best friend. he'd had friends go to things to support him in the past and he's done the same for them so why does he feel so...weird when you do the same? he'd managed brush off the feelings he had until he checked your story and clicked on the post you'd shared:

nikko

liked by therealyn, gucci, and 1,235,099 others

nikko but none of them will ever love you the way i do it's me and you

view all 10,302 comments

therealyn and as the years go by our friendship will never die

kendalljenner beauties

username6 ...why is he holding her like that.

⤷ username7 i think they're together? i always saw their posts together and assumed

⤷ username8 NO THEY'RE NOT TOGETHER THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS PLS DON'T START RUMORS SHE IS DATING MAX VERSTAPPEN

username9 this look a little....

username10 yall are so weird. literally every interaction nikko has with a girl looks like this, look it up and you'll see he's holding everyone's hand, wrapping their arms around them. it's just how he is pipe down.

username11 THE CAPTION? NIKOLAAS UR BOLD FOR THAT ONE

username12 ngl i kinda wanna see them as a couple

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

max fought to control his facial expressions when you called him excited to tell him about going to support nikko at the big 4 fashion weeks. he watched as your eyes sparkled, "he's already reserved the seat in my name at all of his shows too! this is so great he's always wanted to walk in these shows and now he's got the chance. i want september to already be here." max frowned at the mention of the month, "schat- i'm still racing in september though?" you explained, "well yeah it's just singapore and azerbaijan that i'll have to miss but i'll be at the rest." max bit the inside of his cheek, "didn't you already see him walk in new york back in may? you missed miami for it remember?" you smiled, "babe that was the met gala, that was different. this is actual fashion shows not a red carpet."

when max was still silent you asked, "why don't you seem happy doe nikko?" he took a small exhale to not raise his voice or seem too annoyed, "it's good for the guy i mean this is a big deal as a model. i just...sometimes i think he's just a little too close?" you frowned and you asked, "what do you mean? you've never had a problem with him before?" max sighed and admitted, "i'm just saying there's no reason why other people should be questioning our relationship status when you're with other people. why is he holding you like i hold you?" you couldn't even find the right words for a moment, "i- i- he....max you've seen the way he acts around everyone. he's a touchy guy and he always has been. why are you now bothered that he holds me? it's nothing new."

max let out another annoyed huff and snapped, "just tell him to watch himself." you couldn't even say anything before he hung up the phone on you and left you stunned to a silence. just then your phone pinged and it was another instagram notification:

nikko just posted a story!

there wasn't even a point in trying to ask nikolaas to delete the story because he was on a flight to korea right now which means he just posted it before the plane took off. so all you had to do was hope maybe max wouldn't see it because although you had no issue with the photo, you knew right now your boyfriend would.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

the instagram story made it's way to his eyes in less than 5 minutes after it was posted. so, max didn't hesitate to open his own photo gallery and select a few pictures before posting them himself, he pasted a caption from the ones you'd saved in his notes and posted it before turning off his phone.

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, f1wags, and 649,779 others

maxverstappen1 mijn

view all 3,402 comments

therealyn answer your phone

username13 HE'S MAD HE SEEN THE POSTS

username14 max....

charles_leclerc mate, you posted on your main

⤷ maxverstappen1 i know.

⤷ charlesleclerc oh!

oscarpiastri i feel like i wasn't supposed to see some of these

⤷alex_albon i don't think any of us were...

⤷ therealyn you werent.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

hot tears stung the corners of your eyes as you stared at your phone knowing full well why max posted the photos he did. you knew that he got jealous every now and again but he'd never done anything like this, especially when it came to nikolaas because he knew how close he was to you. max wasn't answering your phone calls or text messages so you had no way to actually call him.

meanwhile max was in his apartment on his sim when he heard a knock at his door. when he opened it he saw lando standing on his doorstep before he pushed his way into his apartment. max asked, "why are you in my apartment?" lando shook his head and countered, "why are you posting shit like this online?" a smug grin tugged at max's lips and he answered, "you know why."

lando sat on max's couch and responded, "i don't know why. what i do know is your girlfriend called me crying asking me why you weren't answering her calls." max huffed, "she's busy playing with that guy." lando ran a hand through his curls, "you're jealous of her best fucking friend? are you being serious right now?" max rolled his eyes and lando continued, "the guy wears nail polish and face glitter and you think something is going on between them?" when there was silence lando continued, "mate he literally flirted with charles and asked for his number when he came to zandvoort last year. then told alex that she had good taste because he wanted to quote 'drink him up and sop up the rest with a biscuit. and you think there's any way that something is happening with y/n? you can be jealous but if your girlfriend says there's no reason to worry then you should trust her. you need to fix this before something actually happens that can't be fixed." lando slapped max on the shoulder before walking out the door and heading back to his apartment.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

it was nearly 3 am when max unlocked the front door to your apartment and slipped in quietly, kicking off his shoes and leaving them by your front door. he pulled back the door and grabbed one of his t shirts and took off his pants before climbing in your bed. he pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your torso. when you moved his arm off of you he knew you were awake so he mumbled, "schat..." you answered plainly, "wat wil je, max?" your boyfriend pressed a kiss to your shoulder and responded, "i'm sorry. i was wrong and i was immature and posting those pictures knowing you had them in our private folder was wrong." there was a momentary silence before you asked, "waarom heb je het dan gedaan?" he let out a deep sigh as he admitted, "i was jealous and only thinking about myself in the moment instead of thinking about how my actions would affect you as well. i never want to hurt you or be the reason for your pain, but i was so i'm sorry." [what do you want, max? // then, why did you do it?]

you felt his hand run over your arm gently as you asked, "wat ga je doen om het te repareren?" max answered, "well i deleted the post first and came here to apologize second. also i'd love to see you go to london, paris, new york, and milan to support nikko in september. i'll be waiting at home for you the minute you get back." you turned to face him and opened your eyes, finding his gaze in the darkness. bringing your hand to his cheek you asked, "i never want you to think that anyone stands a chance at competing with you for my heart, maxie. you are my person and i only love you this way, i only want to be with you. there's only you in my heart and i need you to trust me when i say that, okay?" max leaned into your touch and nodded, before you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, "i love you." he pulled you to his chest and tangled his legs with yours as he replied, "ik houd ook van jou." you nuzzled closer to him and brought a hand to his chest, tracing small patterns over his heart. both of you began to drift off to sleep, your voice cut through the silence, "but do that shit again and i'm kicking your ass, verstappen." max let out a small chuckle and admitted, "i don't doubt that, but you don't have to worry about it happening again." [what are you going to do to fix it?//i love you too.]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

the end.

[laylasverse]

SHIFTING ACTIVITY ᰋ i TO ALL THE ONES I'VE LOVED BEFORE i'll carry you always. no matter the distance or age. parts i, ii, iii. ﹙ inspired by @zaddizu's post & @moonyskarma's post ﹚

ARKHAM KNIGHT!JASON TODD ᰋ ARROWVERSE REALITY

growing from the same branch. i am bruce wayne's only biological daughter and i grew up with jason down the hall. it was always me and jason as a unit against everyone else. then he died lol. but he came back so that's cool.

⋆ childhood best friends to dead to lovers ⋆ dead boy comes back to life to haunt his best friend ⋆ mutual codependency ⋆ " it's always been you "

LAMELO BALL ᰋ ARTIST REALITY

reality stars! i grew up alongside the ball family with my father being close friends with lamelo's dad. we were born only two months apart. our entire teen years were filmed on his family's reality show and people have been shipping us since the beginning. the only reason we finally get together i released a song about being in love with him lol.

⋆ childhood best friends to lovers ⋆ never one without the other ⋆ bickering like an old married couple ⋆ " every song i write is about him "

COLLEGE BASKETBALL!JASON TODD ᰋ BETTER REALITY

what'd j cole say about math class? we met in our eighth grade algebra one class. we become friends and then he asked me to homecoming in our freshman year. and of course a few months later he was asking me if he could be my boyfriend. he's going to duke university on a basketball scholarship but i'm somehow more well-known.

⋆ friends to lovers ⋆ high school sweethearts ( & voted most likely to get married ) ⋆ flirting like we haven't been together for three years ⋆ " i'm dunking on your ass. i don't care "

BODYGUARD!JASON TODD ᰋ GOTHAM REALITY

if i was a rich girl! jason was assigned to me by my father, carmine falcone. the threat of sal maroni and his people was a big concern while my father went to italy. jason was little confused when he first met me because i didn't fit his idea of a rich girl. i gave him freshly back chocolate chip muffin with a love potion in it. i'm joking. or am i?

⋆ modern!princess and her bodyguard ⋆ forbidden romance ⋆ secretly dating ⋆ " meet me in the greenhouse "

BOXER!JASON TODD ᰋ MODERN!GOTHAM REALITY

the fighter's keeper. jason and i were childhood friends. i was with him since his arrival in gotham's underbelly as a rookie fighter. we lived together even before we finally got together.

⋆ childhood friends to lovers ⋆ she fell first, he fell harder ⋆ existing in the space between friendship and romance for way too long ⋆ " we're going to italy in an hour "

﹙ back to the circus ﹚

[hiraet3h]

Alate { Pietro Maximoff x FEM!Reader }

Alate - Adjective (Latin) |

~ Having wings; lifted up in flight

Summery:

"The past dripped slowly in places like this—quiet, empty, and full of ghosts. The ground doesn’t forgive, it just waits."

or

An 'impromptu' encounter with a boy she never quite really knew. And a man she never had any interest in meeting.

Too bad they were the same person.

Pairings: Primarily: Pietro Maximoff/Fem!Reader, Slight John Allerdyce/Fem!reader, Slight Remy LeBeau/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.5K

Warnings: strong language, canon typical violence, reader gets hurt, smoking, cigarettes, bad bird puns/nicknames, Use of (Y/n)! I'm sorry if that bothers you, but i use it quite a bit, Pietro being an asshole, Reader is also an asshole to be fair, Gambit and Pyro too honestly, so everyone really, an excessive use of em dashes, Reader has curly hair! It's pretty vague and not specified what kind of curls, but it's mentioned a couple times! other than that, her appearance is pretty neutral i think. Let me know if I forgot something!

Fic Type: Oneshot/standalone

Author's Note: Omg! this is the first time i'll ever be posting to tumblr, and it being my shitty fanfic is kinda nerve-wracking! I've posted on Ao3 and Wattpad before, but tumblr always intimidated me for some reason. But there are SOOO many incredible writers on here, and i thought someone else might appreciate a non movieverse/fox/MCU Pietro x reader, so i decided to post it here as well! I hope it makes someone out there happy as well!

Anyways, this take place in a semi -alternate AU? In the way that, i didn't quite have a specific variation of Pietro or the x-men universe i was writing for. It's a mesh between an aged up X-men Evolution AU and the Wolverine and the X-men universe. With some comic elements thrown in. So it's my playground essentially.

This fic will also be available on AO3! I have other nonsense on my AO3 if the curiosity ever strikes and you want to check it out!

Please, if anyone wants to chat about anything, my door is always open!

The wind carried more than cold that night. It howled like a wounded creature through the hollow veins of the abandoned train yard, weaving around rusted steel and splintered wood and forsaken motors with a kind of sorrow only old places knew. (Y/n) stood near the skeletal remains of a cargo car, arms crossed, her shadow carved in sharp lines by the moonlight above. She found comfort in places like these. In places filled with things long abandoned and things that should have been.  A feeling of tragedy she couldn't help but chase. A masochistic tendency she’d hoped she would have outgrown in her adolescence but had unfortunately been a habit that had followed her into adulthood.

Maybe she found comfort in things and places and stories she could relate to. 

Romanticizing life, or whatever the hell the kids were calling it these days. 

She hopped onto the train tracks, her arms outstretched to her sides in an attempt to keep her balance as she walked along the stealrail of the track, as though she was a tightrope walker, dangling dangerously on the brink of doom and death. 

A single misstep and she’d be gone, and nothing but her memory would remain, before that too would inevitably wade out of existence, time chipping away at the ghost she used to be. 

The metal creaked under her boots like it remembered her from all those years ago—like it knew she didn’t belong to war or missions or field assignments. Not really.

But she'd always show up anyway.

"You’re late, L/N."

The voice skittered through the dark, cocky and cruel and cold,  like a blade dragged across glass.

A sharp exhale through her nose. 

She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.

The air told her he was close. It always did, vibrating with the static of him, with the feeling of electricity that he would leave in his wake and upon his arrival. With a disruption in the winds as it bowed to his whims. 

"Punctuality has never been your thing, has it?" she replied, dry. "I figured if I gave you an extra ten minutes, you'd still manage to make an entrance."

In a blink, he was standing where moonlight met shadow—just on the edge of it, and the light of a street lamp which was miraculously still working save for the occasional flicker before being resurrected by the currents running in the wiring. 

Quicksilver. Pietro Maximoff. 

Silver hair tousled like he’d just stepped out of a storm, windswept and wild but in a way that looked intentional and effortless all at once. And smirking, of course. Always smirking. His eyes were electric with the kind of arrogance only someone who could outrun time itself had any right to wield.

"Nightingale," he drawled, crossing his arms with exaggerated ease as he leaned against the streetlamp with a casual grace that could only be achieved by a man who had been trained in combat for years upon years. A confidence that came with self assurance and a pride that wasn’t completely unearned "Did you miss me?"

She rolled her eyes. “Like a migraine.”

"Oof. And here I thought we were finally building something resembling camaraderie."

"No, but we can build something else entirely. Like a coffin for you to lie in. Or your gravestone. If you’re here to finally do the honors and give me the relief that would come with you dropping dead.” 

He chuckled, stepping closer with the kind of laid-back threat that came from someone who didn’t need to try hard to be dangerous. "Come on, (L/n). You think anyone else could put up with your holier-than-thou shtick and still show up like clockwork?"

Her jaw tightened. Her glare was met with a look of mirth. A punchable one, if she was able to say so herself.

"Why are you here, Maximoff?"

“Birdwatching,” he says, a smug grin playing on his lips. He looked proud of that one.

She gives him a bored look, unamused.

He rolls his eyes at her, not at all intimidated, nor deterred. And he had not enough shame to ever feel a lick of embarrassment, so that was out of the question as well, despite his ill-received pun.

“C’mon, that was a good one. Even you have to admit it.”

She spins on her heels, ready to walk away from him, and this train yard and the whole useless encounter, when his voice stops her in her tracks before she’s made more than a couple feet away.

“Magneto wants a word,” Pietro said suddenly, almost too casually.

She turned slowly, narrowing her eyes. He remained at ease. 

“Then he should send someone with better people skills.”

He chuckled. “He did. I’m charming. Ask literally anyone.”

“Not your ex-wife, I presume.”

That got a crack in his cool, his brows furrowing and a frown marred his lips quickly. It filled her with a satisfaction she’s not proud of.

“Low blow,” he muttered, eyes flashing. “He wants to make you an offer.”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I don’t need to.”

Pietro tilted his head, undeterred, voice still carrying humor of a joke she wasn’t in on. “You always this stubborn, or is it just around me?”

“I know how he sees people. How he turns them into pieces on a board. I’m not interested in being another one of his knights, thanks.”

“You’d be a rook, if anything,” he said, thoughtful. “Straight lines. Limited. Boring.”

“Funny, coming from a pawn.”

That one seemed to have also landed. His jaw clenched, but only for a second

He recovered with a grin. “You used to be more fun, birdie.”.

“And you’ve always been annoying.”

He sighs. And rubs the back of his neck, his eyes closing for a brief reprieve from her insults.

“Look, he only wants to talk right now. There’s no harm in a conversation, right?”

She stepped back. Not far. But enough. Enough to make the space between them suddenly mean something deliberate.

"Not interested."

"Didn’t ask if you were," he said smoothly, straightening and taking a step forward to reclaim lost distance "Only told you what’s happening."

"Not to me, it’s not."

She turned as if to leave, but in a flash, he was in front of her again. This time closer. Too close. She could feel the charge in the air between them. Like standing beside a live wire. He towered over her, and she was face to chest with him. She tilts her head up to meet his eyes, and his gaze is firm. Jaw tight and lips pressed into a firm line, almost resembling a frown but not quite. 

It seems her jeers and refusal were getting to him. Good.

"I’m not here to play tag, (L/n). I’m here to bring you in."

She blinked. Slowly. As if the words themselves needed processing.

Then her laugh—a low, bitter thing—cracked through the lighting-tension like a sharp knife.

“You're pathetic. Running after daddy’s approval by doing tasks he couldn't be bothered to do himself.” 

His jaw tensed. Just a flicker. But she saw it. She knew all his sore spots. That one was particularly tender, she knew. 

"You think I have a choice?" he said quietly.

"You always do." Her voice was sharper now. Not louder, but colder. "You just stopped pretending to care."

Pietro's expression shifted then—like clouds over the moon. Not anger. Not yet. But the storm was there, gathering behind his eyes.

"You think you know anything about choices, L/N? You, with your perfect little X-men who’ll pat you on the back every time you try and fail to throw a punch? You don’t know what it’s like to be needed by someone who only values what you can do, not who you are."

Her jaw tenses at his words of vulnerability. But she knew a farce when she saw one. He wasn't going to emotionally manipulate her tonight. 

"And yet, here you are," she said cooly, stepping past him. “I’m not going with you.”

He grabbed her wrist. Gently—but firmly. His touch was warm. Steady. Frustrating.

"(Y/n). You don’t get it. He’s not asking.”

She looked up at him, chin lifted, heart pounding like war drums beneath her ribs.

She hated that he said her name like that. Like it meant something. She rips her arm out of his grip and takes a step back, insistent on keeping space between them

“I’m not going to be a pawn, Pietro.”

"You're already in the game. You just don’t want to admit it."

“I'm not in shit.”

Her fingers sparked with energy then—just barely. A shimmer of violet light flickered up her arm like fire in a hearth. Slow and steady. Pietro's eyes dropped to it, then back to hers.

"You sure you want to do this, moon girl?"

"I’ve never been more sure of anything."

He didn’t move. For a moment, the silence held its breath. The wind paused. The night listened.

Then he stepped back. Let her go.

“You’d lose.” he says like it's a fact. Like no other outcome could be possible.

She holds his gaze for a beat. Then two.

He was probably right. She couldn’t fight to save her life. Which, coincidently, was exactly when she needed it. And she needed it often. 

Her sigh then cuts through the air like a slow exhale of a long-forgotten lullaby. The kind of sound a soul made when it was too weary to fight the silence, but too stubborn to surrender fully.

She was stretched thin with exhaustion, not from the confrontation, but from everything. From war and missions, from expectations and choices. From a world that hated them for simply being, and the constant requirement to prove themselves worthy of existing in places that deemed them undeserving. And the inevitability of running into him. Again. Always.

The past dripped slowly in places like this—quiet, empty, and full of ghosts. The ground doesn’t forgive, it just waits.

A reluctant truce between instinct and exhaustion and pure curiosity had overcome her. 

So she turned. Slowly. Her boots whispered against the gravel as she moved, the oversized denim jacket she adorned slipping from her shoulder just enough to show the moonlight pale on her skin before she pulled it back up into place. It was approximately five sizes too big— ill-fitting, like a life she never asked for but lives anyway cause there’s no other choice. A little girl lost in grown-up‘s clothes. A soldier pretending she knows how to play war. The cold of the freight train bled through her layers when she leaned back against it, metal biting down through fabric and resolve alike at her back. She flinched only slightly, then settled, one boot scuffed against the asphalt, the other kicked up behind her to rest flat against rusted steel.

It was the posture of someone who wasn’t going to run, but wasn’t going to be dragged either.

Quicksilver hadn’t moved. Maybe he was waiting for her to bolt. Maybe he was calculating how many steps it would take to reach her if she did. But she wasn’t running.

Her eyes flicked back to him with a gaze she wore like armor. Bored. Tired. Disinterested. Except it was a lie, of course. She was studying him. Every angle. Every slight change.

His hair was longer now. Not by much, but enough for her to notice. Enough to know she hadn’t seen him in months. Time had been kind to him in the way it was kind to cruel people—preserving their beauty like a warning sign. His silver strands, always unnatural, gleamed in the moonlight like silk laced with mercury. She remembered thinking, once, that he looked like he’d been touched by the stars. Moonkissed, she had called it. 

But that was before she knew who had really touched him.

Before she knew who had carved him from the same sharp stone and set him loose on the world.

It had always been like that, even when they were teenagers, even when he was just some cocky blur of a boy who annoyed her on missions and flashed too many teeth when he smirked. She’d initially thought the color was dye, some edgy brooding Brotherhood thing.

She'd been wrong. It was blood. It was legacy. It was Magneto’s, like everything else about him. The sharp lines of his jaw. The eerie grace of his movement. The cold glacier- blue in his eyes, That intensity beneath the bravado, coiled tight like a spring, waiting to snap. The anger. Oh, the anger. Constant and bitter. Angry at a world that wouldn’t change no matter how hard anyone tried. 

He looked more like Erik than Wanda did. More than Lorna ever could, despite her having her father’s powers. It unsettled her. That resemblance. That inheritance. Sure he was younger, the lines of time yet to set into his face. He was taller and leaner and wore his cockiness out and arrogant, but at the core they were alike in a way that was undeniable. She wondered if he ever looked in the mirror and saw himself, or only the man he’d been chasing his entire life like a ghost, despite him always being right there, just unwilling. She wondered what Magneto thought when he looked at him. His eldest child? Or the reminders of the failures of the man he used to be? Maybe that’s why he was so cold towards his only son. 

Her eyes lowered briefly. Civilian clothes, tonight. That was interesting. 

No combat gear, no flashy insignias. No weight of war on his shoulders, only a dark leather jacket that suits the season, resting just right across a frame broader than it used to be. He’s taller now, more filled in. Still lean, still quick—but not all sharp corners anymore. There’s muscle under that snug black tee. Probably more than he needs. Probably more than she needs to know about.

Of course the shirt clings like it always did, tighter than it probably needed to be. Not that he needed help drawing attention. But Pietro Maximoff didn’t know how to wear anything without a little arrogance sewn in.

“What could that man possibly want with me?” she asked at last, voice level, somewhere between disinterest and disdain.

Pietro didn’t answer at first. He just looked at her.

And maybe it was the moonlight, or maybe it was something else, but for a moment, he wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t mocking her. He just stood there, staring like she was something just slightly out of reach, slightly more dangerous than she'd ever let herself be.

"You're asking the wrong guy," he said eventually, voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “I don’t play chess, remember? I’m the piece that gets moved.” He tilted his head. “You, on the other hand… you’re a piece Magneto can’t quite figure out.”

"Or maybe I'm just not worth the effort," she replied.

His smile returned, sharp and annoying. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.” He took a step closer, boots crunching on gravel. “You think he sends me to do grunt work?”

“Yes,” she says, not even hesitating for a second. Voice flat and deadpan, like it was an obvious answer to that question

“Ouch. You wound me, little bird.”

She gave a lazy shrug, the oversized jacket slipping slightly off one shoulder once more. She didn’t bother pulling it back up this time. “That’s the idea.”

Pietro's gaze slips to the newly revealed skin for a brief second, eyes mapping out her collarbone and the slope of a shoulder that was now exposed due to the sleeveless shirt she wore underneath, before his eyes snapped back to hers. She pretends not to notice. 

They stood there, not quite talking. Not quite fighting. The wind carried a whistle down the tracks, eerie in the emptiness. The city was far away now, nothing but a glow on the horizon.

"Why are you really here?" she asked, softer this time. "You hate taking orders. You cannot stand your father. I’ve seen the way you flinch when he speaks to you like you’re a tool. So why are you still running his errands?”

His jaw worked. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then:

“Because I’m good at it,” he said finally. “And when you’re good at something, you’re not given a choice. Not really.”

Her brows furrow at his words. 

“That’s not true.”

He scoffed. “Says the girl who stayed with the X-Men even after they kept sending her out there like bait.”

That one stung.

He noticed. His voice softened just a little. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to stop trying to be what they expect?”

“I don’t take advice from someone who also does exactly what’s expected of him,” she shot back. “You think you’re a rebel, but all you’ve ever done is chase your father’s shadow. You talk big, but you’re still a scared little boy running after a man who will never give you what you’re looking for and everybody knows it.”

That did it.

His expression hardened, and he took a threatening step forward. Once again the distance between them has shrunk to a considerably small size. Like a waltz, they ebb back and forth. The air seems more hostile this time, however. It seems her words had finally stung as deeply as intended. 

“I came here,” he said through clenched teeth, “to give you a chance. You could’ve walked away from all of this. Could’ve had power. Could’ve stopped playing foot soldier for Xavier and his pathetic dream.”

God he was insufferable. 

“Firstly, it’s not pathetic, you self-absorbed-”

“Please, i’m self-absorbed that’s actually rich coming from you-”

“-And you’re no better, following orders like a dog-”

“-considering the moral high-horse you lot sit on. it’s actually nauseating-”

“-for a man who has no idea he’ll become what he hates-”

“-the way things are going is gonna get us all killed, we don't have time to-”

“-he’s a damn hypocrite, and you’re no better-” 

“-and the X-men are useless at best, hoping if you do enough dirty work, they’ll accept mutant-” 

“-Have you and any of your buddies actually done anything except prove every mutant stereotype down to a T or-”

“-Who the fuck cares? They’re gonna blame everything on us anyways-”

“-yeah, so proving them right is the move-”

“-God, you reek of self-righteousness and privilege-”

“-better than playing terrorist-” 

“-you’re saying this from up in your ivory tower-” 

They were yelling over each other at this point. And it was beyond unproductive, considering neither was willing to even attempt to hear the other out. 

“Enough!” she yells, and it's actually enough to get him to shut up. He continues to glare at her and she lets her eyes close, and her head drop as a sigh pulls from between parted lips, her breath fogging in the cold air with the exhale. 

“I didn’t come to debate politics with you,” she says, voice tired. She takes a few steps away from him and slips further against the freight train, letting the rusting junk take on the brunt of her weight so she wouldn't have to carry it all on her own. Her bones feel heavy. They have for a while and she was getting tired of carrying them with her everywhere she went. 

(Y/n)'s words fell like slow, deliberate raindrops—each one dampening the tension rather than snapping it. They weren’t meant to wound. Not really. But they were heavy, and the weight of truth had a way of bruising.

“Xavier’s a bastard,” she said, voice steady, eyes narrowed as she watched him. “But Magneto’s no better. ‘Sides, Cyclops has been calling the shots for a while now.”

Pietro scoffed, but said nothing. Not yet. So she kept going.

“I’ve disagreed with Charles plenty, especially the older I get and the more I see what he's willing to overlook for the sake of the dream. But his ideology doesn’t rest on bloodshed, or dominance, or this superiority complex your father breathes like air.”

his eyes narrow back at her words.

‘Not talk politics, my ass.’

“It’s not a superiority complex.” He says, voice cold and agitated. “News flash, Nightingale—they hate us. They want us dead. We have to fight back with the same force or we’ll be wiped out. Why cant you and those spandex-wearing freaks get it through your thick heads.” 

He also lets himself rest against the cart, his shoulder to the metal so his body is facing her, but his head is looking out into the rail yard, nothing in particular catching his interest. He just didn’t want her to see him seething. 

“You think ‘peaceful coexistence’ means anything to the people outside that mansion, praying we disappear? We’re fighting for our lives, and you're still acting like it's some kind of moral debate club.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“I’m not doing this with you, Pietro .” 

“You’re the one who started it.” 

“Just shut up.” 

He fumes, but relents.

The quiet overtakes, and they let it settle between them and the night like a balm on a burn, meant to soothe. Frustration and anger easing out of both bodies slowly and slightly.

He steps closer—not all the way, but enough that she could feel the cold static of his presence again. That same subtle tension in the air, like a thunderstorm waiting behind glass.

“You’re scared of it,” he said, softer now. “Of your powers.”

Her lips parted, just slightly but no words came out. He’d hit something. Something she didn’t like people seeing.

“I’m not afraid,” she said eventually. “I’m cautious.”

“Same thing,” he said, and for once, there was no tease nor malice in it. Just truth. 

She swallows a huff, breathing slowly through her nose. “Maximoff, I can go borderline nuclear in  five seconds flat if i dont have the reins all the way in check. What would you have me do?” 

He gives a lazy shrug. Nonchalant and noncommittal. Like she couldn't level a city block with a flick of her wrist if her head was on wrong. 

“Don’t be afraid.” He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. Like the answer has always been obvious and she’d been looking in all the wrong places for it. 

She shakes her head, not bothering to answer him. She doesn’t really know how. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe not. It didn't particularly matter. Because she didn’t know how to stop being afraid. It was etched into her soul, the fear she had of herself. It took over a decade of training to get where she was, to the mastery she possessed of her own mutation. And even then, it felt like a bandaid over a gaping wound. Superficial. Only there to cover the damage so nobody had to look at the bloody, ugly thing. 

Another sigh slipped from her lips like the wind blowing between forgotten cracks. It was quieter this time. Less a sound of defeat and more the weary exhale of a woman who'd been holding her breath too long. Her head dipped forward, curls swaying gently kissing the sides of her face, as she reached up with a manicured hand to rub the back of her neck, her fingers digging into a knot that had formed like a stone lodged beneath her skin. Firm and pulsing like the echo of the tension she'd been carrying for days. Weeks. Years, if she was being honest.

This place—the X-Men, the mansion, the maddening missions and miscommunications, the quiet understanding that no one really knew what they were doing—they were home. Not perfect. But hers. The family she never had. The one that fought like hell and screamed in the halls and cried behind closed doors. The children running around, learning to use and accept and be with their mutations. The one that let her be broken, and still let her stay.

There was never a version of this where she left the X-Men. Not even in dreams. Not even when the mansion got too loud, or too quiet, or too full of ghosts.

They were hers. Her ragtag, squabbling, loyal, impossible family. The one she chose. The one that stayed.

Scott with his leadership and saviour’s complex. Ororo with her soft reprimands. Kurt, always trying to make her laugh even when her world was falling apart. Kitty, with her quiet strength. Rouge with her southern charm and a shoulder she always had to cry on. Logan with his gruff grunts that somehow meant love.

Even the ones who were gone. Even the ones who’d stayed too long.

She would not leave them.

And she definitely wasn’t trading them for Magneto’s army of true believers and half-broken boys pretending they weren't scared.

Her gaze slid lazily back to Pietro, head tilting, curls catching moonlight. Her voice came soft, almost amused, like a cat playing with something half-dead between its paws.

“He still hates you, y’know?”

Pietro blinked, clearly not expecting it. “Who?”

She smirked. “Scott.”

The reaction was instantaneous. That deadpan look returned to his face like a well-worn mask as he stared at her in exhausted disbelief.

“Good,” he snapped.

A pause.

And then, quieter, sharper: “Mutual.”

She laughed.

Not a scoff, not a sneer. A laugh.

It burst from her, sharp and musical, and it knocked the cold out of the air for a second. It was unexpected, unguarded—like a bell ringing in a quiet cathedral. Genuine, melodic, light. It peeled from her like sunlight through fog. And Pietro, who’d spent a lifetime outrunning things—responsibility, feelings, his own name—froze in place.

Because it was the kind of sound a man might go into reverence for.

It undid something in him. Made the space between them feel impossibly close, impossibly far.

Pietro would’ve done anything she asked to hear it again.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. There was a soft twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his sides, like they ached to hold something they knew they couldn’t.

It was unfair, honestly, how good it sounded. How alive it made her look, even draped in fatigue and denim too big. The smile that followed bloomed across her face, softening her features into something sweeter than he had any right to see after threatening to drag her back to his father like a prize.

The smile on her face was gentle now, real. Something that didn’t belong on a battlefield, didn’t belong in the ruined husk of a rail yard at midnight. It belonged in gardens. In sunlit kitchens. On slow Sunday mornings and soft cotton sheets. It made her look younger, somehow—like this war hadn’t touched her quite as deeply as he knew it had.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no sharpness in the gesture. Just… tired affection. Fondness. Soft-edged history. The kind that tasted of years they pretended didn’t matter.A thread of memory pulling through the decade. The old days, back when the fights were mostly verbal and the stakes were mostly pride.

Some things didn’t change. Not really.

She slipped a hand into her pocket then, the movement smooth, easy. Like instinct. Her fingers closed around the battered pack she hadn’t even dared touch for months now. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the company. Maybe she just wanted to reclaim a little vice for herself tonight.

The Camel menthols box were practically falling apart. The cardboard was soft with wear, corners dented and edges fraying like the last edge of self-control in a stressful week. But she popped the lid open and plucked a cigarette from the pack like it was routine.

Then her eyes flicked back to him, one brow arched high.

A silent offer.

Pietro’s eyebrows rose, a soft scoff escaping him. “You smoke?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest again, the leather of his jacket groaning softly under the strain. His too-snug shirt pulled tighter across his chest with the movement. It was entirely too obvious, and he was entirely too unaware of just what he was doing to her unconsciously. She ignored it expertly.

She shrugged, the cigarette dancing slightly between her fingers. “Not really,” she said. “Sometimes.”

Another scoff. But he reached out anyway.

She didn’t hide her surprise at that, though she disguised it behind a curl of her lip. He plucked a cigarette from the pack she held, slipping it between lips that were always slightly wind-chapped, with practiced ease. 

And for a moment, they just stared at each other, smoke-less, caught in the absurdity of it all.

She tucked the pack away again, reached into the same pocket and produced a cheap plastic lighter—one of those corner-store things, half-broken and temperamental. She flicked it once, twice, three times before the  flame danced alive in the dark. She gave him a look, one of those universal gestures that meant you’re too damn tall, get down here.

He snorted but obliged, bending at the waist, so their faces were close. Too close. With only the lighter’s flame flickering in the narrow space between them. It danced like a restless spirit, casting his face in shifting gold and shadow, tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth.

The flame caught his eyes like a hook in water, drawing out something ancient and quiet and furious. An impossible shade of blue, not sky, not sea, not anything she’d ever seen. Something colder, deeper—like the gleam of lightning before it strikes. 

There was anger in that gaze, a deep, smoldering kind—the kind that burned low and endless. Anger at the world. At how it had turned him hard when he might’ve been something else. 

He was painfully handsome. Unfairly so. Like a statue half-broken by time—still beautiful, but not untouched. Not innocent.

But it wasn’t like she wasn’t, either. Innocence wasn’t something she could claim anymore—hadn’t been for a long time. It had been taken, not lost. Ripped away in pieces, sharp and sudden, in the way only the world could do when it didn’t care how young you were.

They’d all been too young. Too soft, too full of things like hope and wonder and the foolish belief that the world might give back what it took.

And yet—here she stood. Still holding onto that hope like a lifeline, knuckles white around it. Because that was all she had. Cause it was all she could believe in to keep herself going. Because without it, everything unraveled—everything turned gray and senseless, and she needed something to tether her to the fight. Hope was the thread she stitched herself together with each morning. Fragile, foolish, maybe, but hers.

He didn’t seem to need something as delicate as hope. Anger was enough. There was no softness in the way he looked at the world—just that simmering fury and a drive so relentless it was almost frightening. 

She stepped forward, closing the last inches of space, the heat from her hand near his jaw, the flare of fire catching the end of his cigarette. He kept his eyes on hers, unmoving. That’s when he caught a whiff of her perfume—soft, powdery, clean and sweet. Something candied-floral tucked beneath warm skin and the faint scent of ozone that always clung to her after she used her powers.

It hit him harder than expected. It made him dizzy.

It was her. And it was comfort. And it was memory. And it was the scent of someone who made abandoned train yards feel like the edge of something beautiful.

Then she stepped back, putting space between them again as she lit her own cigarette with the same soft detachment, as though she hadn’t just handed him a memory he’d crave for the rest of his life. The flame briefly illuminates the gentle curve of her face, the shadows beneath her eyes, that seemed darker these days. She inhaled, slow and long, and exhaled just as steady, smoke curling from her lips like fog rolling through forgotten hills.

Her absence was immediate. Like being snapped out of a dream too soon. The distance felt wrong, like something sacred had been broken.

Pietro took a drag, the nicotine burning hot and sharp in his chest, and for a second, they were just two people in a forgotten train yard, caught somewhere between what they were and what they could’ve been.

He savored the moment. He wanted to memorize it. To stretch it out so it could last forever. The ease. The quiet affection of an enemy who still remembered what he used to look like when he was seventeen and angry at the world.

He supposed not much had changed. He was still angry at the world. Angry at all of it.

He took another drag, this time, without looking at her, letting the menthol numb his tongue and sting the back of his throat. His jaw worked as he exhaled slowly, letting the smoke unfurl into the cold night air, curling like ghosts between them.

She leaned against the train again, one leg bent, boot still planted on the metal behind her, cigarette now resting between her fingers like an old friend. Her eyes were on the stars.

“You ever think,” she said, voice quiet now, like the moment between them had shifted into something not quite safe to name, “that if we’d met under different circumstances... things might’ve been different?”

Pietro’s gaze drifted toward her.

The wind carried her curls across her cheek. The cherry of her cigarette glowed faintly red. Her lips were parted just slightly, flushed a deeper color from the cold. She looked something straight out of a painting. A masterpiece. 

He didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t want to lie.

So he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I think about that a lot.”

She turned to look at him then. Just once.

And in the silence that followed, they both said everything they couldn't say out loud.

The smoke curled from her lips, delicate and transient, vanishing into the cold night like the moment they were standing in—fragile, stolen, doomed. They stood in that half-silence, the kind that only exists when two people are trying not to admit there’s nothing left to say. The train yard stretched around them, rusted and quiet, a graveyard of motion and memory. A place suspended in time, where the past dragged its heels and refused to die.

For a breath—a single breath—it felt like peace.

But peace was never meant to linger.

Not for people like them.

The leaves rustled in a way that wasn’t wind. In the way that whispered company. Her spine straightened before she even processed why, cigarette frozen halfway to her lips. Years of training kicking in subconsciously like reflex. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows between the train cars. She heard them before she saw them—footsteps too coordinated to be casual. Too numerous.

Pietro noticed it too. She caught the flick of his eyes, the way his jaw locked tight. Not fear. Not surprise. Just cold understanding.

​​Then they stepped out of the shadow and into the moonlight. 

Three men. 

Monsters, some would say. Freaks. 

She knew them all.

The first wore a grin that stretched too wide over his sharp face, flame-red hair catching the dim light as if already half-ignited. His eyes sparked with glee, like he loved the idea of having an audience for whatever carnage he planned. As unstable as the fire he worshipped.

The second was all smooth swagger and subtle menace, red-on-black eyes glowing faintly under the brim of his hood. With those cards of his and a mouth that dripped charm like venom. She remembered him kissing her hand once, years ago, as a distraction to swipe something from her pocket.

And the last… 

The sight of him made her stomach turn.

His footsteps were heavy and slow and sure. A beast in human skin. A hunter stepping into the world. Taller than the other already tall men, Older. Broader. Wild blond hair tangled like a lion’s mane, falling around his face like a curtain. His eyes were yellow—sharp, detachteched, cold, predatory. She didn’t even need to see the claws to feel them at her throat.

She remembered that feeling all too well. It still haunts her nightmares sometimes.

Her fingers tensed around the cigarette. Her lips parted in a breath that didn’t come. Her heart plummeted.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Her eyes moved to look at Pietro then, with a slow turn of the head, as if she could somehow will him into explaining this away.

But he didn’t.

He stood still, expression unreadable, back straight and spine rigid like a soldier at attention. His face was blank, so carefully composed it almost hurt to look at. He wasn’t surprised.

He’d known.

The realization hit her like a blow to the gut.

She’d been set up.

The look she gave him wasn’t betrayal. Not quite. No, it was something softer, something older. The weight of inevitability. The quiet ache of knowing they’d always end up here, drawing lines in the dirt only to find themselves standing on opposite sides again and again.

Her heart dropped through her chest, nonetheless. She didn’t need to say it. The betrayal wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic. It bloomed quietly in her eyes, like the first crack in a stained-glass window. Barely visible.

But once it started—it never stopped.

She looked at him like someone who had almost let herself believe in something, only to be reminded why she never could.

He would say it if she gave him the chance.

I don’t owe you anything.

And he’d be right.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t defend himself.

Didn’t say anything.

Because what could he say?

They always ended up here.

Different sides. Same battlefield. The same war they never asked for. Both fighting for mutantkind in their own way, but walking paths that would run parallel for all of existence, never crossing. Not when one was lit in fire and fury and the other was a tightrope balanced over a chasm of compromise and restraint.

Maybe it was fate.

Or maybe it was another cruel trick of the universe. 

Or maybe it was just survival.

She took a final drag of her cigarette, the burn of menthol sharp and grounding. She exhaled smoke slowly, deliberately, as the three men came into clear proximity. They didn’t run. They didn’t need to. The way Pyro’s grin widened, the way Gambit rested his hands in his pockets lazily, the way Sabertooth sniffed the air like he was already tasting the hunt—it was clear.

Magneto had sent his Acolytes.

They were here to collect her.

And it was clear they didn’t think they’d have to try very hard.

"You never were very subtle, mate," Pyro called out, an Australian accent thick, “Bit dramatic for a snatch-and-grab, don’tcha think? Having a smoke under the moonlight?”

Her eyes turn back to Quicksilver’s face. "How long?"

His jaw clenched. Just a flicker.

"Since the start."

She nodded once. Not big. Not dramatic. Just an acknowledgment of something already known in her bones.

"Well, well, well," Pyro purred, voice coated in gasoline. As the three had made their way over to them. “Didn’t think we’d find you out here alone, Nightingale. Guess the songbird strayed too far from the nest, eh?”

(Y/n) didn’t answer. unblinking, unreadable.

Sabertooth chuckled low, like gravel sliding down a mountain. It was a sound that was familiar in all of the worst ways. “This her, Maximoff?”

Pietro’s voice came steady. Empty. “Yeah.”

That was all he said.

Not a warning. Not a protest. Just confirmation.

Her blood ran colder.

“You’re not walking away tonight, chère,” Gambit said smoothly,  his voice sliding around her like smoke, Cajun accent as heavy as she remembered. “We’ve got business. You, me, and the boss.”

She straightened, finally, letting the cigarette fall from her fingers to the dirt below. She ground it out beneath the heel of her boot, slow and silent. When she lifted her head, there was no fear in her expression. Only resolve. Contained. Contoured.

Like a fuse lit but not yet burning.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. 

“Come on, now,” Pyro crooned. “Don’t be like that, love. Magneto’s got plans. Big ones. And you’re on the guest list, baby bird.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He just flashed his teeth at her with a knowing wink that went completely unacknowledged. 

The weight of the situation came pressing on her chest. Hot and heavy, and cold and unfeeling all at once. She looked around uselessly already knowing there wasn’t an out for her. She wouldn't be able to escape or flee. Not with Quicksilver and not with Sabretooth. And fighting seemed laughable. She was outnumbered, outclassed and outranked. She couldn't take on one of the assholes, much less all four.  It was a losing situation for her no matter the hand dealt.

She sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that night. 

Besides, she didn’t want to fight.

Not tonight. Not now.

The adrenaline was starting to mix too heavily with the nicotine in her blood, and she knew if she let her panic take the wheel, she’d regret what followed. So she reached back into her jacket instead—hands steady, slow, deliberate—and pulled out the battered pack of Camels. Her fingers dipped inside and came out with one last cigarette, slightly bent, a little weathered, but still perfectly smokable.

“Quite the party,” she murmured, voice soft but steady, refusing to look away from the approaching threat. “Didn’t realize I was so popular.”

It perched delicately between her lips, the curve of her mouth pulling around it like it belonged there.

A girl playing dress-up in her father’s jacket. A delicate, pretty thing made of soft curves and sharper edges. The cigarette looked out of place in her hand. On her mouth. She didn’t look like a smoker. But the ease with which she moved—the practiced, habitual precision of it—betrayed the truth. 

It looked out of place until it didn’t. Not when it had clearly lived a few lives with her already.

Because nothing about her was simple.

She let her eyes drag lazily over the men in front of her, as though they weren’t here to drag her  to some gilded prison of Magneto’s making. As though they were just three guys she might see in a dive bar or waiting outside a concert venue.

They were dressed like civilians, the same way Pietro was. Their attempt at blending in, at pretending this was anything less than an ambush. Gambit, of course, wore that damn trench coat—dramatic as ever, even without the armor or gear. Pyro looked like he’d stepped out of an indie band lineup, something almost artistic in the haphazard way his clothes clung to him, flannels and baggy jeans and some obscure band’s t-shirt she couldn’t tell you the first thing about .

And Sabertooth?

Sabertooth looked like a monster in borrowed clothes.

Nothing on earth could domesticate that man.

She studied them with the same gaze one might give a gallery painting from across the room. An art critic trying to decide if they were charmed or offended.

Gambit caught her eye first.

He’d changed. Gambit looked older now—matured. The boy she remembered was long gone, replaced by a man who hadn’t lost a drop of that swamp-born charm.  Heavily shadowed stubble now lined the sharp angles of his face, making him look older, rougher, better, honestly. His charm had deepened—ripened with time like some expensive wine. The smirk on his face was criminal, lethal, and she knew if the smile didn’t get a woman, the voice would. Honey-dipped and sin-slick, he’d always known how to draw hearts like blood from a wound. The kind of thing that would make a girl trip over herself and thank him for it.

But his eyes—those unforgettable eyes were the same as she remembered them. Oddly beautiful; red irises and black sclera like spilled ink and blood. They seemed amused. Like he could hear every thought in her head. Roguish charm was an understatement. 

He caught her looking.

Of course he did.

He offered her a lazy grin, slow and smooth, like molasses poured from a silver spoon. “Ma chérie,” he said with a wink that probably made hearts flutter from miles away. “If you keep lookin’ at me like that, I might start thinkin’ you missed me.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response, just raised one unimpressed brow and moved on.

Pyro—he hadn’t changed as much. His frame had filled out some, arms defined beneath the thin long-sleeved tee he wore under an open flannel. Shoulders broader than she remembers, and he might’ve been an inch or two taller than he used to be. His vibrant hair had grown a little longer, hanging in his face, which was sharper now, in artful chaos. Tonight, he’d swapped his flamethrowers for something subtler. He stood with one hand in his pocket and the other fidgeting with a matchbook—flicking it open and closed, the snap-snap-snap a rhythmic tic she remembered from years ago. There was still that unhinged brightness behind his eyes. That barely-contained chaos that looked like a spark always about to ignite.

Her eyes lingered on him a little longer.

Old crushes were a strange thing.

She remembered liking him once. Maybe it was the accent. Or the danger. Or that brand of reckless energy. Or maybe just the way his eyes used to light up when he talked about fire like it was a living thing. Like he was in love with it. That kind of devotion was rare. It was foolish, in retrospect. But she had been seventeen, and he had laughed at her jokes. Sometimes that was all it took. 

And then there was Sabertooth.

She swallowed.

He hadn’t aged a damn day.

He still looked older than any of them but was aging like some slow-turning curse. Healing factor made him almost eternal.

Out of everyone, he had changed the least. He was still enormous. Still terrifying. Still too quiet and too aware for someone so feral. Still exuding the kind of hunger that wasn’t about food or sex, but something deeper, more primal—an instinct to devour whatever he couldn’t control. His golden eyes didn’t blink as he watched her. They never had. He was the same the day she met him, and he’d be the same long after she was dead. Time didn’t touch men like him and Logan. Not the way it did everyone else. 

She looked at him, and in the quiet between her thoughts, wondered—not for the first time—how long he and Logan had been circling each other, roaming the earth. How many times had they torn chunks from each other’s flesh, only to heal and meet again? 

And how many more times were left? It seemed they’d be here till the end of the universe itself.

Star-crossed lovers, Shakespeare had written.

She supposed Logan and Creed were something else entirely.

Star-crossed enemies.

The term didn’t exist, but maybe it should’ve.

Destined to destroy, and somehow, destined not to die.

Her voice broke the stillness like glass underfoot. She turns her attention back to Pyro, her head cocked to the side, a dry smile on her lips. 

“Got a light?”she asked, utterly casually. As if she wasn’t surrounded. As if they weren’t here to kidnap her. She thought she was funny. She brought the cigarette up in front of her and waved it nonchalantly, as though that explained everything. 

Pyro blinked.

A heartbeat passed.

Then a shit-eating grin spread on his face, like a fire catching wind. God help her, he looked like the type who’d light a match just to watch it burn down to his fingers and laugh about the scars.

Oh, he liked that. Not just the question, but the whole performance. The cigarette dangling from her lips like punctuation. The way her curls framed her face in disheveled poetry. The tilt of her head like she was unbothered, like this was just another Tuesday and not a setup spiraling into something dark.

Gambit let out a low whistle under his breath. “Mon dieu chérie… bold of you.”

“Oh, Darlin’,” Pyro drawled, pulling his lighter from the inside of his coat like it was a holy relic, flicking the silver Zippo open with a practiced snap. A distinct cling sound filling the hollow air. A tiny flame danced to life, flickering gold in the shadows. “You know I always have a light.”

He took a step forward, hand outstretched. Even though he didn’t need to. They both knew that. He could’ve lit her up from ten feet away with a thought and a twitch of his fingers.

She raises a brow at him in question, and he just flashes her a brilliant smile. 

“Don’t mind sharin’. Any excuse to get close to you, songbird.”

(Y/n) didn’t flinch. She didn’t laugh either. But her lips twitched, like she was amused. Maybe she was. In a twisted sort of way.

Pietro let out a slow breath through his nose, muttering something under it that sounded suspiciously like you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

She stepped forward as well with casual ease, cigarette held delicately between her lips. She didn’t rush. The men around her, the fear clawing up her ribs, the betrayal still scalding behind her breastbone—all of it could wait.

“Let me guess. You want me to say something cheesy. ‘Light your fire, birdie?’”

“I’d actually prefer it if you’d shut up, but I never get what I want.”

“Aw don’t be like that, love.”

Pietro’s voice cut in then. Cold and sharp.

“She has her own lighter.”

(Y/n) didn’t even look at him. “It’s out of fluid.”

That was a lie. Her plastic Bic was full. She just didn’t feel like using it.

She could practically hear him grit his teeth from somewhere behind her. She didn’t really care.

She leaned in, letting the thin cylinder of her cigarette rest against the edge of Pyro’s flame. It caught with a soft flick and a brief flare, the scent of menthol curling up in the air between them. For a second—just a second—they stood close enough that she could see the ash flecks in his eyes, the faint scar near his temple she didn’t remember from before, the way his grin faltered as if surprised by the calm in her gaze. Like maybe she wasn’t scared of him. Like maybe she never had been.

She stepped back once her cigarette was lit, giving a little flick of her fingers in a mock salute.  Smoke twisted in lazy ribbons around her face. 

“Thanks, Johnny. Glad to see you’re good for something still” Her voice was breezy, offhanded, cut from the same cloth as the smoke curling from her lips—soft and biting at once.

He chuckled low, licking the inside of his cheek. “You know how much I like watching things burn. I take any chance I can get to light one up for pretty girls. 

A beat.

“Especially the mean ones”

She rolled her eyes, but the sharp edge of her mouth softened just a touch, betraying the ghost of reluctant amusement.

Behind her, somewhere closer to the rusted freight train, Quicksilver grunted.

Not loud. But sharp. Meant to be heard.

(Y/n) didn’t turn.

Pietro hadn’t moved since the moment the others arrived, but the tension had twisted his spine into something steel-cable tight. He looked like he wanted to punch something—preferably Allerdyce’s stupid face.

And Pyro, the bastard, caught his eye over her shoulder.

Met his stare.

And gave him a slow, lazy grin, mouth quirked like a match head begging for a strike. His expression said What? Jealous? as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud. 

Go on, do something

Pietro’s finger’s twitch, every bit of self restraint he had going into not choking the redhead right here, right now.

He could. God, he could do it before anyone blinked. Pyro wouldn’t even see it coming.

But he didn’t.

“Mm. Therapy might help with that.” Nightingale replies, unaware of the silent threats the two men shared in a split second.

 The flame snapped closed with a flick, and Pyro watched her with something unreadable in his gaze as she took a drag. Something one could mistake as veneration.

Not lust. Not infatuation. Something deeper.

The kind of quiet awe a boy might carry for the storm that ruined his hometown—beautiful, destructive, unforgettable.

Behind her, the moon hung low, swollen and bruised against the indigo sky like it had seen too much and said too little. A witness draped in borrowed light. She turned her head and exhaled smoke up toward the stars. Ironic, how peaceful it looked. How quiet. Like the world wasn't holding its breath around them.

Like nothing was about to break.

“You’ve changed,” he said eventually, almost admiring.

She exhaled again, eyes on him like steel under velvet. “So have you. Still an asshole, though.”

His lips pulled into a smirk. Crooked. Honest. “Fair.”

A low growl cut through the air then like a scalpel through skin—feral, throaty, primal. The kind of sound that made your bones remember what fear was even if your brain insisted you were fine.

“You’re stalling,” Sabretooth rumbled. His voice was gravel soaked in blood, low and sharp, the warning in it unmistakable.

(Y/n)’s head snapped toward him on instinct, her pulse hitching despite her best efforts. For just a flicker—just a breath—panic danced behind her eyes, a sliver of raw instinct. The kind that came when someone called your bluff before you could salvage the illusion. Her expression didn’t falter long, but it was enough to make the corners of Sabretooth’s mouth twitch.

She covered it with a lazy draw from her cigarette, but the damage was done.

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I just wanted a smoke before your people started throwing punches.”

“You always this mouthy before a beating?” Sabretooth asked. He was watching her the way a lion watches a cornered gazelle—curious, patient. Hungry. A confidence that comes with knowing you’ve already won.

Something in his gaze said: Run. It’ll be more fun for me.

(Y/n) inhaled, and let the smoke sit in her lungs for a heartbeat. Then exhaled slowly through her nose, eyes trained on the older mutant like he didn’t terrify her down to the marrow.

So she opened her mouth and said something she knew was beyond stupid. 

“You always this eager to play attack dog for someone who keeps you on a leash? Or is this your way of proving you still got it after that thrashing Logan gave you?”

The silence that followed was deep and sharp, like the breath before a scream. 

Sabretooth’s snarl was instant—teeth bared, hackles raised, the line between man and beast erased in one second.

He lunged a half-step forward, claws twitching into view—

And Pietro moved.

In a blink, he was between them, arm outstretched, fingers splayed—not touching her, but blocking the space between her and the coming storm. His voice came low

“Enough.”

“You got a real goddamn mouth on you, girl,” he hissed. “Let’s see if you still got any jokes when I tear out your fucking throat—”

“Whoa, whoa—easy, mon frère,” Gambit cut in, stepping slightly in front of him, one hand raised.“Ain’t no need for that just yet. She's just talkin’, homme,” Gambit said lazily, though his tone was a notch more serious than before. “You know how birds get when they’re backed in a cage. She don’ mean nothin’ by it.”

(Y/n) turned her gaze sharply to Gambit. “Don’t speak for me.”

The look Gambit gave her was pleading—bordering on annoyed. Like a man trying to keep a bar fight from turning into a body count.

Quicksilver turned toward her at that, eyes burning. His jaw clenched hard enough to tremble at the edges.

“Stop talking,” he bit out. “Just—stop. You’re not helping yourself.”

His face was unreadable, but his eyes flickered—furious.

And beneath it all—he looked scared.

For her?

She nearly scoffed. Yeah, right. 

He’s the one who got her into this fucking mess.

From off to the side, Pyro chuckled lowly, breaking the tension just enough to turn all eyes.

“Bloody hell, love. Ain’t you just a little spitfire.” His voice was darkly amused, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place. “Careful now, Creed,” he added, eyes flicking toward Sabretooth. “Looks like the little birdie’s got claws too.”

Sabretooth growled again, a low, guttural threat vibrating up from his chest. But Pyro wasn’t finished.

“She’s not wrong though,” he mused, head cocked, genuinely entertained. “Wolverine did mop the floor with you last time. What was it—three minutes? Two?” He grinned, wicked. “Not that anyone’s counting.”

Sabretooth snarled—really snarled this time, shoulders bunching, claws arching forward like he meant to carve someone in half right then and there—

“Say that again, you little—!”

“Don’t,” Pietro snapped, venom sharp and sudden, his voice cracking like thunder across dry air. “We’re not doing this now.”

Gambit threw up a hand in warning, cool and casual but firm.

“Let it go, Victor.”

(Y/n) glanced at him, a ghost of a smirk tugging the corner of her mouth despite the pulse thudding behind her ribs.

“Thanks for the assist,” she murmured.

Pyro winked. “Anytime, birdie.”

Quicksilver made a strangled sound like he might actually implode. “Somebody shut him up” he hisses. 

Gambit’s eyes slid to (Y/n) again, sharp and steady now. The flirtation had bled out of his expression, replaced by a sort of grim calm.

“You come now, chérie. Quiet-like. We walk, we talk. No one gets hurt.”

“And if I don’t?”

No one answered.

They didn’t have to.

Sabretooth’s claws flexed in the still air with a slow, deliberate snikt.

And the night held its breath once again.

A pin drop could’ve echoed like a gunshot in the stillness that followed.

It was that quiet.

like the world itself had gone silent, teetering on the knife’s edge of violence. (Y/n)’s heart thundered in her chest, a frantic drumbeat behind her ribs. Fear had its hands on her—tight around her lungs, threading through her limbs, trembling just beneath the surface. It was there in the way her shoulders stiffened, in the twitch of her fingers at her sides, in the shallowness of each breath that left her.

She knew it.

They knew it.

She would have gotten mauled in five seconds flat had Quicksilver and Gambit not stepped in.

And still, she was stubborn.

Stupid, reckless, gut-deep stubborn. The kind that burns out stars before it ever yields.

She moved before she thought.

Shoved Quicksilver back with both hands—palms pressed to the cold leather over his chest. The contact was brief, but unexpected, and he stumbled—not from force, but from shock. His silver brows lifted a fraction, mouth parting in disbelief.

“Get away from me!,” Her voice cracked like glass, and still she stood her ground “All of you.”

Son of a bitch. The whole damn lot of them. 

She smashed the cigarette under her boot’s heel, twisting her toe into the gravel until the last ember died with deliberate finality, grinding it into the rocks like it was something she could control.

Then she straightened slowly, lifting her chin like a blade drawn from a sheath. Her voice rang out like something final—low and serious.

“I thought I made myself perfectly clear. Tell Magneto he can rot in whatever hole he crawled out of.” 

Her gaze swept over them, unflinching now despite the way her pulse screamed behind her ears.

“And if you're all so eager to follow him to hell.” her eyes landed on each of them, one by one. “be my guest, but I'm not gonna roll over so easily.”

There it was.

The line.

For one raw moment, no one breathed.

Then—

“Oh, come on,” Pietro snapped, throwing his hands up. “Are you trying to die tonight?”

Gambit winced and muttered something in French under his breath, something that sounded a lot like a prayer—or a curse.

“Merde,” he muttered under his breath. “Girl really don’ know when to shut up.”

Pyro’s expression was hard to read now. The flame in his grin had gone out, replaced by something pensive, almost cold.  There was a flicker of something in his eyes—not admiration, but maybe... regret. Maybe just the echo of it.

“You’re makin’ this harder than it needs to be, love,” he said, and for once, his voice wasn’t teasing. No lilt, no smirk hiding behind his words. Just truth. And something that could have almost been pity.

And Sabretooth?

Sabretooth laughed.

A low, guttural sound that crawled up his throat and slithered across the night air.

“Well, that settles it,” he growled, flexing his claws with audible delight. “We do this the fun way.”

 A wind stirred through the train yard then, sharp and cold as an icicle pick in winter. It slid past (Y/n)’s cheeks like a warning. 

The sound of Sabretooth’s laughter rooted her in place, that deep, lupine rumble clinging to the insides of her ears like cobwebs. He stepped forward again, slow and heavy—each movement a flex of coiled muscle and malevolent intent. The moonlight caught on his claws as they extended fully, glinting silver like the teeth of some ancient trap.

He stepped again—deliberate, savoring the moment, the way monsters do when they’re certain the end has already been written. His bulk loomed larger with each stride, shoulders rolling like tectonic plates, hands relaxed but twitching with promise.

And still—she didn’t move.

Didn’t dare to.

Every instinct screamed at her to run. But where would she go? There were four of them. Trained. Ruthless. Men who had bathed in battle since their bones were half-grown. She’d be tackled in seconds, ripped apart before she could so much as scream.

Still, she couldn’t stop her legs from tensing, couldn’t stop her fingers from curling, couldn’t stop her power from flaring just a little too bright behind her ribs.

She took one breath. Another. And then—

The air around her began to shimmer.

Faint, at first— like a flickering lightbulb.. Then stronger. A ripple of something soft and silver-blue, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks, the stars above catching in her eyes like pin-lights reflected in water.

Pietro saw it first.

“No—no, don’t,” he snapped, his voice slicing the air like a whip as he turned to her. His hand lifted, palm open, like he might physically push the power back into her chest. “(Y/n) stop!. Don’t make this worse—”

Sabretooth lunged.

Fast.

Too fast for anything but panic.

But Pietro was faster.

In a blur of black and silver and wind, he caught Sabertooth mid-leap—shoulder crashing into the older mutant’s side with the full force of a sonic boom. The impact sent both of them tumbling across the gravel in a burst of motion and fury, a cloud of dust exploding where they fell.

“Get her!” Pietro shouted mid-scuffle, his voice a gruff and a whip-crack of command as he fought to keep Sabretooth’s claws from his throat.

But (Y/n) was already turning—already moving—legs pushing off the earth like a raven. Her power bloomed behind her eyes now, lighting her skin in soft purple pulses. She moved with desperation, hands splayed, eyes scanning for the narrowest exit between rusted freight cars and stacked debris, and wooden carts.

And then Gambit stepped into her path.

He didn’t raise a hand. Had no cards visible. Didn’t reach for the bo staff strapped to his back. He just looked at her, red eyes almost glowing under the yellow streetlight

“Don’ do this, chère.”

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t even hesitate.

She ducked low and lunged past him—

—only to feel his arm loop around her waist mid-sprint, catching her momentum and spinning her hard into the wall of a derailed car. He was holding back, just wanting to use enough force to stop her. But it still hurt like a motherfucker.

She gasped, the air knocked clean out of her chest, her shoulder slamming into rusted metal with a sick clang.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he said softly, arm tightening around her middle like a steel band. “Please.”

‘Too fucking late for that.’ She thinks bitterly in her head as her body continued to thrash, desperate and fierce.

A burst of shimmering energy flickered from her palms, reading herself to break free from his grip—only for Gambit to seize her wrists in his gloved hands and pin them to the wall beside her head.

‘Son of a bitch.’

“Enough, Nightingale,” Pietro barked from across the yard, his voice ragged with effort. Sabretooth had him pinned now, but not for long—the black blur of his limbs still jerking, struggling under the larger man’s weight. “Goddammit, get off Creed—”

“Let go of me,” she hissed, still writhing, her voice gone hoarse from panic and fury as she fought tooth and nail to break Gambit’s hold. 

“LeBeau, I will kill you, I swear to god-!”

He pulls her restrained wrists away from the wall of the car, the movement forceful enough to peel her entire back from the surface just for him to slam it back in with a force that makes a grunt leave her lips, and she bites her lip to restrain the whimper that want to follow. 

“Chère you need to calm the hell down-”

“Fuck you-!”

That’s  when she sees him from her peripheral vision. Pyro approached slowly now, arms outstretched—not threatening, not mocking, almost placating, like trying to sooth a frightened animal. His brows were drawn tight, mouth a grim line.

“You’re not gonna win this fight, love,” he said, gently now. “Not here. Not tonight.”

Her lips parted, breath catching on a sob she didn’t let out. Her wrists ached in Gambit’s grip. Her heart ached worse.

Pietro finally shoved Sabretooth off with a surge of speed and landed, panting, one arm cradling his ribs.

“Let her go,” he said, voice gravel-rough. “I’ve got her.”

Gambit hesitated.

Then slowly, he stepped back.

(Y/n) staggered forward—but not far. Pietro caught her by the elbow, not unkindly, just firm. Like a leash. Like gravity. An unstoppable force. 

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t look at any of them.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the tracks ahead—long, endless steel rails stretching toward darkness.

And the night felt colder than before.

She felt a ringing in her ear.

Sharp, high, incessant.

She didn’t know if it was from the panic attack crawling up her throat like a hand around her windpipe, or if it was from Gambit bashing her damn head—twice—into cold, unyielding steel. Probably both. Either way, it wouldn't stop.

There was an unabating throbbing at the back of her head as well. One she was desperately trying to ignore. 

Her knees threatened to give out, breath rattling, but she didn’t fall. Wouldn’t give them that.

She hated this.

Hated the stifling heat of her own skin, hated the pounding of her blood in her ears, hated the hands that had touched her, gripped her, held her down.

She hated the freight yard, the scent of rust and ash, the cold press of gravel under her boots. She hated them—every last one of them. Why couldn’t they have just left her alone? 

She hated the way Pietro’s hand still gripped her elbow like he was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

But most of all—

She hated herself.

For letting it happen. For not being faster. For not being stronger.

She was supposed to be better than this. She had promised herself she would never be this helpless again.

She was an X-Man, dammit.

And yet—here she was.

Surrounded. Dragged from the only sense of control she’d managed to carve out for herself in this brutal, unforgiving world. Caged like a bird with clipped wings and too much pride.

(Y/n) sucked in a breath that caught in her chest like broken glass, blinking against the pressure behind her eyes.

She was not going to cry. She doesn’t think she’d be able to survive the humiliation that would come with her breaking down into tears right now. 

“Get off,” she muttered. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady—knife-steady. “Don’t touch me.”

Pietro didn’t move for a beat too long.

Then—slowly—he released her.

She stepped away from him like his touch burned. Like she could scrub it from her skin if she just moved fast enough.

Pyro watched her with a strange stillness now, all the fire in him dimmed to embers.

Gambit’s mouth was tight, eyes unreadable beneath the glint of shadowed red.

And Sabretooth… Sabretooth looked pleased.

Pietro’s voice came again, quiet, but with a thread of command under the weariness.

“We're leaving.”

(Y/n) didn’t answer.

Just stood there, staring at the ground. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“You can walk,” Pietro said, voice a bit softer, “or someone’s going to carry you. But we’re going.”

Her fingers curled at her sides.

And after a long breath, she moved.

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 5)

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 11,739

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mention of cannibalism, manipulation, mention of violence,

Summary: Jonathan's been having more trouble with Batman than ever and Y/n wants to help out in a way.

A/N: Holy shit, did this take a very long time to write a part 5 for! My poor baby has been sidelined because of so many request coming through (I swear, everytime I post a fic or something, I get another 2 requests, I have 7 right now that I haven't started on 💀) and also Uni been keeping me from my baby :c (I have had so many assignments, I wanna die)

Sorry, this took so long to come out, but I hope you like this part 💚

(Office Hours/Bells Masterlist) (Part 4) - (Part 6)

-

Y/n's life seemed to be getting better with each day that passed. University days flowed smoothly, she found herself engaging with new friends, and evenings spent in the comfort of home with Jonathan felt like a haven from the world's chaos. She had made progress in managing her dependency on Jonathan. While she still felt a twinge of concern upon waking up without him, it no longer spiraled into full-blown panic.

But for Jonathan, life was a rough sea, each wave threatening to capsize him. Despite his alliance with the Riddler, his adventures as Scarecrow had become a problem. The ongoing vendetta with Two-Face and the Penguin haunted his every move. He protected Y/n from the grim details, keeping the nature of the conflict veiled in secrecy. And the relentless pursuit of Batman added further weight to his burden, his shadow looming over Jonathan's every scheme. Each thwarted plan, each narrow escape, chipped away at his will, leaving him weary and disheartened.

Jonathan's weariness seemed to seep into the very air as he sank onto the couch beside Y/n, the weight of his troubles evident in every crease of his blazer. 

Y/n's heart ached at the sight of him, her concern tender and palpable. "Rough night?" she murmured, her voice a soft in the dimly lit room.

"Isn't it always..." Jonathan's response carried the weight of struggles.

Sensing his need for solace, Y/n drew closer, her touch a soothing caress against his troubled brow. "Who was it this time?" she inquired, her voice laced with sympathy.

"Penguin and Two-Face," Jonathan's tone was tight, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"And was Eddie there?" Y/n probed gently.

"Yeah," Jonathan confirmed, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Y/n sighed, concern etched across her features. "Did he manage to escape safely?"

"Yeah, though he left me high and dry halfway through," Jonathan's words dripped with bitterness.

Y/n furrowed her brows in thought. "Hmm... as much as I appreciate Eddie's…intelect, maybe it's time you consider aligning with someone more intimidating than the Riddler," she suggested.

"That's easier said than done," Jonathan replied, his tone heavy with the weight of his predicament.

"You literally work at Arkham, I’m sure you can find someone," Y/n scoffed, playfully.

Jonathan ignored her suggestion, his attention moving to the clock on the wall. "You should be heading to bed. You've got uni in the morning," he remarked.

Y/n chuckled, amused by his bullshit distraction. "So do you!"

"Yeah, well, I'm your professor. I don’t want you to doze off during one of my own lectures," Jonathan retorted.

Y/n rose from the couch, a plea in her voice. "At least come to bed with me... please," she pouted.

Jonathan didn’t move, his gaze lingering on her. Y/n sighed, frustration evident, and grabbed his arm. "Let's go!" she tugged, pulling him off the couch.

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute. I'll be up in ten," Jonathan said, rising from his seat and making his way to his work desk.

"You better!" Y/n called after him, running the stairs to their bedroom.

As Y/n settled into bed, she couldn't shake off the worry that lingered from Jonathan's troubled demeanor. She knew his burdens weighed heavily on him, but she also understood the importance of his work and the dangers it entailed. One slip up and he’d be sent off to Arkham, and not as a doctor.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as she waited for Jonathan to join her. Eventually, the metallic creak of the stairs echoed through the warehouse, signaling Jonathan's arrival, his expression still etched with weariness.

"Finally," Y/n teased, patting the empty space beside her on the bed. “You said 10 minutes, that was like 3 hours!”

“It was only half and hour,” Jonathan chuckled as he slipped under the covers, his tired frame sinking into the mattress.

“Still!” Y/n wrapped her arms around him, offering comfort.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

Y/n brushed her fingers through his hair soothingly. "There's nothing to apologize for. Just get some rest now," she reassured him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.

With Y/n's warmth enveloping him, Jonathan finally allowed himself to succumb to the embrace of sleep, grateful for the solace she provided in his hectic world.

-

The lecture had finished and two of them found themselves in Jonathan’s office. As Y/n lounged on Jonathan's couch, she let her mind wander, thinking about potential alliances, hoping to help the relentless pressure weighing on Jonathan.

"How about... Catwoman? You know her?" Y/n proposed, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

Jonathan, engrossed in his work, spared a moment to entertain her suggestion. "Catwoman? Just a cat burglar. No use. Besides, everyone knows Batman and her have a thing."

Y/n's brows furrowed in thought as she considered his response. "Hmm, true," she murmured, mentally crossing out Catwoman from her list.

Her eyes lit up with a new idea. "How about Mad Hatter?" she asked, her tone tinged with excitement.

Jonathan paused, briefly considering the possibility. "Jervis... You think Jervis will intimidate people?" he scoffed, a note of judgement coloring his voice.

"Well... maybe not, but can't he like... mind control and stuff?" Y/n persisted, her enthusiasm undeterred.

Jonathan nodded, acknowledging the potential usefulness of Mad Hatter's abilities. "Yeah, he can, but the likelihood of him teaming up with me is not high."

Undeterred by his negativity, Y/n continued to brainstorm. "Hmm, Bane's pretty scary. Wait, wait, wait! Killer Croc!" she exclaimed, a spark of excitement igniting in her eyes.

Jonathan's expression morphed into one of disbelief as he regarded her. "...Did you… did you use your brain before saying that?" he teased, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Y/n's smile never faltered. "Think about it! He's huge! Scary! And probably indestructible."

"Yeah, you forget the part where he's not too fond of people, especially not us doctors," Jonathan pointed out, his tone laced with amusement at her enthusiasm.

"Well, maybe you just need to try being more likable," Y/n suggested with a casual shrug.

Jonathan stood up from his desk, his strides purposeful as he approached Y/n. "You don’t think I’m likable?" he asked, gently lifting her chin with his finger.

Y/n's eyes met his, a soft smile gracing her lips. "You're plenty likable to me, but everyone else thinks you're scary," she replied. "And it's not my opinion that matters, it's Croc's."

Jonathan took a seat beside her, Y/n instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. "And if you can’t get anyone to like you, well then you’re just stuck with Eddie," she concluded, a playful tone coloring her words.

Jonathan sighed, his expression tired. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Y/n flashed him a smile and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good boy,” she teased gently as she rose from the couch. “Well! You have fun. I have lectures and tutorials to attend.”

“I have somewhere to be this afternoon, so I’ll get Edward to pick you up,” Jonathan informed her.

“Okay, see you tonight then,” Y/n said, exiting his office with a wave.

-

As Y/n stepped out of the university building, the evening breeze carried with it a sense of relief, a welcome rest from the academic hustle and bustle. Her tired eyes scanned the dimly lit street, and she fumbled for her phone as it buzzed with an unknown caller. With a sigh, she answered, expecting Edward's familiar voice.

“Hiya, Eddie,” Y/n said.

“Good evening,” Edward's usual ominous tone greeted her, but the news he had was less than convenient. “I’m afraid it's a rain check tonight. Tell your lover boy I can’t come pick you up, I’m rather… preoccupied,” he explained, his voice tinged with apology.

Y/n couldn't suppress a soft chuckle at his choice of words. “No problem, but Jonathan won't be too pleased. You're becoming quite unreliable in his eyes,” she remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

Edward sighed lightly. “Well, perhaps if he stuck to our original plan, I wouldn’t need to leave him hanging. My apologies, nonetheless,” he replied, his tone sincere.

“It’s alright. Goodbye,” Y/n bid farewell, ending the call with a click.

With a quick swipe, she dialed Jonathan's number, anticipating his immediate concern. “Y/n? Is everything alright?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“I’m good, just a change of plans. Edward can’t make it,” Y/n reassured him, sensing his unease.

There was a muttered curse from Jonathan's end, a testament to his frustration. “I’ll try to make it as quickly as possible then,” he promised, his determination evident.

“I can manage. I’ll catch the bus and walk the rest of the way,” Y/n suggested, knowing she could handle the short journey.

“No, I don’t want you to do that,” Jonathan insisted, his protective instincts kicking in.

Y/n adjusted her bag on her shoulder, already making her way to the bus stop. "Well, I'll be waiting outside either way. Campus is closing up, so I can't stick around indoors," she informed Jonathan.

Jonathan let out a resigned sigh, his concern evident even through the phone. "Okay, just... keep me updated. Text me when you're on the bus, when you're off, and give me a call once you're home," he instructed, his tone protective.

Y/n couldn't help but inject a hint of humor into the situation. "Geez, even my parents weren't this paranoid," she teased lightly.

Jonathan's response was serious, his words weighed down by the reality of Gotham's dangers. "In this city, caution is necessary. Do you understand?" he reiterated, his concern radiating off the phone.

“Yes, yes, I understand. Bye bye,” Y/n reassured him before ending the call, feeling a sense of gratitude for his concern about her safety.

Tucking her phone into her pocket, Y/n stood at the bus stop, her gaze fixed on the approaching headlights. With a soft exhale, she boarded the bus without trouble, finding a seat towards the back.

Settling into her seat, she grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message to Jonathan, informing him that she got on the bus safely. The rhythmic hum of the bus's engine filled the air as she waited for a response, the unfamiliarity of the nighttime bus journey casting a subtle sense of unease over her. Yet, amidst the apprehension, there was a curious sense of peace in the solitude of the bus's dimly lit interior.

As the bus trundled along the familiar route, Y/n's mind wandered, thoughts drifting between the events of the day and the comforting presence of Jonathan awaiting her return. The soft glow of streetlights flickered through the windows, casting shifting patterns across the otherwise dim interior.

Soon, the bus came to a halt at Y/n's designated stop. Gathering her belongings, she rose from her seat and made her way towards the exit, offering a polite ‘thank you’ to the driver as she stepped off onto the sidewalk.

With a quick glance around, Y/n flicked Jonathan another text and beginning the short walk home. The city streets were quiet at this hour, a stark contrast to the bustling chaos of daytime.

As she walked, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a subtle prickle of awareness tingling at the back of her neck. Hastening her pace, she focused on the familiar landmarks that guided her path, eager to reach the safety of the warehouse.

As Y/n hurried along the deserted sidewalk, she sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle tension that set her nerves on edge. Suddenly, a group of shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, blocking her path.

"Hey, sweetheart, fancy meeting you out here all alone," one of them leered.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she instinctively took a step back, her gaze darting between the menacing strangers. "Please, I don't want any trouble," she pleaded, her voice trembling.

But the men closed in, their intentions unmistakably hostile. "Sorry, doll, but we got orders," another one sneered, stepping forward menacingly. "Two-Face sends his regards."

Y/n's blood ran cold as she realized the gravity of the situation. These men weren't just petty criminals, they were carrying out the bidding of one of Gotham's villains because of some vendetta.

Panic surged through her veins as she searched for an escape route, but the alley behind her was blocked, and the men advanced with predatory intent. Desperation spurred her into action as she braced herself for whatever came next, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

As the tension reached its peak and the menacing men closed in on Y/n, a sudden rush of wind swept through the alley. Before anyone could react, a shadowy figure dropped from the rooftops, landing gracefully in front of the would-be assailants.

The men faltered, their arrogance crumbling in the face of the unexpected arrival. "What the-?" one of them stammered.

The figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows cast by the flickering streetlights. As his silhouette materialized in the dimly lit alley, a hush fell over the group of men. The air seemed to thicken with tension, charged with the weight of his presence alone. Batman.

Batman's steely gaze swept over the would-be assailants, each piercing stare carrying an unspoken warning that resonated with the force of a thunderclap in the stillness of the night.

Caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Gotham's legendary protector, the men faltered, their confidence crumbling. Uncertainty flickered in their eyes, betraying their inner turmoil as they exchanged nervous glances, silently acknowledging the futility of their actions.

In the deafening silence that followed, no words were needed. The unspoken command of Batman's presence was enough to quell the impending threat, dispersing it like smoke in the wind. With hesitant steps, the men retreated into the darkness, their once-bold demeanor now replaced by a sense of defeat.

Y/n watched as Batman turned to her, his piercing gaze never softening. She sensed an air of interrogation surrounding their encounter, as if every word she’d speak would be questioned. Given her complicated situation with Jonathan, she couldn't shake the feeling she was in fact guilty.

"Thank you," Y/n offered hastily, her gaze dropping to the ground, unable to meet his eyes

As Y/n attempted to move past, the man blocked her path, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. Anxiety surged through her veins as she wondered how Jonathan would react to this situation.

"What are you doing in these parts?" His voice was gruff, heavy with suspicion.

"I live around here," Y/n replied, trying to maintain her composure despite the rising tension.

His scrutinizing gaze bore into her, making her feel exposed under the dim streetlights. "Not many houses around this area," he remarked, his tone sending a shiver down her spine.

"No, there isn't," Y/n agreed, her voice faltering slightly. "Goodbye now." She lowered her head, hoping to evade further confrontation as she essentially pushed past him.

As Y/n walked briskly through the dimly lit streets, her senses were on high alert. Every sound seemed amplified, every shadow appeared menacing. The encounter with Two-Face's henchmen had left her on edge, and the sudden appearance of Batman only heightened her unease.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her as he spoke, his voice resonating with authority. The darkness seemed to bend around him, adding an air of mystery to his presence.

“Allow me to walk you home,” Batman offered, his tone firm yet reassuring.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she debated how to respond. On one hand, having Batman by her side would undoubtedly deter any further threats. On the other hand, she couldn't let him know where she lived, considering it was a warehouse and Jonathan’s hideout.

“No! It's fine, thank you,” she replied hastily, her voice betraying her nerves.

Glancing over her shoulder, Y/n's heart skipped a beat when she found no trace of Batman. It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the memory of his presence. Surprised by his sudden disappearance, she couldn't shake the sense of awe that accompanied the realization of his silent departure. What they said about him was true.

As Batman vanished into the night, Y/n felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through her. Relief washed over her as she watched him fade into the darkness, yet a lingering sense of unease gnawed at her. With a quickening of her pace, she hurried along the deserted streets, each step fueled by a growing urgency to reach the safety of her home to call Jonathan.

Shaking her head, Y/n turned her focus back to the path ahead, determined to put the encounter behind her. With every stride, she made her way closer to the sanctuary of the warehouse, her thoughts consumed by the figure of the Dark Knight and the mysteries that surrounded him.

Upon reaching the safety of the warehouse, she wasted no time in dialing Jonathan's number. His voice was laced with concern as soon as he answered.

“Did you make it home safe?” he asked urgently, his worry radiating even through the phone.

Y/n hesitated, unsure of how to break the news. “Well, uh… about that…”

“I’m coming home now,” Y/n could hear Jonathan moving around quickly through the phone.

“No, it's fine. Just finish… whatever you're doing, I'm fine now,” Y/n reassured him, her voice faltering slightly.

“Tell me what happened,” Jonathan demanded, his tone firm yet worried.

Y/n took a deep breath before recounting the encounter with Two-Face's goons and the unexpected appearance of Batman. "So, I got off the bus, right? And then these guys came out of nowhere, talking about a 'message from Two-Face.' It was pretty scary, but they didn't lay a finger on me," she explained. “It was pretty fun actually,” Y/n chuckled.

As Y/n tried to inject a hint of humor to lighten the mood, Jonathan's worry remained steadfast, his voice edged with tension.

“Y/n, this is serious,” Jonathan's voice was stern.

Feeling the weight of the situation settle upon her, Y/n couldn't help but sigh. “Well… the Batman showed up…”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line as Jonathan processed her words. “Y/n, am I safe to come home?” his question hung in the air, filled with uncertainty.

“Yes, I… I thanked him and told him to leave me alone,” Y/n replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“But he knows you now. He's going to be suspicious,” Jonathan's mind was already racing with potential consequences.

“Yeah, I know,” Y/n sighed, her thoughts consumed by the implications of their encounter with Gotham's infamous vigilante.

"I'm just finishing up here. I should be back in half an hour. Don't open the door for anyone, don't leave the warehouse, and if something's wrong, call me," Jonathan's voice crackled through the phone.

"I already know this, Jonathan," Y/n replied, her tone laced with a hint of frustration.

"I know," Jonathan acknowledged before hanging up.

Y/n let her hand holding the phone drop to her side, her fingers trembling slightly. She made her way to her bed, the weight of the evening's events bearing down on her. Crawling under the covers, Y/n sought solace in the cocoon of blankets, hoping it would offer some comfort while she waited on Jonathan.

-

Y/n was jolted awake by the echo of the warehouse door slamming shut, she hadn’t even noticed she had fallen asleep. Disoriented and groggy, she blinked several times before realizing where she was. 

"Y/n!" Jonathan's voice pierced through the silence, carrying a tone of urgency.

Pushing herself up from the bed, Y/n's heart raced as she hurried down the stairs, her steps echoing in the space of the warehouse. Before she could even reach the ground floor, Jonathan was there, his presence reassuring and comforting. His hands were warm as they cradled her face, his concern etched in the furrow of his brow.

"Are you okay?" Jonathan's voice was urgent, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

Y/n managed a weak smile, her own concern momentarily forgotten in the face of Jonathan's worry. "Doing a lot better than you, apparently," she said, chuckling a little even in the tense moment.

But Jonathan's expression remained serious, his brow furrowing even deeper. "I should have known this was going to happen. I should have made sure you were prepared. This is my fault," he murmured, his tone heavy with self-blame.

"Slow down, Jonathan. It's fine, I'm fine," Y/n reassured him, her voice calm and steady despite the lingering remnants of sleep clouding her mind.

Sensing the need for a moment of respite, Jonathan guided Y/n to the nearby couch, his movements gentle yet purposeful. With a sigh, Y/n sank into the cushions, the events of the evening still swirling in her mind as she waited for Jonathan to speak.

"I'm going to make sure this never happens again, okay?" Jonathan's voice was confident. Y/n could only manage a nod in response, her mind still reeling from the recent events.

As Jonathan moved around the room, his purposeful strides echoed in the quiet space. He retrieved something from his workbench and approached Y/n, a small canister in his hand. 

"This is a small canister of my fear gas. You keep this with you always. If you encounter any problems, you spray it in their face. Do not breathe it in," he instructed, pressing the canister into her hand.

"But what about Batman? He'll find out," Y/n asked, putting the canister on the coffee table. He’d know her connection with Scarecrow if she sprayed him with fear gas.

"I'm still figuring that out," Jonathan admitted, a hint of frustration lacing his words as he ran a hand through his hair.

Y/n watched Jonathan's movements with a mix of concern and guilt. Each stride seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, his brows furrowed in deep concentration, the flickering light cast by the single bulb overhead danced across his features, accentuating the lines of worry etched into his face.

As he paced back and forth, Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt gnawing at her insides. She replayed the events of the evening in her mind, each moment a stark reminder of her vulnerability. A knot formed in her stomach, a silent acknowledgment of the burden she unwittingly placed upon him.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/n's gaze drifted downward, her hands fidgeting restlessly in her lap. Picking at the skin around her nails, she couldn't bear to meet Jonathan's eyes, fearing the weight of his disappointment or worse, his blame. Instead, she sought solace in the safety of herself, hoping to find some semblance of clarity amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within her, although nothing could comfort her like Jonathan could.

Suddenly, Jonathan's movements ceased, his attention drawn to Y/n's shift in demeanor. He knelt before her, his hands cradling her face with a tenderness that contrasted his earlier agitation.

"This is not your fault, you know that. None of this is your fault," Jonathan's voice was gentle yet firm, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with hers.

"You are my girl, and it was my duty to protect you. I wasn't there, and for that, I'm sorry," Jonathan confessed, his words laced with sincerity.

Y/n managed a small smile, her heart swelling with warmth at his words. "I'm your girl," she repeated softly.

"That's right, and I'm going to make sure you are never in that situation ever again," Jonathan vowed, sealing his promise with a tender kiss upon her forehead.

Y/n's arms wrapped around Jonathan's neck, her touch a gentle plea for comfort and closeness. "Take me to bed," she murmured, her voice a soft melody in the dimly lit room.

Jonathan's lips curved into a tender smile at her request. "Of course, my dear," he replied, his tone carrying the warmth of affection.

With effortless grace, Jonathan scooped her up from the couch, cradling her in his arms like a doll. He moved with smoothly through the warehouse, navigating the familiar path to their shared bed. Gently lowering her onto the soft mattress, he lingered for a moment, savoring the intimacy of the moment before retreating to change into more comfortable attire.

Meanwhile, Y/n eagerly awaited his return, her heart warm. As Jonathan finished changing into more relaxed clothing, Y/n's eyes sparkled with warmth and adoration.

Climbing into bed beside her, Jonathan enveloped her in his embrace, the warmth of his body a comforting presence against her own. Y/n nestled closer, seeking solace in his arms, her worries momentarily forgotten in the safety of their shared space.

"Can we just stay here tomorrow? I don’t want to go to uni," Y/n murmured softly, her voice tinged with reluctance.

Jonathan's chuckle rumbled through the room. "While you could easily skip out on lectures, I’m the one teaching them, so it won’t be that simple," he teased gently.

Y/n's pout softened into a playful grin as she persisted, her eyes pleading with him to indulge her whims. "My other lecturers and Professors cancel lectures all the time. You can do it too," she urged, her voice filled with mischief.

Jonathan's sighed, a testament to the power she held over him. "For you, I will. But just this once," he relented, his gaze softening with unspoken affection as he met her pleading eyes. Y/n cherished every moment they shared like this.

Y/n's heart swelled with gratitude, a radiant smile lighting up her features as she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. She knew how Jonathan had a soft spot for her and she intended to use it to her advantage.

"Can you tell me what you were doing today?" Y/n asked, look up at Jonathan.

Jonathan hesitated briefly, his expression guarded as he weighed his response. "Just sorting out a mess Batman put me in. Nothing important," he finally replied, his words vague.

Y/n decided not to pry and leaned in closer, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Can I come with you to Arkham next time?" she asked eagerly.

"Why?" Jonathan asked, looking down at her.

"I want to look for potential allies for you," Y/n replied sweetly.

Jonathan's brow furrowed with concern. "It’s a dangerous place, Y/n, you know that. And after tonight, I don’t want you to put yourself at that risk," he cautioned.

"But I have you," Y/n countered softly, her gaze unwavering as she met his eyes.

Jonathan's eyes softened as he looked down at Y/n. "Fine, but you don't leave my side," he said.

Y/n met his gaze with a nod. "Understood," she replied.

Jonathan leaned back against the pillows, pulling Y/n closer to him. “Now, go to sleep.” His arm wrapped protectively around her.

Y/n nestled into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. A small smile played on her lips as she closed her eyes.

-

Y/n practically bounced with excitement as they made their way to Arkham. Jonathan, though usually reserved, couldn't help but stress about her safety, especially after last night. The morning air was crisp as they drove in the car, Y/n chattering away about what ever came to her mind.

Jonathan had envisioned a lazy day at home with Y/n, perhaps catching up on some reading or simply enjoying each other's company, but Y/n's eagerness to visit Arkham Asylum to find possible allies for Jonathan sparked a new energy in her, one that Jonathan couldn't resist. Despite his initial reluctance, he found himself giving in.

As they pulled up to the imposing structure, Jonathan turned to her, his expression serious as he outlined the rules for their visit.

"You don't speak to anyone unless I allow it," he began, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "If we interact with a patient, you stay behind me. You don't leave my office unless I say you can, and only with me accompanying you. Understand?"

Y/n nodded eagerly, she had already forgotten the first rule. "Got it," she replied.

As they stepped through the doors of Arkham, Y/n couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine. The air seemed to grow colder, the atmosphere thick with an eerie quietness was sometimes broken with screams of patients through the walls of the facility. 

Following the security protocols, they passed by stern-faced guards who eyed, their presence a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked within the walls of Arkham. Y/n felt a sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it aside. It’s not like it was her first time at Arkham, but today, it just felt different. 

As they walked down the corridors, the air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic, mingling with the faint hint of decay that seemed to linger in the air. They passed by other doctors and staff members, each lost in their own world as they hurried about their duties. Y/n offered polite nods and smiles as they passed. Finally, they arrived at their destination, the door looming before them like a gateway to another world.

Entering Jonathan's office, Y/n took in the familiar sight with a playful smirk. Not a single thing had changed from when she was last there. "Wow, you sure changed things up in here, didn’t ya?" she teased, glancing around at the familiar decor.

Jonathan closed the door behind them with a soft click. "Well, you know me," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/n's eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to face him. "So... can I take a look at some patient files?" she asked, sweetly.

"I have a few patient files in that cabinet," he said, pointing toward a nearby filing cabinet. "But those are just the ones I have access to, the rest you’d have to look up on the computer. God, why am I encouraging this," Jonathan sighed, shaking his head slightly.

Y/n grinned, moving toward the cabinet. "Because deep down, you know you could use another ally. Edward has been doing… admirably, but the two of you could use some extra assistance," she remarked, pulling open the cabinet door.

Rummaging through the files in the cabinet, Y/n couldn't find anything particularly intriguing at first. Nonetheless, she knew she had to comb through them thoroughly. Pulling out a stack of files, she placed them on the floor and settled in front of them.

As she sifted through the scattered documents, Y/n let out an exasperated sigh. "This is going to be..." Her words trailed off abruptly as her eyes landed on a familiar name. "Hey! It's Eddie's file!" she exclaimed, snatching up the folder labeled ‘Edward Nygma’.

Y/n eagerly flipped through the pages, scanning Jonathan's notes on Edward's behavior with keen interest. As Y/n delved into Edward's file, she couldn’t help the cheeky smile that sat on her face.

"Let's see what we've got there," Y/n said.

Y/n scanned through the pages until she reached Jonathan's comments. "Hmm, it says here that Edward's behavior has been erratic, with notable mood swings and a tendency towards belittling people," she summarized, glancing up at Jonathan.

Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. "And my point still stands, Edward can be quite the pain at times. He's a brilliant mind, but his ego can be a challenge to manage. He's proven himself to be a valuable ally, albeit a complicated one," he explained, his brow furrowing slightly.

Y/n set the file aside with a sigh. "True, we can't have two Edwards, as delightful as that might seem.”

Y/n immersed herself in the task, each file a window into the troubled minds housed within Arkham's walls. She carefully studied the details, from the patients' histories to their treatment plans, searching for any glimmer of hope among the darkness. Some files bore the scars of past trauma, while others hinted at the depths of madness that consumed the paitents.

Despite the grim surroundings, Y/n remained undeterred, her will unwavering as she searched through the records. She knew that finding the right ally for Jonathan was crucial, and she refused to let the daunting task daunt her.

-

As Y/n sifted through the final file, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling of disappointment. Deep down, she knew the individual she had in mind wouldn't be found among these records. Still, she looked through them hoping that another potential ally would catch her eye before she reached the inevitable conclusion. But that sadly did not happen.

Y/n's disappointment lingered like a heavy cloud as she leaned against the couch behind her. Jonathan, absorbed in his paperwork, looked over at her.

"Didn't find anyone?" Jonathan's voice broke the silence.

Y/n shook her head, her lips forming a small frown. "No," she murmured.

Rising from his desk with a sigh, Jonathan approached her, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of her frustration. He offered a hand as they began to gather the files strewn across the floor.

Together, they arranged the files back into the cabinet, the soft click of folders echoing in the quiet room. Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as she closed the cabinet door.

Jonathan's touch was gentle as he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes reflecting understanding and compassion. "Thank you for trying to help me," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to her disappointed thoughts.

"I just want you to be safe," Y/n confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to lose you."

Jonathan's expression softened, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. "I know, Dear. And I promise you, I will never leave you," he vowed, his words infused with sincerity.

A tender kiss sealed their unspoken promise, the warmth of Jonathan's lips against hers a reminder of the care that bound them together.

“I’m going to get you something to eat, you’ve worked really hard. Feel free to use my computer.” As he offered her the use of his computer, Y/n's mind raced with anticipation, her pulse quickening with renewed hope.

Alone in the quiet office, Y/n wasted no time in accessing Jonathan's work files, her fingers moving with purpose as she typed in the name she had been longing to find: 'Waylon Jones.' With each keystroke, her excitement grew, anticipation thrumming in her veins as she delved into the possibilities that lay ahead.

Only one file was shown on the screen. She hadn't anticipated much information, and true to her expectations, the file offered little beyond a photo, a name, and the location of the detainee. Still, it was a small victory to have confirmation that he was indeed housed at Arkham.

As she clicked through the sparse details, Y/n couldn't suppress a wry smile. The file painted a vivid picture of the individual in question: big, aggressive, and extremely resistant to any attempts at examination or treatment from doctors. It seemed he had garnered quite the reputation among the staff, earning him the privilege of a solitary confinement cell, though it sounded more like a shitty underground chamber than a conventional cell.

According to the file, Waylon Jones, also known as Killer Croc, had been transferred from Blackgate Penitentiary after a series of violent incounters with other inmates, that including cannibalism, this prompting his relocation to Arkham's more secure confines. With no mention of guards stationed outside his cell, it seemed they deemed the iron door barrier formidable enough to deter any escape attempts.

As Y/n absorbed the details, a surge of excitement coursed through her veins. The thought of finding a potential ally for Jonathan filled her with anticipation. However, her excitement quickly gave way to a sinking feeling of dread. She realized that Jonathan would never allow her to come into contact with someone as dangerous as Killer Croc. His aggressive reputation and cannibalistic tendencies made him too great a risk.

Glancing at her phone, she saw the message from Jonathan. He said that while getting her food, he was caught up by other doctors and forced along to an unexpected paitent emergency. With her heart racing and adrenaline coursing through her veins, Y/n made a split-second decision. She would take matters into her own hands, consequences be damned. With Jonathan occupied and unavailable for atleast an hour, she saw a narrow window of opportunity opening before her. 

Rummaging through Jonathan's desk drawers, Y/n's fingers fumbled in search of an additional access card of his. She knew her visitor pass would only grant her limited access, and if she were to proceed with her impromptu plan, she needed all the clearance she could get.

With an access card in hand and her resolve steeled, Y/n braced herself for what lay ahead. Was this very last minute and stupid? Absolutely! Could she possibly die? More than likely. Did she wish she could take a shot of vodka first? 100%. Yet, despite the looming dangers and uncertainties, she couldn't suppress a faint flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the office, Y/n's pulse quickened with every beat. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, casting a wary glance down the dimly lit hallway. The eerie silence that enveloped the corridor sent a shiver down her spine. The absence of security measures was glaringly evident, something that should have brought her little comfort instead made her feel at ease.

Despite her guilt for disregarding Jonathan's instructions, Y/n clung to the hope that her disobedience would prove to be useful. Perhaps she could return before he even realized she was gone, and if everything goes well, she might present Jonathan with a potential ally.

Y/n's gaze flitted nervously from side to side, taking in every detail of her surroundings. The walls were lined with faded posters and peeling paint, remnants of attempts to brighten the otherwise gloomy corridors. A shiver ran down her spine as she passed by the occasional door, worried someone was going to pop out at any minute.

As she reached the map mounted on the wall, she hesitated for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as she aimed her phone to capture the image. The soft glow of her screen illuminated the map, revealing a maze of corridors and rooms, each labeled discreetly.

With the photo safely stored on her phone, Y/n continued her journey towards the elevator. The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed in her ears. Every step brought her closer to the elevator, which only brought the feeling of unease.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, Y/n stepped inside, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the unknown as she scanned Jonathan’s access card and pressed the button for the basement floor. The elevator lurched into motion, descending into the depths of Arkham Asylum.

She sighed in relief as the card granted her access, though the ease with which she snuck around Arkham only served to boost her nerves. The dimly lit hallway stretched before her, its atmosphere adding to her sense of unease. 

Y/n found herself appalled by the lack of security measures as she descended to the bottom floor. Pulling out her phone to consult the map, she cursed as the map to photographed only covered floors 3 and 4, prompting a groan of frustration. Nevertheless, she pressed on, determined to navigate the unfamiliar territory.

Fortunately, another map awaited her, and she quickly snapped a photo before studying it intently. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered above as she traced the route to Killer Croc's cell, designated as WC286. She couldn't help but scoff at the irony of housing such a dangerous inmate in what appeared to be the dank confines of the sewers.

"How humane," Y/n muttered sarcastically as she set off toward her destination.

Each step echoed against the concrete walls, accompanied by the ominous sounds of dripping pipes that seemed to heighten her unease.

Arriving at what she assumed to be the designated food storage area for Croc, Y/n hesitated momentarily before opening the refrigerator. The sight that greeted her was disgusting. An array of raw, whole chickens arranged haphazardly on the shelves. The pungent odor of blood and decay wafted from within, assaulting her senses and causing her to gag.

Despite her disgust, Y/n selected a chicken, her fingers recoiling slightly from its slimy surface. With a steadying breath, she closed the fridge and turned her attention to the door leading to Croc's cell. The anticipation coiled in her stomach. This was it. 

As she approached the heavy door, Y/n's pulse quickened, her hand trembling slightly as she swiped Jonathan's access card. The electronic beep of the scanner reverberated in the corridor, amplifying her anxiety. With bated breath, she watched as the indicator light flashed green, signaling her entry.

With a hesitant motion, Y/n released the lock mechanism, the metallic click resonating in the silence. Gripping the door handle tightly, she pushed it open, the heavy metal creaking ominously against its hinges. As the threshold of Croc's cell loomed before her, Y/n readied herself for the encounter, bracing for whatever lay beyond.

As Y/n stepped across the threshold, a chill swept over her, sending shivers down her spine. The dim, flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced along the damp walls of the sewer. The air was thick with the musty scent of decay, mingling with the metallic tang of moisture and the faint hint of something primal and animalistic.

With cautious steps, Y/n descended into the depths of the sewer, her footsteps echoing against the cold, wet floor. The narrow path stretched out before her, twisting and turning into darkness. 

"Hello?" Y/n's voice bounced off the walls. "I, uh... I brought some chicken."

A sudden ripple broke the silence, disturbing the murky water nearby. Y/n's heart leaped into her throat as she spun around, her eyes widening in alarm. Emerging from the depths was a figure, its form obscured by the murky waters. As it drew closer, the dim light revealed its scaly, green skin, and its piercing yellow eyes glowed with an eerie intensity.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she instinctively raised the chicken in a feeble attempt at a peace offering. "I'm not a doctor!" she blurted out, her voice trembling with fear.

The echoes of Y/n's words lingered in the cavernous space as she stood, her senses heightened, acutely aware of the looming figure before her. Waylon's form, still submerged, seemed to meld with the darkness. Each movement sent ripples across the murky water below.

“You lost, girl?” Waylon's gravelly voice cut through the silence. Y/n felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She swallowed nervously, the sound reverberating in the stillness of the sewer.

"No," Y/n responded, her voice barely above a whisper, the word hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

The faint glint of curiosity flickered in Waylon's yellow eyes as he regarded her with suspicion. His presence exuded an aura of primal strength, sending a shiver down Y/n's spine.

As she struggled to find her words, Y/n pressed herself against the cold, damp wall, seeking some semblance of security in the darkness that enveloped them. “Then what are you doing here?” She could feel the weight of Waylon's gaze, an unspoken challenge in his penetrating stare.

Summoning her courage, Y/n introduced herself, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “My name is Y/n.”

“So?” Waylon's response was a low, guttural growl, his demeanor unyielding as he judged her.

Y/n's heart raced as she struggled to find a reason for her presence in this desolate place. “I would like to be acquaintances, or something,” The fear of his impending judgment hung heavy in the air, suffocating her attempts at explanation.

“Why?” He asked, moving closer to her through the water.

With a shaky breath, Y/n said “I would like your help,” her words faltering in the face of Waylon's imposing figure. The tension between them was palpable, a silent exchange of power and vulnerability.

“And what’s stopping me from eating you?” Waylon's question echoed in the darkness, a stark reminder of the risk of her situation.

“Nothing… but if you’re hungry, you can have chicken,” Y/n's pulse quickened as she extended the offering of chicken.

His eyes shifted between her and the chicken. Suddenly, Waylon lunged up, out of the water. Y/n screamed, her senses overwhelmed by the rush of water and the frightening movement of the creature before her.

As the echoes of her startled scream faded into the darkness, Y/n found herself trembling, her pulse racing with adrenaline. The encounter had left her shaken, yet she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the fear. She was okay. 

Waylon tore into the chicken with primal ferocity, his sharp teeth gnashing at the bones with a savage hunger. Y/n watched in a mixture of fascination and disgust, her hand recoiling as she realized it had just held the now-devoured meal.

As Waylon remained preoccupied with his feast, Y/n took the moment to attempt to clean her hand. With a grimace of disgust, she crouched down and swished her hand into the murky water, a futile attempt to cleanse away the filth.

Her efforts were met with Waylon's gruff observation, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “That water ain’t clean, girl.” Y/n's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she withdrew her hand.

Desperate to shift the focus away from her awkward blunder, Y/n attempted to strike up a conversation, her voice laced with forced casualness. “So uhh… you like it down here?” She glanced around the dimly lit surroundings, the oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily on her.

“Would you?” Waylon's response was blunt, his words carrying the weight of bitter resignation. Y/n couldn't help but empathize with the sense of isolation and despair that permeated the damp confines of the sewer.

“Uh.. no, no I would not..” The realization of the stark contrast between her privileged existence and Waylon's grim reality struck a chord within her, filling her with a profound sense of gratitude for the life she took for granted above ground.

Finishing the chicken, Waylon regarded her with skepticism, his imposing figure still partially submerged in the murky water. His demeanor had softened slightly, no longer radiating the same intimidating presence as before.

"Why you need my help?" His asked, curiously.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words. "Have you heard of Dr. Crane?" she asked, her tone lowered to a hushed whisper.

“What about him?” Waylon asked, sounding tense. 

“You know his… alter ego?” Y/n said, discreetly. 

"The Crow Boy," he muttered, his words filled with an air of familiarity.

Y/n nodded in acknowledgment. "He's facing some... problems with a certain… bird and… coin," she continued cryptically, her eyes darting around the surroundings for any signs of eavesdroppers.

"And what does that have to do with me?" Waylon's piercing gaze fixed on Y/n.

"I was wondering if you could help him… be an ally," Y/n replied.

Waylon remained silent for a moment, contemplating her proposal. "I ain't much help in here," he scoffed.

A flicker of determination sparked in Y/n's eyes as she leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can help you," she said, her words filled with hope.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she felt the vibration in her pocket. With a gasp, she grabbed her phone from her pocket, her stomach twisting with apprehension. It was Jonathan.

She answered with a shaky voice, "Hello?"

The stern tone of Jonathan's voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Where are you?" he demanded, his concern hidden behind his blank anger.

"Um, sorry, I'm on my way back," Y/n replied hastily, not giving Jonathan a chance to respond before hanging up.

Waylon observed her with a knowing expression, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I take it you didn't tell him of your little visit down here?" he remarked dryly.

"I have to go," Y/n said hurriedly, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

With a quick glance back at Waylon, Y/n offered a brief wave. "I'll see you later," she called out before darting off towards the security door.

Y/n's heart raced as she completed the security measures at the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she ensured everything appeared undisturbed. Y/n paused for a moment, with a cautious glance over her shoulder, she surveyed the corridor behind her, her senses on high alert. Satisfied that all seemed quiet and undisturbed, she turned back around to continue on her way.

But as she turned, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat. Standing right in front of her was Jonathan. The unexpected sight sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she froze in place, her pulse quickening with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"Uh… hey, Jonathan..." Y/n's voice faltered, a nervous edge creeping into her tone.

Jonathan's response was a stern silence, his features rigid with barely contained anger.

"Jonathan?" Y/n's voice wavered as she tried to meet his gaze, but he remained stoically silent, his jaw set in a tight line.

Without a word, he grabbed her wrist in a firm grip, his fingers closing around her skin with a vice-like grip. Y/n let out a small gasp of surprise, her pulse quickening at the thightness of his grip.

With a tug, Jonathan began to drag her towards the elevator, his grip unyielding as he pulled her into the elevator. Y/n stumbled slightly, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to keep pace with his stride. Each step feeling heavier than the last as the weight of Jonathan's anger bore down upon her.

As they reached the elevator, Jonathan scanned his ID. The soft hum of the elevator filled the tense silence between them as they waited, the air thick with unspoken tension.

When the doors slid open, Jonathan released her wrist, but his gaze remained fixed upon her with an intensity that made her skin prickle with unease. Without a word, he gestured for her to exit the elevator, his silent command clear.

With a trembling breath, Y/n stepped out, the weight of Jonathan's silent anger heavy upon her shoulders. 

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest with nervousness. With each step closer to Jonathan's office, her stomach twisted into tighter knots of anxiety, a sense of unease settling over her like a heavy fog.

Upon reaching the door, Y/n hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle as she braced herself for what would lay ahead. Jonathan's presence behind her felt suffocating, his towering figure casting a shadow over her as he stood just a breath away.

With a sharp click, Jonathan unlocked the door. Y/n entered the office as Jonathan followed close behind her. The door closed with a resounding thud, sealing them both in a confined space.

Turning to face Jonathan, Y/n felt a knot tighten in her stomach, her fingers trembling with nerves. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Jonathan's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and unforgiving.

"Jonathan, I—" Y/n began, but her words were drowned out by the force of his anger, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small office.

"What were you thinking?" Jonathan's voice was filled with anger, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage.

"You kn—" Y/n attempted to explain herself, but Jonathan's outburst was relentless.

"Do you know how dangerous that was, Y/n?!" Jonathan's words came out in a flood of frustration, his tone harsh.

"Yes, but I—" Y/n tried to protest, but Jonathan's tirade showed no signs of stopping, his anger boiling over.

"I told you to stay here, but you didn't listen to me! Not only that, but you took my access card, and now there's probably footage of you going into Croc's cell! I'm going to have to go through the files and delete whatever footage there is of you!" Jonathan walked back and forth, trying to get a hold of his frustration.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan. I know I've probably caused so much trouble for you," Y/n began. She glanced down at the access card in her hand, a silent acknowledgment of her mistake.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed as he regarded her, his brow furrowed with frustration. "You could have died, Y/n. What were you thinking!" His voice boomed in the office, echoing off the walls with a force that made Y/n flinch.

Feeling the weight of Jonathan's disappointment, Y/n took a step forward, her heart racing. "I was thinking about you! I'm sorry, I should have told you, but look, I'm okay!" Her voice wavered slightly, her eyes pleading for him to understand.

Jonathan's laughter cut through the tension, but there was no humor in it, only a bitter edge that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. "You are never leaving the warehouse," he laughed, his eyes filled with darkness.

Y/n's shoulders sagged with the weight of his words, but she refused to back down. "Jonathan, please! Waylon is willing to help!" Her voice rose in urgency.

Jonathan's stomped around the room, his anger radiating off of him. Y/n stood rooted to the spot, her pulse racing as she watched him gather his belongings. The click of his briefcase snapping shut echoed like a final verdict.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jonathan's hand closed around Y/n's wrist, his grip tight and unyielding. She winced at the pressure, feeling the weight of his anger bearing down on her.

"Jonathan, please..." Y/n's voice wavered.

But Jonathan's response cut her off. "Stop talking," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n fell silent, her heart sinking with the weight of his disappointment.

The hallway seemed to stretch on endlessly as Jonathan marched forward with determined strides. Y/n hurried to keep up, her steps clumsy as she struggled to match his pace. Her heart hammered in her chest, the weight of regret and guilt bearing down on her with each passing moment. Jonathan's shoulders were squared and jaw set in a firm line.

Tears threatened to spill from Y/n's eyes as Jonathan's grip on her wrist tightened, a silent, but bruising reminder of his anger. She swallowed hard, wishing she could turn back time and undo her reckless actions.

As they reached the exit, the cool air outside offered little relief from the stifling tension between them. Y/n cast a glance back at the now-empty hallway, praying no one saw the two of them. He practically forced Y/n into the passenger seat of his car, the force of his actions leaving her shaken.

Behind the wheel, Jonathan's jaw was set, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as he drove with single-minded focus. The tension in the car was tight, a silent testament to the breach of trust between them.

As they pulled up to the warehouse, Jonathan slammed the car door shut with a resounding thud. Y/n hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for the door handle. She had no time before Jonathan pulled open her door and yanked her out.

Wordlessly, Jonathan unlocked the warehouse door and ushered Y/n inside. The atmosphere inside was heavy with tension, each step echoing with the weight of their strained relationship.

Y/n trailed behind Jonathan as he moved through the warehouse, each click of the lock sending a shiver down her spine. His movements were methodical, reminiscent of the way he had locked her in when he first brought her here. The sound of the locks sliding into place echoed in the silence, sealing off any chance of escape. Y/n's heart sank as she watched Jonathan lock the warehouse door. The sound echoed in the empty space, filling her with a sense of dread. She couldn't bear the thought of being trapped again. Jonathan's jaw was set in a rigid line, his eyes cold and distant as he shut her out, both physically and emotionally.

Tears welled in Y/n's eyes as she struggled to find the right words to explain herself. "Jonathan, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to help."

But Jonathan remained silent, his back turned to her as he continued his task. The sound of locks clicking shut reverberated through the warehouse, each one sealing her fate a little more tightly.

Jonathan's expression softened slightly as he turned to face Y/n, his gaze piercing through her tear-filled eyes. "Y/n, I need you to understand the gravity of what you've done," he began, his voice heavy with disappointment. "You put yourself in danger, disregarding every warning I've given you. Do you realize how reckless that was?"

Y/n nodded weakly, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry, Jonathan," she managed to choke out between sobs.

Jonathan's features softened further as he knelt down in front of her, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. "I know you didn't, but that doesn't change the fact that your actions could have had serious consequences," he said softly. "I need you to promise me that you'll never do something like this again."

Y/n nodded, her tears continuing to flow unabated. "I promise, Jonathan. I'll never do anything like this again," she vowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan pulled her into a comforting embrace, holding her close as they both sought solace in each other's presence. Despite the turmoil of the moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

As Jonathan held her close, Y/n couldn't help but feel like a child, being told off by an adult. She buried her face in his chest, seeking comfort in his embrace while silently chastising herself for her impulsive actions. 

Y/n slowly collected herself, she realized Jonathan's actions were likely meant to be more of a warning to scare her than an actual punishment. As Jonathan pulled away and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Go clean yourself up," Jonathan said gently. "I need to call Edward."

With a nod, Y/n rose from her place on the floor. She headed off to the shower. Despite feeling shaken by Jonathan's reaction, she couldn't deny the underlying sense of relief that washed over her. Deep down, she knew that his protectiveness stemmed from a place of genuine concern and affection. While his actions had scared her, she understood that they were necessary, a stark reminder of the dangers she had exposed herself to.

As she processed it all, a wave of gratitude washed over her, mingling with a profound sense of dependence on Jonathan. Despite being the cause of her distress, he was also the only one who could soothe her troubled mind. In his arms, she found solace and security, a comforting refuge from the frightening world.

-

Y/n's shower was quick. Stepping out into the dimly lit expanse of the warehouse which she called home, she felt the weight of Jonathan's gaze before she even saw him. He was immersed in his work at the workbench, the soft glow of the computer screen casting shadows across his features.

Intrigued, Y/n approached him, her curiosity piqued by the images flickering across the monitor. As she peered over his shoulder, she caught sight of the video footage from Arkham playing on the screen, her heart skipping a beat at the sight.

"Is this what you called Edward for?" Y/n asked.

Jonathan glanced up, his gaze meeting hers through the lenses of his glasses. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Without a word, he gestured for her to join him, his silent invitation drawing her closer. Tentatively, she settled onto his lap, nestling into his embrace. She felt a sense of familiarity and warmth wash over her, easing the tension that had knotted her muscles.

Together, they watched the footage unfold, the scenes playing out before them like a silent movie. She found herself leaning into him, seeking solace in his touch and the safety of his embrace. His touch was gentle against her skin, his presence a reassuring anchor in the storm of her thoughts.

"I apologize for how I treated you earlier," Jonathan's words were soft against her cheek, his breath warm against her skin.

Y/n offered a faint smile, a silent acknowledgment of his apology while her heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and relief. “It’s okay,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Jonathan leaned his head against her shoulder, his warmth enveloping her like a protective shield against the world. “I shouldn’t be encouraging this, but it looks like you did well… Waylon didn’t seem to mind you,” he observed.

Resting her head against Jonathan's shoulder, she allowed herself a moment of relief, her gaze fixed on the screen before them.  Y/n couldn't help but smile at his words, a sense of accomplishment swelling within her chest.

But her joy was short-lived as Jonathan's expression turned somber, his gaze fixed on the screen as he changed the video. “But I need you to understand the gravity of your actions.”

The images flickered and danced across the surface, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of Gotham. As the new footage played, revealing the unsettling scene of Waylon's sudden aggression towards a doctor, Y/n's breath caught in her throat. The brutality of the scene sent a shiver down her spine, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

“You understand why I was worried now?” Jonathan's voice was soft, yet held authority.

Y/n nodded slowly, her expression reflecting the shock and concern that still lingered within her. “How do we know he won’t do that to you?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly with uncertainty.

“We don’t,” Jonathan admitted. “But I’m going to have to find out how to deal with it, not you.”

A flicker of determination flashed across Y/n's features. “I could do it, you saw how he treated me,” she offered.

Jonathan sighed. “Even with my consent, Arkham would never allow it and I can’t be messing around with the cameras all the time, someone’s going to notice,” he explained with a sigh. “I'll just have to see if I can take him as a patient and work from there.”

In the quiet aftermath of their conversation, Y/n couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She just hoped Jonathan would be safe. 

-

Y/n's heart raced with excitement as she slipped out into the night, her footsteps echoing softly in the deserted streets. She knew she probably shouldn't have gone out alone, especially at this hour, but the thought of surprising Jonathan with freshly baked cookies was too enticing to resist. 

With the fear gas canister tucked securely in her pocket, Y/n felt a newfound sense of confidence coursing through her veins. She couldn't help but feel a thrill at the thought of being out on her own, even if just for a short while. 

As she made her way towards the supermarket, the cool night air brushed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Despite the darkness looming around her, Y/n couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. The walk was only 10 minutes at most and she felt safe with the fear gas given to her by Jonathan.

Sure, there was always the lingering concern of encountering Batman, but Y/n pushed that thought to the back of her mind. After all, she reasoned, the chances of an innocent girl like her crossing paths with the caped crusader twice in in a life time were practically zero.

Picking up groceries from the supermarket was easy enough, and with her bags in hand, Y/n began her journey back home. As she neared the warehouses, however, a sense of unease crept over her like a shadow.

"Stupid nerves," she muttered under her breath, cursing herself for feeling frightened.

Every rustle in the darkness made her heart skip a beat, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger. "Come on, Y/n. It's not like anyone's actually here," she reassured herself, though the words did little to quell her rising anxiety.

But then, just as she was about to dismiss her fears, a voice sliced through the silence from the shadows. “I wouldn’t count on that.” 

Y/n's scream echoed in the night as Batman emerged before her, his imposing figure casting a long shadow in the dim light.

"Are you kidding me?" Y/n spat out, frustrated. This wasn't her first encounter with the Dark Knight, and this time, she wasn't about to cower in fear as there was nothing to fear. 

"Did I startle you?" Batman's question rang hollow in the tense air, almost sarcastically.

"Nah, I just screamed at the fucking moon," Y/n retorted, clearly irritated. All she wanted was to return home and bake her cookies.

Ignoring Batman's presence, Y/n turned on her heel and began to walk away, only for him to step out in front of her. Her heart leaped into her throat, what does he want with her?

"Do you mind?" Y/n asked, attempting to maintain her composure.

"There was footage of you at Arkham," Batman stated bluntly.

Feeling like she was under interrogation, Y/n tried to keep her cool. "How do you know who I am?" she countered.

"You went missing a couple of months ago, hard not to know you," Batman replied evenly.

"I was never missing," Y/n refuted.

"Why were you at Arkham?" Batman pressed on.

"I'm a psychology student at Gotham University. My professor takes me there for learning purposes," Y/n explained, her voice steady despite the tension.

"You're rather close to this Professor," Batman observed.

"He's a friend. I'm the only student that ever attends the office hours, so he knows me well," Y/n replied, the words carrying a hint of defensiveness. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"Some of the footage at Arkham was altered, footage of you, I assume," Batman's words sent a chill down her spine. 

“Cool…and?” Y/n pretended not to care, trying to hide her nerves, but she was running out of excuses.

“I managed to uncover that footage. What were you doing in the basement?” Batman's tone was firm, demanding answers.

“I was curious,” Y/n replied vaguely, hoping to deflect his questions.

“Curious of Killer Croc?” Batman pressed, his voice laced with suspicion.

“Naturally,” Y/n answered, keeping her responses brief.

“Are you aware of how dangerous a man like Killer Croc is?” Batman's question was stern.

“Yeah, my professor drilled that message into me afterwards, but he attacks doctors, not visitors, so I thought I’d be safe, and clearly, I was.” Y/n explained, attempting to rationalize her actions to Batman.

“Why did you look for Killer Croc?” Batman's interrogation continued.

“I told you, curiosity,” Y/n repeated, her tone firm despite the rising tension.

"No one does something as dangerous as that out of curiosity," Batman's words hung heavy in the air.

Y/n's chest tightened with a mixture of frustration and anger. His statement struck a nerve. 

"Well, maybe that's the problem with you," she countered sharply, her voice laced with anger. "You only see these people as enemies and dangerous. No wonder Waylon attacks the doctors, it's people like you that drill the message that Waylon’s a monster into people's heads."

With determination flashing in her eyes, Y/n pushed past Batman, her steps purposeful as she continued walking. But even in her departure, a lingering sense of conviction halted her stride. She pivoted on her heel, facing Batman once more.

"He’s no monster," she said, her voice ringing out in the stillness of the night. "He’s just like any other patient at Arkham. Everyone has a bad day now and then."

With her chin held high and her words echoing in the alley, Y/n turned away from Batman, striding off into the shadows with an air of defiance and self-assurance.

As Y/n finally arrived home, the weight of the encounter with Batman settled heavily upon her shoulders. The realization of what had transpired washed over her like a cold wave, sending a shiver down her spine. 

"Great, now Batman's probably going to be keeping an eye on me," she muttered to herself, a knot of worry forming in her chest.

But she quickly pushed aside her worry, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. With a determined sigh, she managed to bury her concerns for the time being and instead try to distract herself.

"Let's just make those cookies for Jonathan," she said aloud, mustering a faint smile in an attempt to reassure herself.

Y/n wondered whether to disclose her encounter with Batman to Jonathan. The idea of revealing such a tense exchange left her feeling hesitant, unsure of how he would react. However, she knew one thing for certain. She couldn't afford to let her guard down. Not anymore.

-

A/N: Holy fuck, am I glad to post part five to this fic, sorry it took so long 💚

A bit boring, this part, but I wanted to post this part and I had a loT planed for this part, but decided it would not only take too long but it would be so long for one chapter, so I broke it up into two parts.

I hope you like where this fic is headed and are excited for the next part (Whenever that might be 💀)

I wrote Batman in here with the Animated Series!Batman in mind, so if he doesn't seem like Nolan!Batman, that's why (although, I don't even know if I did it that well). But yeah, I tend to write for different characters from different universes and just hope they play out well :p

I was watching "Love is a Croc" episode (one of my favorite) while writing this, so i kinda had him in mind while writing. Still mad how he betrayed Babydoll light that 😤 but Waylon my baby, so I forgive him.

I have a lot of other requests to get through first and assignments (not month I am on break, so I'll be able to write more often)

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed :)

[dorminchu]

Mahogany Town

Fandom: Pokémon Crystal Ver. (and a very subtle nod to Lost Silver)

Genre: Friendship

Rating: PG

Summary: Silver and Kris hang out. That's it, that's the fic.

a/n: Despite these two being my roman empire in middle school I don't think I've ever posted a fic for them before.

It's also based in part off of a gifted piece of art, drawn by @l3ominor :)

They met by the old storefront in Mahogany Town, now a general store owned by the pokémart. The old guy didn't work there anymore. Drinks imported from Goldenrod, but no pokéballs. Apparently, the guy said, they'd been having trouble getting RageCandy bars as of late. He used to work with a guy who got them imported from Kanto but after the scare with Team Rocket last year, he'd been quiet.

The new owner hadn't bothered to renovate much. While Kris chatted with him about her trainer's license and challenging Blackthorn City's gym, Silver kept an eye out for the old trapdoor beneath the counter. It was too close to the counter to see but he doubted it had been removed entirely.

When Kris paid for the bottled water the man caught his eye and smiled like a politican caught looking for drugs in a shifty alley.

Silver just nodded.

"What was up with that guy?" Kris asked as they walked out.

"This store used to be a front for Team Rocket."

"Oh, I heard about that! It was on the radio."

DJ Mary wasn't going to tell her about Lance's dragonite slamming a grunt through the faux floorboards and how he'd been dumped by the Radio Tower in Goldenrod. Or the Champ-to-be wreaking havoc with a typhlosion against inexperienced grunts with ratatta and koffing. The security system was only as effective as its defenses.

His dad didn't believe in assigning the grunts pokémon that could handle a fight. The executives were the strongarms, and they still had guns and whips if negotiations didn't pan out.

"You seem to know a lot about Team Rocket," Kris hedged.

Silver idly palmed the pokéball, the paint chipped and peeling around the button. In the grimy, moldy basement, he'd stood there as Gold shouldered past him, paralyzed with the nauseating realization that he wasn't weak so much as inferior.

"There's not much to talk about. They were a bunch of weak guys. Useless without someone ordering them around."

"How can you say that? They've caused so much trouble!" Kris was just a kid. She didn't have to know every detail.

"So, a bunch of grown ups went around stealing pokémon and hurting people. They still got pushed around by a kid like you," Silver said.

Kris stared at him like she'd never considered it that way before. He scoffed and dug around in his pockets for a cigarette.

Kris's expression pinched. "Ew."

"Talking about them pisses me off."

"Why do you hang out with me, anyway?" Silver pretended not to hear. "You don't even like talking to me and you still won't train me."

Silver lit up. "You have seven badges."

"Don't you have any lower level pokémon?"

He scoffed. "Why would I?"

Kris sighed, like he was missing the point of something very simple. "You're supposed to train all kinds of pokémon. Not just six."

Silver took a drag. "These guys have been with me for a while. We get by all right."

Kris was quiet for a while, allowing Silver time to enjoy the cigarette. She'd stopped asking him for his number a while ago, but she'd still meet up happily just for the sake of it. She was a different kind of annoying than Gold but he'd gotten used to tolerating that kind of company. Being without it wasn't the same.

"What if I got all eight badges?"

Silver crushed the butt under his boot. "What if you did."

"Then I could take on the league, like your friend." She elbowed him in the side, rough, but not abrasive. "Maybe I'd be strong enough to take you on."

Silver scoffed. "Whatever. I'll be at Mt. Moon."

Kris beamed in a way he'd seen once before, in the mouth of the old caverns in Kanto. Gold's face was thinner than the fresh trainer from New Bark, his clothes tattered and faded, but he still clapped Silver on the back and invited him to hang out. Typhlosion and feralgatr play-fought out on the grassy clearing where clefairy would gather under a full moon, and the two of them talked strategies for the Battle Tower. That was months ago. Gold still hadn't called.

"Maybe you can introduce me to your friend?"

Silver turned around. "He's not my friend."

"Yeah, I know, you always say that. He sounds awesome."

"He's not going to date you."

Kris laughed. "You're silly."

She and Gold were some of the least flappable people he'd ever met. It was more of a mystery how they weren't related.

"Whatever," he muttered. "You're both from New Bark, right?"

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Yeah! I don't think he's lived there for a while, though." She squinted. "Hey, you never told me where you live."

Silver grunted. He didn't really feel like talking about it. "Doesn't matter."

"You know where I live."

"I thought your house was someone else's."

"Yeah," Kris said, "my mom's been worried ever since you dropped in uninvited. You could have just asked."

Silver smirked. "Wouldn't she get the wrong idea?"

Kris just stared at him. "You're weird."

"You're annoying."

"Ha, ha. Same time next week?"

"Whatever."

She grinned. "Great, I'll be able to beat you by then!"

Kris unfolded her bike from her pack, heading off towards the Lake of Rage.

Silver released his crobat and flew in no particular direction in mind, ending up in Ecruteak City. Morty had approached him about starting a Gym of his own, if he wasn't interested in attempting the Indigo League. Silver wasn't sure. But he hadn't said no either.

[amaliabalash]

Legally Blonde at the Oregon Cabaret Theatre

Just got back from seeing the Cabaret's Legally Blonde and so naturally I have to make a text post with every thought and feeling. Bullet pointed stream of consciousness ahead! And I'll be seeing this uh like six more times so I will likely add on to mention other little things I notice and like over time. 😂

This Bruiser was a miniature poodle and very cute.

When Margot is talking to Bruiser, she just held his head and looked into his eyes like she was doing a mind meld and I loved that.

Also, like seven years ago or something, the actress playing Margot played Elle in a youth production of LB that I saw, and it was fun to see her back in the show. She understudies Elle and I hope she goes on one of the times I've there, it'd be a fun full circle thing.

During Blood in the Water, when the students start echoing the phrase, Emmett started and like tried to cue them to do the same? I don't know how to word it lol but it worked for me.

When Elle asks, "who assigns reading on the first day of class?" Emmett across the room starts like reaching out towards her and mouthing "no no no" before grimacing.

Enid throws a beer on Vivienne at the party, which I haven't seen before and was fun as Vivienne runs off stage going "I'm all sticky!"

OG IRELAND LYRICS FTW

During the Christmas part of Chip, Emmett comes in with a reindeer horn headband and I just thought that was very cute.

This Emmett did a lot of like, voices when saying certain lines and it worked for me? I know the actor from many local productions and always enjoy him but he's usually playing character roles, and I enjoyed seeing little bits of that goofiness brought into Emmett.

Major height difference between Elle and Emmett. Most of the time I'm like "yeah height differences are fine" but it made it so if they hugged she's like buried in this chest and yes good I approve.

At the end of Chip right after Elle has her classroom success, Elle and Emmett like lock eyes and walk towards each other and it just felt like a magnetic pull thing until Callahan walks between them, I dug it.

And then when Paulette goes to get Rufus (she goes offstage, because they did not have a dog to play Rufus), again, Elle and Emmett just fucking gaze at each other for a moment before she goes into "is this law?" and I am so here for it.

Holy SHIT Whipped Into Shape. Always impressive to see people hold their own with singing while jump roping, but the first freeze? Forgive the random cheerleader picture for illustration, but the actress playing Brooke held this pose (without the other arm out) for the entire pause on "meet our brand new client Brooke..." through until the hit play again. I've never seen people burst into applause mid-Whipped, but like, you could feel the shock and awe just ripple through the room the longer she held it.

Take It Like a Man: okay first of all they actually put him in a good suit thank the lord, so often it's like "and he looks the same, just in black" but this was a well fitted suit so, A+ costuming, you actually did the job. And Emmett did a clear sort of lean in before Elle hugs him, which isn't anything new, but always great in my book. And when she hugs him, she just buries her face in his chest, I love it.

When Callahan makes the move on Elle, and audience member loudly hissed. 😂

Sadly. There was no Door. However, they DID make it clear that "what about love?" was an aside and not directly to Elle. There was a line change, I don't remember exactly what, so it's not "if you can hear" but something else. But when he's singing about wanting her to stay TO her, she's carrying a bag she's packed and they both reach for the handles and just kind of clasp hands for a moment. ALSO she packs the 2-in-1 shampoo after like hesitating for a moment over it, and that got me right in the heart. Well done.

During the reprise when Elle walks into the supply closet, Vivienne turned to Enid and said "she still hates me, doesn't she?" or something like that and god any little extra bit of Vivienne insight we get I looooove.

After Elle proposes and puts the ring on Emmett's finger, she jumps into his arms and just WRAPS her legs around him, full on star fish cling, I love it. No real end kiss though, which seemed weird? Like they were about to and then went into more singing. I'm not as much bothered by it as confused by the choice but oh well.

Emmett comes out in a hot pink suit for bows.

Okay that's all I got for now. I fucking love Legally Blonde.

[sincerely-sofie]

Check-in for 01/28/24

It's been a while since I did one of these. Time to remedy that!

I've been doing well in my assignments, but due to some registration issues at the start of the semester I was unable to sign up for any web development or programming classes :< It's nice to take a break, but I'm really worried about getting stagnant in those skills, and maybe even losing what I've learned over time.

This is where a couple of new projects come in: A blorbo database and a tool for drawing pokemon from memory. These things are going to keep me avoid stagnancy and help me develop my web dev and Python programming skills, and I'm real excited to talk about them.

First up, let's talk about that tool for drawing pokemon from memory. I love drawing pokemon from memory, but it's a bit of a struggle to find tools online that work well for a solo experience when you're doing this challenge alone. So I made a program in PyGame to solve this problem, and I've actually already completed it! It was a great learning experience when it came to getting a taste of APIs, and PokeAPI really helped me do all the heavy lifting with it. I also ended up using ChatGPT to help me understand how to phrase my questions and the things I needed to research. This is the end result:

If you click "Get Random Pokemon", the program will provide a pokemon's name. The point of it is to draw the pokemon as best as you remember it, and then click "Show Pokemon Image" to see how you did. You will then have the option to get a new random pokemon, which clears the image from the window.

There's a lot of stuff I don't understand about how the program works--- APIs evade my understanding, and Tkinter is a dark art beyond my comprehension. But I was able to make a program that solved a genuine problem for me for the first time, and that's super exciting to me!

Now, for web development--- long story short, I'm making a website dedicated to cataloguing my OCs that's very much inspired by tumblr user @snekkerdoodles's personal site on neocities, which I regularly stare at in an effort to motivate myself to make cool things like it (everyone reading this should check his page out IMMEDIATELY and tell him how cool it is). Here's the screenshots of the WIP I'm chipping away at right now:

I don't have much to say about it, as the interesting stuff will really be the content of the pages, and I still have yet to finish the template page I'll be filling with my OCs' information. However, I can say that I'm very upset with the lack of proper teaching that took place in the first (and currently only) college web dev class I've taken. I spent an entire semester doing my own research to learn everything they were supposed to be teaching us. I'm still very peeved about that.

To summarize this very rambling post I'm too sleepy to edit properly, I'm making a digital blorbo encyclopedia, and I finished making a little desktop app thingy, which means I need to summon a new programming project. I'm tempted to make it a video game... maybe I should turn back to that visual novel idea I had ages ago and boot up RenPy!

[obscuremechala]

aight so im actively chipping at overhauling my whole story for TRaToR and being a bit more loose with the whole thing. this is a bit of a snippet of an interaction between two of the major characters, Enceladus and Virion.

There's a lot of things that they talk about that aren't explained bc im building off of knowledge that's just in my brain right now. also nothing is final and canon is a sandcastle that's being destroyed by the waves. i don't know man. i don't know how to explain stuff yet. i'll get there. (planning a post about the overhaul soon kinda just want this to be out there)

this is riffed off of an interaction ive had in mind for a while but im revamping it (no one knows what im talking about bc i haven't talked about anything anywhere).

enjoy (writing under the cut) vvvvv

Virion’s shoulders sagged as he examined Celi’s tablet. The biomech’s obnoxiously cocky eyebrows couldn’t be mistaken for anyone other than the bot who’d led the Armada’s–no, Unilacht’s now–assassin right to him. Meo, he introduced himself as? “Him?” he questioned.

Celi leaned back in her seat and tapped her fingers together. “Yeah, him. We worked together back on Melien for a bit, back in the rebellion days. Back when things were simpler…”

“You worked with him?” Virion tapped the screen, pointing out the guy’s absurd eyebrows.

Celi nodded. “Yeah. He’s quite the chatterbox, but I like listening.”

Oh. They were friends. Virion examined the photo, brow creasing under his helm. “You remember the other day, when Spectral finally tracked me down and chased me out of a contract?”

She gave him the barest of nods. “I remember.”

“He showed up and had a chat just a few hours just before she approached me.”

Enceladus raised her visor and looked at the photo. She processed the intel for a millisecond. “He’s under contract by the Unilacht, correct? Reaching him will be harder.”

Virion draped an arm over the table while supporting his head with his other hand, all to scrutinize the biomech’s large optics. “You’re absolutely certain about him, specifically?”

“Meo’s in communications tech, which gives him access to a lot of systems. With his maintenance certification, he can get into pretty much any system he wants, up to a certain clearance.” She adjusted her position with her cane, leaning on it more.

“Is that his current contract? Dhoxus would know about his spying habit, right? Maybe the Unilacht reassigned him. Surely he wouldn’t have accidentally led Spectral right to me.” Though, better she met him than Enceladus; only one of them would have survived that encounter at the warehouse.

Celi tapped a finger against her cane’s handle. “Good point. Dhoxus probably would have planned a reassignment. The only reason the Armada didn’t assign him to the Comms Department is because of his atrocious processing of written material. There’s a name for it, but he didn’t remember it. Would the Unilacht put up with that or rather stick him with his beloved radios?” Her optics gazed upwards as she considered this.

Virion squinted at the bigger bot, leaning against the table. By Melasi, she was still gonna go for it. She had that much faith in that slippery little biomech? “I never took you for an optimist, to be transparent,” he remarked, not expecting much in return. Celi gave him a shrug and took her tablet back.

Dampener mentioned that he and Celi were friends at some point, long before Virion was in the picture. He’d lamented their distancing relationship, though Virion didn’t remember the specifics as he had tuned him out most of the time. With other people, Spectral had a habit of lurking and talking about folks, Dampener especially, behind their backs. And Meo… Meo talked fast. The bugmech tried to flatter him before asking his questions.

All three of them had somewhat similar habits; all of them wanted to tell people what they wanted to hear, and once they were in their good graces, they could do whatever they wanted. The power of charisma and interpersonal analysis, Auchtor called it. Manipulation was a shorter word in comparison.

“Enceladus?”

“Yeah?” She lowered her tablet.

Virion glanced down at his hands, pondering his phrasing. “Do you take constructive criticism? I’ve noticed a pattern.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“I think you have a type.”

[maria-bli]

Loading file...

Name: Show Pony Maria

Date uploaded into first body: 9/26/23

Date uploaded into new body: 12/4/24

Status: re-educated

Affiliation: Better Living Industries

Show Pony was considered non-level threat due to previous experiments turning him into a human using an expendable body. Exterminator Alexander Milligram saw a chance to reintegrate him into the city and took it. Show Pony has been re-uploaded into a new body and his memory chip has been flipped to Maria.

warnings:

Refer to them as Maria. When she is not out on an assignment she should be closely monitored. If you see her leave the city of her own volition do not stop her but make sure she is not gone for long.

Maria can be location tracked, if she has been gone for an extended time let her supervisor know.

Maria has been approved for work in the Zones. She has been allowed her own car.

if you have questions please contact Alex Milligram [ @kerosene-saint ]

hiiiii it's me. Pete, he/him, dew/dews, etc. 17 years old blah blah

If you knew Maria back in 2023 she'll be kinda the same except this time probably around longer and now friends with Alex. because me and thursday wanted them to be evil friends >:3

basic interaction rules:

no romantic stuff, similarly no smut or anything

don't be mean to me, characters can be mean of course just look at Alex

I'm okay with threads! Just contact me, be aware I am chronically ill and may be exhausted or unable to respond some times, but I try my best

no playing god

also might not interact with you if I don't really like the way you write, but that's usually not the case. I'll interact with the repeat characters but I only do threads and major character plots with my ghoul, kobra (alex), and party

and I'm most definitely not going to interact with you if you don't have any mod/mun info, this is due to past events and horrible people within the kjrp that still try to hang around the community. I'd advise the same for any other minors. if you don't have any info on you on your pinned post either don't interact with me or like idfk add some information maybe? won't kill you yknow.

general things abt Show Pony/Maria:

Show Pony's pronouns are she/he/they, you can also use any neopronouns if you wish but I generally don't

Maria's pronouns are she/her only and I think I've made her aroace kinda but not on purpose

Show Pony is alloallo and poly but I'd rather not dabble into romance plots past their partner, Jet Star, rn as I recently-ish found out I'm arospec

Maria is woman, possibly demigirl, Show Pony does not have a set gender really

Whenever Show comes back they will still be chronically ill. I only don't make Maria so for the sake of her work ethic and job with BL/ind.

Show is a human/droid experiment, they started out as a droid and her consciousness was transferred to a human body.

Maria and Show are technically the same person. Maria is more of a construct built by BL/ind to sedate and/or control Show. Maria was not a person before Show Pony but Show Pony was a person before Maria. But they both work off the same chip. Maria basically works as a sort of alter ego.

Maria will only go away now if the current body is killed. In which case her memories will go dormant, Show will return in a new body. Atm Show's memories are dormant. Maria cannot access Show's memories and can only rely on what people tell her about them.

In the past if Maria were to learn about Show Pony she ran the risk of his memories being no longer dormant, causing a constant switch back when either was triggered (similar to how systems work i think?). This is not the case anymore.

Maria is in fact friends with a handful of the killjoys. she likes to keep her "options" open (AKA manipulating the killjoys to think she's good so if something goes wrong in the city she can escape)

on my previous pinned I had show pony's entire lore laid out but I'm gonna simplify it even more:

I joined the rp April 2023, Show Pony had canonically been around before that though. At some point they started dating Jet Star ( @totallyjetstar ) run by Mary. They were very much involved with the rest of the Fab Four as well. They got killed by Alex and was recoded to be Maria. She was sent on a mission almost immediately to kill Jet. It failed and she remembered her life as Show Pony. Show Pony had a kinda existential crisis and started dressing in all pink and dyed their hair pink. Maria would come back occasionally and try to kill people. When Show had isolated himself out in the middle of the desert to try to get help with getting rid of Maria he got kidnapped by BL/ind. His consciousness (minus Maria) was uploaded into a human body that had a chronic illness which disabled him. Then Show Pony was kidnapped by Alex while on a small supply run. They had sustained a concussion and told Alex where they were. After a while of interrogation Show asked Alex to shoot her (because if he did he would be following a killjoy's word and if he didn't he'd have to put up with Show Pony for even longer). and Alex killed him. Now he's been reuploaded into a new body and we're back to Maria babeyyyyyy and Maria is evil friends with Alex wahooooo. and then Alex got blown up and she thought he didn't like her anymore because of her being Show Pony in the past and Alex being the one to kill Show TWICE. they made up kind of.

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

For the WIP ask game: hand

(for this ask game. PLEASE send me more asks guessing words that might appear in my WIPs everyone. <3)

Okay you really hit the jackpot with this one, "hand" shows up in quite a lot of sentences in my wips, and almost all of them are fun even out of context. So here is most instances. Some of them are nsfw. I'll also put some of these below the cut since there's so many. XD

the sloanshir soulmate AU that's really a garashir soulmate AU (but nobody in the fic ever learns that):

He could just barely see a silhouette against the backdrop of stars, a figure seated in his reading chair with hands steepled.

He knocked the phaser out of his hand easily, then grabbed his wrist painfully tightly and forced his arm back in a direction that it didn’t want to go.

And he had to finally push past his fears and tell him how he felt about him. It couldn’t wait any longer, not with the hands of fate tightening around his throat.

unnamed sloanshir wip that I'm realizing is actually ready to post as soon as i think of a title lmfao:

He held up one hand and examined it.

Broken Link garashir:

“I have to be on hand to help Odo, and, besides, I’m not in the habit of sitting out the missions I get assigned to,” he said, slipping into light sarcasm.

Julian draped his arms over Garak’s shoulders, while Garak’s hands dropped to Julian’s waist.

starbase 375 strip poker (apologies that I clearly haven't written most of the smutty parts of this fic yet lmaoooo):

The three of them were all much more interested in sipping at the drinks in their hands, each wishing the next mouthful would bring peace of mind.

A few hands in, Garak collected the pot and then asked what the point of gambling like this even was when the chips were the only thing they might win or lose.

“In my academy days,” Ross said, “when you lost a hand, you’d have to take off an article of clothing.” 

“If we’re going to fight over the details, you changed the rules after you’d already won the hand.”

Even a winning hand could only delay the inevitable.

Sisko steadied him with hands on his lower back.

astral plane sloanshir:

Garak started to protest, but Julian squeezed Garak’s hand and continued.

“Ah, I see.” He kissed Julian’s hand. “I suppose I have no choice but to trust you.”

“You won’t ever truly wake up again, and you’ll only stay alive for as long as Starfleet Intelligence still thinks it’s useful to keep scanning the contents of your mind—but I suppose I could be persuaded to take mercy on you and kill you as soon as we verify your formula for the cure, rather than let them get their hands on you."

“It’s now or never, Sloan,” Julian said, squirting lube into one hand then slathering his cock with it. 

second skin siskarak:

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “That was before you put me in a situation where I had to kill someone in self-defense."

Garak guided Sisko’s hand below his waistband and between his legs.

With a gasp and a gush of fluid, Garak’s tapered cock slid out into Sisko’s hand.

Sisko ran his hands slowly up the back of Garak’s thighs, appreciating the texture of his scales.

"debriefing":

Garak knelt in front of him and then painstakingly slowly ran his hands down along the outside of his legs. Julian shivered and suppressed all of the encouraging and inappropriate little noises he wanted to make. When Garak reached his ankles, he rotated his hands around and started slowly sliding them back up.

[team-gaia-labs]

How is Looker handling you crazy kids?

Not well! Every day I see his will to live stray further and further away from his eyes. I'll let him have a little say on it too :)

Looker:

I was first assigned to Colress. Well, this is a bit inaccurate. I had been stationed to monitor Team Plasma in Unova casually for quite some time. But after the incident regarding Team Magma and Team Aqua in the Seafloor Cavern, I was assigned to do regular check-ins with them during the investigations and court hearings. Then Archie and Maxie started dating which made it... incredibly convenient to do these kind of checkups. One fewer house to stop in at. And then there was an emergency call to Unova which sent everyone who had been keeping eyes there back to finally apprehend Team plasma. We arrested Ghetsis and many of his minions but Colress... escaped. And since I had been one of the ones leading the charge against Team Plasma, I had to lead the charge to find him. Luckily, it turns out he was already with two of the other terrorists I already had on my radar. I suppose these circles are kind of small. Everyone knows each other. Colress is the one I have to monitor the most closely and he... well. I have his entire dossier. I have also had to personally sift through every single post on every single account he's ever made on social media for the last 36 (all) years of his life, including all of his... alternate... accounts... And let me tell you that... that changes you.

You heard it here first, anon! Detective Looker? More like Detective Peeper!

Fun fact he's also a huge fan of my mom and her line of bath products for Pokemon. <3 He also put a chip in my arm. Just so you know. I'm microchipped. Like a dog.

[topfsecret]

Rejoice! Seapunkification Ancestors WIP be upon ye >:)

Left to right, top row to bottom row:

Cronus Vantas (the Signless), Aranea Nitram (the Summoner), Porrim Captor (the Fateseer)

Meulin Pyrope (the Neophyte Orphaner), Kurloz Zahhak (the Salvation), Kankri Ampora (the Acolythe), Damara Peixes (the Timeless)

this is also the first time I posted a drawing of trolls with face plates and pincers, like my headcanons intended <3

My Bloodswap AU tag

.

Design notes (and more!) under the cut!

WELL!!!

I've been dying to draw the Seapunkification ancestors for ages. My partner told me they want to see it, so I thought, "I should do it!!!" So I did, chipping away at it in between my assignments :D

I don't want to deal with thin lines with my disability causing pain and tremors. It's so difficult. So I kept putting it off... now that I don't have to draw with a mouse anymore, this is way faster and easier. Hell yeah lineless art, hell yeah pens! <3

So, this drawing is actually 1 of 2 versions. Why? Because some of these people change over the course of history.

For example, Cronus is drawn in its Signless era right now, instead of the Troubadour era where he was a classic-pop singer and sex symbol. The Troubadour!Signless will be drawn in version 2!

Same with Kankri. We'll see them as the Beguiler/Deceiver/Orphaner eventually, Aranea as the Corsaire, and more.

Now for the actual design notes... Signless!Cronus' design always eludes me.

I used to make him still wear the "50s swinger" clothes to give them a connection to their Troubadour persona/era, but maybe this is further down the line when Cronus is fully into the messiah/chosen one persona.

As for Aranea, I've always seen her as wearing a lederhosen. You can put the sign on the chest, too. The cowboy look is to protect from the sun; after all, she was enslaved by the Orphaner Corps, who doesn't really care if she was exposed to the scorching sunlight. She also couldn't afford glasses at this point.

Porrim Captor's design is straightforward. She was an oracle for the Empress - her favorite, even! - before she escaped and was sold to a cerulean. So she was given a lot of fancy clothes. It gave her a taste for fashion, though as a lowblood, she knew this was probably temporary, and so she learned how to make and modify them. After running away, I figured she'd make her own clothes. The "boob window" is a shoutout to Porrim Maryam's clothes.

Nepeta Pyrope's Orphaner garb is based on IRL military uniforms. They were the first and only Teal who is actually an Orphaner (unlike other tealbloods who work in the Orphaner Corps as administrative or legal staff), so maybe I'll change the color to a more neutral gray, with teal additions.

Kurloz Zahhak spread a message of peace in his church. So I made him dress like the Pope, though somewhat more humble. His title comes from the fact that he protected Limebloods in his church while the Empire hunted them down.

Kankri Ampora, as a rebel, shows their blood mutation, which include their bright red gills, real, nubby horns, and lack of pincers. While they did give up their violetblood privileges when they joined the Signless' revolution, they still have the fancy clothes. This one specifically is based on Central Javanese wedding garb. I actually have been trying to incorporate my own local culture into him and Karkat!

Last but not least, Her Passionate Timelessness aka Damara Peixes... her design is also pretty straightforward. Ocean-related patterns are really difficult to make, though, so after countless trial and error, it's mostly coral reefs. The gold dust is also something I really love. She also has bioluminescent freckles, like Aradia in the anniversary art.

[huntressdarkness]

Dear Creator Letter

First of all, thank you so much for writing/drawing something for me!!! Whatever it is, I know I'll adore it! <3

Warning: Long post ahead. Lol.

Note: There may be more ships on here than what I requested, so... just keep that in mind. Stick with what I requested for your assignment, but I'm always happy to get treats or gifts if some of this inspires you! :D

If you have specific questions, send me an anon ask. :)

PS. Please don't feel pressured to follow any of the 'maybe's' I listed off as prompts. If you have an idea of your own, go for it! <3

Outline:

General Likes

Kink Likes

General DNWs

Anakin | Vader Likes

Anakin | Vader DNWs

Anakin | Vader Ships

Bad Batch Ships

General Likes:

A/B/O (mpreg is fine)

Angst

Being forced together (though “forced” is debatable when it’s what they wanted and they were just resisting)

Co-Dependency

Cuddle piles

Enemies-to-lovers

Established Relationships

First Times

Fix-its

Fluff

Force-sensitive clones (especially if they get Force training from Anakin)

Fuck or die situations

Happy endings

Hopeful endings

Hurt/comfort

Mutual pining

Only one bed

Playful bickering/squabbling

Possessive characters (as long as it's not in a toxic way)

Protective characters

Relationship angst (especially if it’s resolved at the end)

Role Swap AUs

Secret Relationships

Sex pollen

Sith/Jedi/Senator AUs

Slow burn

Soulmate AUs

Time travel

Kink Likes:

Anal Sex/Fingering

Biting

Bratting/Discipline

Collars

Dom/sub

Ghost Sex (listen, I've never read anything like this before, but it sounds cool lol)

Impact play

Lingerie

Mild choking

Multiple partners/Group sex

Oral Sex

Pet play

Praise kink

Primal Play

Restraints

Rough Sex

Tender Sex

Voyeurism/Exhibitionism

General DNWs:

Abusive relationships

Character bashing

Character death (villains are fine)

Codywan (or any Obi-Wan/clones)

Daddy/mommy kinks

First/second person POV

Hurt no comfort

Jealousy if a character is being shamed for it (I love characters being jealous especially if it's because of miscommunications, and everything works out okay)

Most AUs except what I listed above (I prefer canon AUs; Modern AUs are okay if the clones are still clones/science experiments; I love the Batch having their mutations lol)

Obikin

Rape/non-con between the partners (hurt/comfort between partners after one faced sexual assault or a villain Made Them Do It is fine; Dub-con is fine)

Rexsoka

Torture

Underage (unless they both are)

Unhappy ending

Woobifying characters (especially Obi-Wan)

Anakin | Vader Likes:

Background/mentioned Anidala is okay but they don't have to be married, either

Eldritch!Anakin

Female!Anakin (I usually prefer male!Anakin but female!Anakin is cool, too)

Omega!Anakin (if in A/B/O universe) (Alpha!Anakin is okay, so long as he's submissive)

PT!Anakin (I don't really like CW!Anakin; when I say PT!Anakin, I mean the version of him who is light, cheerful, compassionate, empathic, and open about his feelings, even if he struggles with his fear of not being good enough or of failing people and losing them. Don't worry, I'm not excessively picky. So long as he's not being cocky and arrogant, it'll be fine.)

Sith-raised!Anakin (especially if he's more miserable and depressed than actually dark)

Submissive!Anakin

Suitless Vader

Traumatized Vader (and him dealing with his guilt)

Vader redemption (especially if it's the clones redeeming him)

Anakin | Vader DNWs:

Clones hating Vaderkin for Order 66 (he was just a weapon of Palpatine; he's not responsible for that or for the chips)

Padme/clone content

Vader being uncharacteristically dark/cruel to the clones (they're his family, even if he Fell)

Ships

Note: This includes a combination of prompts and (primarily) ship-specific likes.

Anakin | Vader Ships:

Anakin/Cody

Top Cody, Bottom Anakin, Alpha Cody (if in A/B/O universe), Dom!Cody, Sub!Anakin, Cody topping from the bottom, Padawan Anakin

Cody respecting Anakin (not a fan of the idea that he'd hate Anakin) - like, they’re practically equals in rank, and I like Cody sort of treating Anakin like he would a shiny and being protective of him even if Anakin is technically older than him while Anakin just wants Cody to like him.

Maybe Anakin is trying to seduce Cody and ends up biting off waaaay more than he can chew

Anakin/Cody/Fives

Top Cody, Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin, Alpha Cody (if in A/B/O universe), Dom!Cody, Sub!Anakin, Sub!Fives, Fives is definitely a brat while Anakin tries to be good, Cody topping from the bottom, Top/Bottom Fives, Fives is chaos personified

Maybe Cody is trying to wrangle Fives into being a good boy because of how rebellious/independent he is, and Anakin gets dragged into the mix.

Anakin and Fives switch for each other.

Anakin/Cody/Rex

Top Cody, Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin, Top/Bottom Rex, Cody topping from the bottom, Alpha Cody (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe) (I’m a little fascinated by the idea of Omega!Rex being a dom in Anakin’s direction lol), Dom!Cody, Sub!Anakin, Switch!Rex

Maybe Cody got tired of Anakin and Rex making eyes at each other while being completely oblivious to how the other feels and decides to get involved.

Anakin/Crosshair, Anakin/Hunter, Anakin/Crosshair/Hunter, Anakin/Crosshair/Hunter/Rex

Top/Bottom Anakin, Top/Bottom Crosshair, Top/Bottom Hunter, Alpha Crosshair (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha (or Omega) Hunter (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha Crosshair/Hunter is an amazing concept to me.

Anakin would get on with them very well because he’s always felt like an outsider among the Jedi the way the Batch have to the clones, so they’d really Get each other. Anakin and Hunter have a lot in common, so their friendship and mutual protectiveness of each other would be a really fun thing to explore. Crosshair is just a brat. And annoying because he wants to be. But he likes making Hunter submit to him (though there’s gonna be a fight first lol) and he likes getting Anakin’s attention. Anakin likes feeling accepted by them, and he’s open to pretty much anything they want.

If Rex is there: Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Dom!Rex, Service Top Anakin, Service Top Hunter, Service Top Crosshair, Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe), Sub!Anakin, Sub!Crosshair, Sub!Hunter

I can’t imagine any dom/sub things happening if Rex isn’t a part of the dynamic since none of the other three have the right personality to be a dom to the others. But Rex knows all the right buttons to push to make Hunter and Crosshair submit to him. Maybe Anakin is being a good boy just to show the other two how it’s done, even if his normal dynamic with Rex is a little different.

Anakin/Echo

Top/Bottom Anakin, Top/Bottom Echo

Maybe they get together after Echo is rescued, bonding over their grief for Fives and over being part-machine. Echo’s very rule-abiding, and Anakin also prefers following the rules, even if he’ll bend them a little sometimes.

Anakin/Echo/Rex

Top/Bottom Anakin, Top/Bottom Echo, Top/Bottom Rex, Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe), Rex topping from the bottom, Dom!Rex, Sub!Anakin, Switch!Echo

Maybe it starts with Rex/Echo, and they invite Anakin in because Rex is teaching Echo how to be a dom, and Anakin is There. Or maybe it starts with Anakin/Rex, and they invite Echo to join because he’s Interested.

Anakin/Echo/Fives/Rex

Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Dom!Rex, Sub!Anakin, Switch!Echo, Sub!Fives, Top/Bottom Echo, Top/Bottom Fives, Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin, Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha Fives (if in A/B/O universe), Fives is a brat

Fives is pure chaos, and he and Anakin like switching for each other.

Maybe Rex is trying to tame the Dominoes and reign in their chaos and somehow sex comes into the picture. Maybe Anakin’s involvement was an accident. Maybe Anakin and Rex preplanned it all out together. Maybe there’s an unspoken GAR tradition involving new ARC troopers and their commanding officers and sex (don’t ask what that means lol I have no idea).

Anakin/Fives

Switch!Anakin, Switch!Fives, no dom/sub with them

Fives is pure chaos, and he and Anakin like switching for each other. They’re just insane and chaotic together, and they enjoy fooling around more than engaging in power plays.

Anakin/Fives/Rex

Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Dom!Rex, Sub!Anakin, Sub!Fives, Top/Bottom Fives, Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin, Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha Fives (if in A/B/O universe), Fives is a brat and he and Anakin like switching for each other

Maybe Anakin and Fives team up to seduce Rex and get more than they can handle. Maybe Rex decides to reign in the combined chaos of Anakin and Fives by becoming their dom. Maybe the three of them are grieving Echo together and one thing leads to another.

Anakin/Jesse, Anakin/Kix, Anakin/Jesse/Kix

Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin, Top/Bottom Jesse, Top/Bottom Kix, Dom!Kix, Sub!Anakin, Sub!Jesse

Maybe Kix gets tired of Anakin getting hurt all the time and decides to teach him to take care of himself better. Maybe Kix and Jesse (or just Jesse) do a team-up to see if they can seduce Anakin.

Anakin/Rex

Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin, Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe) (I’m a little fascinated by the idea of Omega!Rex being a dom in Anakin’s direction lol), Sub!Anakin, Dom!Rex (I wouldn’t mind if their roles got a bit reversed and Anakin is leading an inexperienced Rex and helping him find his confidence in sexual things, or if Rex has guided Anakin to being more assertive of himself and a dom, and is letting Anakin take the lead.)

There’s soooo many ways they could get together. It could be anything. (Just look at my general likes list for ideas. :) I really like the idea of Rex having sort of hero worshipped Anakin at the beginning until he got to know him better and become comfortable with being a dom toward him.

I love when Rex and Anakin are being Ahsoka’s dads, but it doesn’t need to be a major aspect of the story, or even appear at all. :)

Anakin/501st Legion

Bottom Anakin, Service Top Anakin

Anakin will do anything for his boys, no matter what or how insane. Maybe a sex pollen got involved, and Anakin is trying to help his boys get through it (or vice versa).

Vader/Cody

Top Cody, Bottom Vader, Alpha Cody (if in A/B/O universe), Dom!Cody & Sub!Vader, Cody topping from the bottom, Emperor!Cody, Attack-dog!Vader

Cody respecting/empathizing with Vader. He can understand being controlled/manipulated by Sidious, since he executed Order 66, too. (I like Cody sort of having treated Anakin like he would a shiny and being protective of him even if Anakin is technically older than him while Anakin just wants Cody to like him.)

Vader killing Sidious and handing the Empire over to Cody is just hilarious to me. Vader doesn’t know how to be free. If Cody was even just tolerant of him and not affectionate toward him, Vader would still follow him gratefully because he’s not being tortured. He has a very low bar for what constitutes a good master and Cody would just. Be horrified.

Throne sex??? Lol.

Navigating a relationship where Vader is a cyborg would be interesting, especially since it’d make intimacy very complicated.

Cody being protective of Vader. Please. Vader’s been through so much, and even if Cody wouldn’t be happy that Vader helped destroy the Jedi, he’d be even more angry at Obi-Wan for hurting Vader like he did. Cody helping a traumatized Vader heal would be incredible. <3

Vader/Cody/Rex

Top Cody, Bottom Vader, Service Top Vader, Top/Bottom Rex, Cody topping from the bottom, Alpha Cody (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe) (I’m a little fascinated by the idea of Omega!Rex being a dom in Anakin’s direction lol), Dom!Cody, Sub!Vader, Switch!Rex, Emperor!Cody, Attack-dog!Vader

Cody would be the Emperor out of him and Rex. Vader would serve them because he doesn’t know how to be free.

Or maybe Cody and Rex teamed up to redeem Vader and ended up seducing him along the way, trying to teach how to be free and help him heal. Maybe they actually kidnap Vader from Sidious to help him. Maybe it’s an Imperial!AU where both of them are still with the Empire and somehow, Things Happen.

Maybe it’s a universe where the Empire formed early, and this is the first time they’re meeting Vader, and Cody immediately decides that he Wants Him and ropes Rex into helping him seduce their unfairly beautiful commanding officer.

Vader/Rex

Bottom Vader, Service Top Vader, Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Alpha/Omega Rex (if in A/B/O universe) (I’m a little fascinated by the idea of Omega!Rex being a dom in Vader’s direction lol), Sub!Vader, Dom!Rex, Emperor!Rex, Attack-dog!Vader

Rex doesn’t want to be Emperor, but he got that role anyway.

Or maybe Rex tracks down his General and realizes he’s alive and decides to bring him back to the Light no matter what. Seducing him wasn’t originally part of the plan but it is now, so he’ll just go with it. And Vader likes it when Rex takes charge, since he doesn’t understand how to be free anymore. He’ll take anyone as a master if they’re even a tiny bit nice to him. Rex just. Doesn’t know what to do with his traumatized ex-general, and he wants to help him and heal him and make him better.

Navigating intimacy with Vader as a cyborg who struggles with it because of his condition and many traumas would be amazing.

Rebel!Vader? Maybe Vader is a Fulcrum agent and he and Rex meet accidentally during Rebels or something, and then realize who the other is and Things Happen.

Or maybe it’s an AU where Anakin was never a Jedi, and it’s an enemies-to-lovers type thing. Either way, Rex gets to fuck him back to the Light. <3

Bad Batch ships:

Anakin/Crosshair, Anakin/Hunter, Anakin/Crosshair/Hunter, Anakin/Crosshair/Hunter/Rex

See above

Crosshair/Hunter

Top/Bottom Hunter (I usually lean toward bottom), Top/Bottom Crosshair (I usually lean toward top, but either is fine), Alpha Crosshair (if in A/B/O universe), Alpha (or Omega) Hunter (if in A/B/O universe), no dom/sub with them (they don’t have the personalities for it, not with just each other)

There are so, so many ways they could end up together, and I’m fine with anything. Look at my general likes list for more ideas. I especially adore fix-its and soft content with them, especially if there’s lots of playful bickering. (I need therapy for canon, okay?)

I am fascinated by how things would go if they’re both alphas.

Hunter might be the leader, but Crosshair likes pushing him to get him to react and to make him submit to him (though there’ll be a fight first before Hunter would give in). Hunter… despite whatever he claims to himself, likes it, because he likes feeling protected and like he doesn’t need to always be in charge. Leading is haaaard, and Crosshair helps him let go.

Maybe they’re both exploring sex for the first time. Maybe they’re tiptoeing around a relationship during the war before it Happens. Maybe they’re trying to rebuild something after getting separated. Anything is fine.

(I’m not fond of the idea that Crosshair would be angry at Hunter for the Batch leaving once his chip wears off/is removed. I like to think he’s more mature than that and actually understands why they did what they did; he literally shot Wrecker. He’s gonna be dealing with a lot of guilt for hurting them.)

(Note: If time travel is involved, I’m fine with a pairing like Hunter/Crosshair/Hunter/Crosshair or some variation thereof.)

Crosshair/Echo/Hunter, Crosshair/Rex/Hunter, Crosshair/Fives/Hunter

See above for the Crosshair/Hunter dynamic

With Echo: Top/Bottom Echo, Dom!Echo, Sub!Hunter, Sub!Crosshair

Maybe Hunter and Crosshair team up to seduce their newest team member to help him relax and fit in with them.

With Fives: Switch!Fives, he’s a chaotic brat and he fits right in with the Batch’s brand of chaos

Maybe it’s a universe where he doesn’t die, and they encounter each other after Echo joins or after the Empire forms. Maybe he joins the Batch with Echo. Maybe they just happen to run into one another on a mission and Things Happen, because Fives loves them and their chaos, and they hit off very well. I just want to see what it would be like to have Fives with them. Lol.

With Rex: Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Dom!Rex, Sub!Hunter, Sub!Crosshair

Rex has a lot of experience with wrangling his brothers, and making Hunter and Crosshair behave is easy. Maybe they try to seduce him, playfully as a joke or otherwise, and Rex turns it around on them and makes them Want Things they never thought they would. He’s very good at making them behave, even with their own natural tendency towards being brats and disobeying.

Note: I am fine with these ships being combined. Crosshair/Echo/Fives/Hunter, Crosshair/Echo/Hunter/Rex, Crosshair/Fives/Hunter/Rex, and Crosshair/Echo/Fives/Hunter/Rex are all fine.

Note 2: Adding Anakin to any of these combinations is fine, too.

Crosshair/Hunter/Tech/Wrecker

See above for more on the Crosshair/Hunter dynamic

Top/Bottom Crosshair, Top/Bottom Hunter, Top/Bottom Tech, Top/Bottom Wrecker, Dom!Tech (if they have one), Sub!Crosshair, Sub!Hunter, Sub!Wrecker

Anything with the polybatch will be amazing. See my general likes list for more ideas.

Maybe they’re just exploring sex for the first time with each other. Maybe there’s hurt/comfort and a little whump after a mission gone wrong. I adore how much younger and freer and more chaotic they all were before Order 66. Lol.

(A background Crosshair/Hunter romance is always a fun bonus for me. <3)

Crosshair/Echo/Hunter/Tech/Wrecker

See above for more on the Crosshair/Hunter dynamic

Top/Bottom Crosshair, Top/Bottom Echo, Top/Bottom Hunter, Top/Bottom Tech, Top/Bottom Wrecker, Dom!Tech, Dom!Echo, Sub!Crosshair, Sub!Hunter, Sub!Wrecker

Honestly, it could be anything. Look at my general likes list for more ideas. It doesn’t need to focus on all of them, but I’d prefer if Hunter and Crosshair, at least, were around as more than minor characters.

Maybe the Batch are trying to help Echo get used to them. Or maybe Echo is introducing sex to the Batch for the first time. Or maybe they’re reuniting after being separated by the Empire.

(A background Crosshair/Hunter romance is always a fun bonus for me. <3)

Crosshair/Echo/Hunter/Rex/Tech/Wrecker

See above for more on the Crosshair/Hunter dynamic

Top/Bottom Crosshair, Top/Bottom Echo, Top/Bottom Hunter, Top/Bottom Tech, Top/Bottom Wrecker, Top Rex, Rex topping from the bottom, Dom!Rex, Switch!Tech, Switch!Echo, Sub!Crosshair, Sub!Hunter, Sub!Wrecker

It doesn’t need to focus on all of them if that’s too hard, but I’d like if Hunter and Crosshair, at least, were around as more than background characters.

Rex domming the Batch is an amazing concept to me. I love him like that, and seeing how fast and easily he can bring them under his control would be incredible. Maybe he’s trying to make them behave and reign in their chaos and maybe make them more mature, too. Rex disciplining them (the brats especially) is awesome.

(A background Crosshair/Hunter romance is always a fun bonus for me. <3)

[bunniibones]

✨ About Byte ✨

Hello! the OC tournament is in the corner so I decided to follow @nintendoni-art's example and create a pinned post about Byte :D! If you have any questions or doubts about Byte, please feel free to send an ask (anonymous or not) and I'll gladly answer!

🛠 Basic Information

Name: Data "Byte" the Goat. Species: Nigerian Dwarf Goat. Height: 88 cms (2'11''). Type: Tech / Flight. Alignment: Evil. Occupation: Programmer & Mechanic. Home: Starline Base Sigma.

✨How did you come up with the OC’s name? 

At first, Byte had a very generic name (or at least for the sonic franchise) so I had this small list of possible names for them in case I needed them.

When the moment came, I held a small poll for people to pick their favorite and "Byte" along with "Data" were the most voted for. Since I liked both of them I decided to combine them! And it fits Byte, since a byte is the smallest memory unit that a computer can have and Byte is pretty small (They used to be smaller tho, they were 75 cms)

🌼  - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

Byte is currently 25 years old. At the beginning of the story (around when Starline brought Eggman back to his former glory) they were 24, but they age throughout the events.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

Yes! They're in love with Dr. Starline, their boss/partner in crime.

Both are incredibly amoral and they LOVE it, sharing the same vision of the world, the same passion for Eggman and his creations and even the same mentality, which allows them to understand each other quite well. With time they've developed a good harmony and synchronization whenever they're working together, even encouraging each other in the most vile acts and enjoying every second of it.

🍕  - What is their favorite food?

Cookies! They adore them, especially the choco chip cookies.

💼  - What do they do for a living?

They used to be a programmer for the Eggman Empire, but currently they're the assistant and right-hand-man to Dr. Starline. They fulfill any task assigned by the platypus, performs maintenance on Starline's badniks and helps him to program anything he needs. At the same time, Starline is teaching them how to be a mechanic so they can be even more useful.

🎹  - Do they have any hobbies?

Yes! They love drawing, tinkering with machines and robots, designing their own badniks, performing maintenance on robots, creating their own little robots/machines and playing with their chao.

🎯  -What do they do best?

Programming, they're an expert on it, it's what they do best.

🥊  -What do they love? What do they hate?

Likes:

Chocolate and desserts, especially if said desserts are made of chocolate.

Cute small animals and fluffy things.

Color pink.

Messing with people and causing troubles on purpose, it entertains them a lot.

Robots and Robotics, they've always preferred robots over organic beings.

Eggman's personality and creations, they find him fascinating, intelligent and charming.

Starline and anything related to him, they absolutely adore the platypus.

Dislikes:

Oranges and their scent, along with orange flavored things.

Bitter food, they can't stand bitterness. (This includes alcohol and coffee)

Bitter or cranky people.

Vomit or people who are sick, they have phobia for it.

Hot weather, they consider it unbearable and doesn't like to work with that sort of weather.

Loud and sudden noises, they startle and scare them terribly.

Entitled and hypocritical people.

❤️  - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

Byte best memory is when they started working for the Eggman Empire. They're really grateful for that, since it improved their life quality. Sure, Eggman is not the friendliest person to work with, but it was fair better than their old life. They got to do what they liked the most, which was working with robots, so it was like a dream come true for them.

✂️   - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Byte's worst memories are from their entire childhood. Living with their parents was a complete nightmare for them, having to enture the constant physical and verbal fights of their parents (in which they tended to get hurt) and their abuse towards them. The only salvage part of their childhood was being friends with Smithy.

🧊  - Is their current design the first one?

Nope! their first design was this one :3c

🍀  - What originally inspired the OC?

At first, Byte was created to be my sonicsona, so they were inspired by myself, using my physical traits at the moment (short blonde hair, freckles, tan skin and short height), the species of my toonsona (goat), my degree (computer engineer) and turning my personality into a villainous one so they could fit in the Eggman Empire. But as Byte developed, they stopped representing me and became their own independent character!

🌂  - What genre do they belong in?

Sci-fi and Steampunk!

💚  - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Byte is an agender asexual! (They/she)

🙌  - How many siblings does your OC have?

None, they're only child.

🍎  - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

Terrible, Byte's parents were awful people who always mistreated them and hurt them emotionally and physically, so they ran away from their home and joined the Eggman Empire. They haven't had contact with their parents ever since.

🧠  - What do you like most about the OC?

What I like the most about Byte is their design, personality and dynamic with Starline. At first I wasn't sure of their design, I was insecure about it even, but eventually it grew on me and I've come to appreciate it.

Their personality has always been super fun to me, I have a soft spot for mischievous villains who have fun causing chaos and enjoy what they do.

And their dynamic with Starline is basically Chaos x Order, which is super fun to play with :D

✏️  - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

Pretty often, they're my main oc LOLOLOLOL

💎  - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Not really, if they die, who will bring Starline back? lol

💀  - Does your OC have any phobias? 

Byte is awfully scared of vomit and loud noises.

🍩  -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

For the longest time, I considered that Lanolin the Sheep and Tangle the Lemur would be Byte's rival, but I'm reworking that, so we'll see who ends up being their rival 👀

🎓  - How long have you had the OC?

4 years! 5 this year.

[leoandlancer]

Alright, I'll bite: what's the intro starter pack for the Soap and the Skullman? You successfully have me intrigued.

I AM DELIGHTED YOU'VE ASKED

Skullman and Soap are from the game Call of Duty Modern Warfare II. It's a 2022 remake of a game that came out in 2009, and the remake has some notable improvements and provides an interesting perspective of how video games have changed in the last 14 years across the board; visuals, pacing, story, characters, challenges etc etc. All of which is cool but I'm here exclusively for the wall of beef being served.

Allow me to explain.

The single player story game includes 2+ hours of pristine cut scenes carrying the plot and character development, and any number of hours playing the game which includes banter and fps’ing. POV bounces between two teams having adventures and bein' sneaky all over the world. There’s also a Multiplayer mode but I know next to nothing about it so you’ve certainly come to the right place to learn some things. Youtube has a bunch of great Let’s Plays for the entire game, as well as videos of just all the cut scenes. Highly recommend, not least of all because I was blindsided by how wholesome it all turned out to be.

Simon "Ghost" Riley 👻 💀

Character with so much going on if anyone but a triple A studio pitched him they'd be told to calm down. Wildly op. Incredible passive intimidation score. Somehow internationally feared stealth agent despite Looking Like That. Aesthetic as fuck. Ranked Lieutenant if you can tell the different breeds of officer apart. HEIGHT. Manchester accent. Tragic backstory. The mask is a whole other post and I’m not normal about it. Despite going into it like a cat being forced into a bath, he is one half of the Grumpy One Soft for the Sunshine One trope that causes me physical agonies. (Secret third thing! Poor Little Meow Meow candidate.)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish 🧼

You know how sometimes when a zoo or sanctuary has a cheetah or something that’s super anxious they’ll give them a chill, reliable, confident, protective dog friend? Yeah, anyway Soap is assigned to Ghost in the beginning of the game. SCOTTISH. Mohawk. Wears jeans throughout most of the game despite being continually dunked in cold water. Everyone wants to work with him so he kept being reassigned and always had to make new friends. Other half of the Grumpy One Soft for the Sunshine One trope, but Soap was an immediate, I mean immediate, adopter of his part. (Bonus! Pinnacle of AW little guy!!! Oh he’s a little bit fucked up actually..)

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Carries this team on his fuckin’ wings. Good at everything. Set all the records when he was in training and no one’s touched them. Eldest sibling energy someone give him a break. If a situation could kill a normal human, Gaz might be mildly discommoded.

John Price

Captain of Team 141, which Ghost, Soap, and Gaz are a part of. Keeps finding and adopting wildly competent soldiers/rebels/mercenaries as allies all over the world who would very literally die for him and they’re not wrong. Very protective of his kids allies. Could attack an army with a soggy corn chip and win. Team Dad. 

Alejandro Vargas

Managing with grace and panache despite his job apparently requiring him to fight everyone within a 200km radius. A colonel in the Mexican special forces. Stressed, but make it hot. Gets to prep for disaster like the world is ending but unlike most preppers seems to be having a blast and it all comes in handy. Loves his team do NOT separate them. Does attack an army with a soggy corn chip and win.

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

The only man on earth capable of being Alejandro’s second in command and exceed expectations. Incredibly good at everything. Much too well behaved and well mannered for this. Not high enough ranked to decide on problems, not low enough ranked for them to not be his problems. Someone help him.

Phillip Graves

Commander of Shadow Company, a private military thing. Gets to live, laugh, love being a mercenary with a massive fucking armory and zero restrictions. Suspect he has the keys to his tiny southern USA hometown and his parents are embarrassingly proud of him. Energy of a Jack Russel Terrier in a world of squirrels.

How much more space do I have? There’s a lot more ground to cover. I’m missing way too many characters.

Farah Ahmed Karim

Leader of the Urzikistan Liberation Force and a human shaped meteor. Price asks her for help and before he can hang up she kick slides in on a dirt bike with a machine gun and a squadron of fighters behind her. Coolest person in any room. Lots of stuff on her plate but seems really organized about it.

Kate “Watcher” Lazwell

Their CIA connection. Buddies with Price like everyone else except she’s the wine aunt to Price’s Team dad. Has killed people with her bare hands and will kill again. Is married and adores her wife. Cares SO MUCH but manages to not be burned out by constant bullshit.

Ok so now we’re into the boys from the multiplayer part of the game and listen there are crumbs of canon content and a cake of fanon content.

König

The man is 6′10″ tall and built better than most F150s. Wears the hood over his face because being taller than every standard doorway in Europe while dealing with heavy anxiety could be easier. Found confidence and comfort in getting really good at murder. Will go a little berserk, as a treat. Wanted to be a sniper but does not have the patience. ADHD icon. Fanon knows in their heart he can be categorized as a sopping wet man who needs a forehead kiss and a grilled cheese cut diagonal.

Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin 🐯 

Joined the military to escape gambling debts then found out he’s actually really good at being in the military. Knows about pop culture phenomena first, cool about it when you finally catch on. Fighting unspecified inner demons. No one knows why he wears a mask but fanon assumes he has delicious scars.

(Bonus! His actor, Nick Martineau, is a menace!)

So there’s a lot more but, listen, look at me, ok? Look at me. I am holding your face in my cupped hands. I am looking into your eyes. I am speaking so earnestly. Listen, I am so not normal about this ok? Please message me if you want to know anything else. I will be so stoked.

Genuinely, it was really fun to watch a bunch of lets plays and find it went from surprisingly good to actually good to oh I’m INVESTED invested in this. Replay/rewatch value is high, and there’s plenty of neat things that work well, good fridge horror, and a lot of the game runs on the characters just really liking each other. A central pillar of the story line is that Ghost makes a friend =) and that saves the day. Which is nice. There’s plenty more in the game to talk about but this is just what I’m taking away to share for now.

Ok thanks for asking, I hope some of this was helpful!