#(I’m not completely sure if it’s diagnosed or not?)

[isurrendertoclones]

I think an argument could be made for Skirata having (scrupulosity) OCD, what with his “I’ll only sleep in my chair” and “I won’t get my ankle fixed” things

[quietlyblooms]

@frznwarmth | from here ♡

he hasn't exactly scolded her, but chiyo feels reprimanded all the same. her annoyance feels trivial at best and childish at worst, and reluctantly does she raise her gaze to zayne's with an apology on the tip of her tongue. she's only frustrated, tired of the hospital visits that never seem to end. he's only doing his job. she shouldn't be upset about that.

are those sharp pains still occurring? he asks before she can apologize, and the blonde hesitates. she’s just begun her schooling to join the hunters’ association, just moved into a new apartment all on her own — it’s tempting to say no and ignore the problem until her next visit for the sake of her nerves. this whole transition is overwhelming enough without her health adding to it. but there’s always a chance that those pains are something that shouldn’t wait… chiyo sighs.

“ yes, but i’ve noticed it’s only when i’m stressed. even if that could be a coincidence, i thought i’d mention it. and— ” she briefly pauses, gaze wandering away from zayne. this is really uncomfortable. people don’t usually catch her off guard like this. “ i’m sorry. i appreciate that you’re being thorough. really. ”

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

.

[ellecdc]

Recently got diagnosed with POTS, thinking about poly!marauders and/or poly!moonwater fussing about Remus and Reader during their respective flare-ups. I just know they'd be carrying around electrolyte water, glucose gummies etc everywhere and anywhere - completely unafraid to curtly just tell the two of them that they need to sit down when out and about. Just the thought of being looked after so well has gotten me through this diagnosis and I thought I'd share <3

you're literally the coolest person I know; THANK YOU for sharing this with me and also, thank you for letting me spend some time with this so I could turn it into a little blurb <3 <3 <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who has POTS [1.2k words]

CW: chronic pain/pain management, reader is diagnosed with POTS, Sirius is a master complainer, fluff

James was a firm believer that if he took one of those muggle quizzes that told him what his love language was, he would get all of them. 

Physical touch? Couldn’t get enough of it. Acts of service? Consider it done. Gift giving? His specialty, if he did say so himself. Words of affirmation? He was simply overflowing with flowery words for his partners. Quality time? There’s nothing he liked doing more than spending time with those he loved. 

Though James thought himself to be talented in every language of love, when push came to shove he had to admit that his favourite way to show love was through acts of service. 

It started back in Hogwarts in way of taking dutiful notes for Remus when he’d frequently miss classes. Then it came in the form of back breaking research and becoming an illegal animagus so one of his favourite people in the whole world wouldn’t have to suffer the full moons alone anymore. Then it came in the form of making sure Sirius had a family and a place to call home when it was no longer safe for him to stay at the house in which he was raised.

And lately, it came in the form of navigating Remus’ full moons with a well-practised sort of ease that only years of experience could cause, and helping you through your diagnosis.

Neither of which he minded in the slightest; there was nothing James Potter liked more than feeling useful and needed. And sure, neither you nor Remus needed James, but he liked to believe that he could in some ways make your lives a little easier.

Whilst that was all well and good, something he admittedly had a hard time doing was receiving every love language - namely, gifts or acts of service.

Which is why he probably seemed extremely fidgety and flighty as he waited in the long line at the Quidditch World Cup that you, Sirius, and Remus had treated him to for his birthday. 

“Do these lines seem particularly long to you?” James asked no one in particular as he craned his neck to see how close the group of you might be to the Puddlemere United booth.

“These lines seem rather average for a sporting event, Jamie.” You chuckled, though he couldn’t help but notice how heavily you were leaning against Sirius. 

“Are you feeling okay, angel?” He asked quickly, and you grimaced as Remus turned his attention towards you as well.

“She’s alright, Jamie; I’ve been looking after her.” Sirius placated as he tightened his protective embrace around your shoulders. 

“I think we should find somewhere to sit down.” James declared, earning him more than a few protests from your group. 

“Prongs, we’ve been in this line for so long; we can take a break after we get your jersey signed, yeah?” Remus offered. 

James made a protesting sound in the back of his throat but didn’t press the matter; simply pulling the rucksack off of his back and digging through it for his supplies. “Can you drink this for me, angel?”

You shot him a rather exasperated smile but took the bottle of electrolyte water from him dutifully. “You’re fussing, Jamie.”

“Uhm, no.” James argued as haughtily as he could manage as he pulled a few glucose chews out for you. “I’m loving, thank you very much.” 

“Are you feeling alright, dove?” Remus murmured quietly as you handed your drink back to James. 

“Are you feeling alright, Moony?” You countered, raising your eyebrows at your boyfriend who had very little room to be fussing over you as he leaned heavily on his cane in a way that told the group of you that his hip was screaming. 

“No, you’re right, we should leave.” James decided then, hiking his bag back over his shoulder and moving to bend under the ropes currently controlling the line when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Jamie? Please?” You asked softly, your eyes wide and earnest as you silently begged him to stay. 

“But-”

“We’ve waited all this time; Rem on his bad hip, me with my bad…everything-”

“Oi!” Sirius chided for your self-deprecation.

“-because we want to and we’re happy to. We wanted to do this for you.”

James hesitated as his eyes flit nervously between you, Remus, and Sirius who were looking at him pleadingly, patiently, and exasperatedly respectively. 

“Prongs, for fucks sake, let someone else fuss over you for once?” Sirius ordered as he encouraged James forward in line that had moved two groups forward during James’ fussing. 

“It’s really Moons you need to worry about, James.” Sirius mollified. “Our dolly here is way better at agreeing to go for a cwtch than Mr.‘I’m perfectly fine’ is.”

“I resent that.” Remus muttered as he pointed his nose in the air; knowing damn well Sirius was quite right but would obviously rather die than admit it. 

“Okay…” James relented warily; giving the three of you one last look over before turning his attention back towards the line. They were making some progress now.

“That does sound nice, though…” Remus offered tentatively, narrowing his eyes at his partners. “A cwtch.”

“Can we? Lie down in the tent for a bit after this?” You asked then, batting your lashes at James in a way you knew would have him eating out of the palm of your hand like this had all been your idea from the very beginning.

“Yes.” James agreed readily, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before pulling Remus down into one of his own.

“No one asked me if I was ready for a nap; what if I was just dying to continue spending my time out in the blazing sun, hm?” Sirius badgered, pretending to be miffed as he accepted James’ hand into his own without a second thought.

“Do you want to continue spending time out in the blazing sun?” James murmured into his hair, breathing out a laugh as Sirius all but melted into his frame. 

“No; I’m getting a sunburn and my hair is sticking to my neck.” He whined.

“Sorry guys.” James called over to you and Remus. “We’re gonna have to take Pads back to the tent after this; he can’t possibly stay out in this heat any longer.”

You giggled and Remus let out a good natured chuckle as he kneaded at the muscles between your neck and shoulder. “I think we can make that sacrifice, can’t we dove?”

You nodded as you looked up at Remus conspiratorially. “They’re so high maintenance though, aren’t they?”

“Just the worse.” Remus agreed readily. 

“Hey Jamie?”

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Can I have more water, please?”

James beamed a smile at you as Sirius quickly dug into James’ rucksack. “Of course you can, my love.” 

Yup; James was certain that his favourite way to love was taking care of you three in any way he could.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

I had a panic attack in my kitchen the other day. 

It was a really warm evening, I was making dinner in the kitchen and I noticed I felt a bit weird. At first I didn’t pay it much mind, I was probably just annoyed at having to stand at the hot stove in this weather, but then the thought crossed my mind “What if I falsely believe this is some harmless discomfort and I’m actually having a heart attack?” - and those of you who struggle with health anxiety as well can surely imagine it was all downhill from there. Suddenly I got dizzy and my chest hurt and I felt like I couldn’t breathe… 

And I said to myself “These are all the symptoms of my usual panic attacks, these aren’t new or unusual symptoms that require me to get medical attention right now”, so I turned off the stove and did the first aid I learned works for my panic attacks:

I went to the fridge and got an ice cube and held it in my hand, until that sensory stimulation snapped me back to reality. And when I could think clearly again, I felt safe enough to do a deep breathing exercise and go through my “Why do I feel so shitty” checklist (checking for unmet physical needs I may not be consciously aware of), and I realized I was dressed way too warmly for the weather, so I changed into something lighter - and then I went back to making dinner. My “heart attack” was just me overheating and then my anxiety attaching a wrong interpretation to that. 

That’s a pretty boring story, right? Nothing dramatic happened. But that’s exactly why I share it with you. 

When you’re young and mentally ill (or if you have been freshly diagnosed with it, at any age), a common fear is that it’ll stay. You’ll be like this forever now, you’ll never go back to normal. And so positivity often focus on recovery, on “it’ll go away one day, you just gotta be strong until then”. And maybe it will! Mental illness is a pretty vast umbrella term, some conditions under it can be cured completely. 

But I wanted to share another perspective here: even if it won’t go away, even if it indeed stays forever because it’s a chronic condition or a treatment-resistant one (or because you learn, after years of wondering why your depression and anxiety won’t go away with traditional therapy, that you’re actually autistic and need a completely different approach than a neurotypical patient (hi, it’s me)) .. it won’t feel like it did at the beginning forever, simply because it’s no longer so new. When it’s new, you have no blueprint on how to deal with it. It’s a situation you’re thrown into with no prior training - of course you feel completely lost and hopeless! 

Mental illness is a real illness and as any illness, it’ll affect your daily life - but over all those days, you learn more about it. You try things to cope with the symptoms and realize that some techniques work better for you than others. Even if you can only learn to manage it rather than cure it: you figure out how to deal with it better. You draw your blueprint. 

It’s still part of your life but it’s no longer the showstopper. It becomes just a boring story of stopping dinner to take care of your symptoms first. And that’s something to hope for, to fight for. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[kittenlittle24]

Courthouse

Request by @schnitzelbutterfingers: Tritter assaulting f!reader after finding out she is House’s weak point and then she just became completely depressed and then House kind of forces out what happened to her

I do apologize, I changed it a bit.

As usual, gif not mine, I adore comments, likes and reblogs

Masterlist

Parking the car, you angrily slammed the door shut before making your way to the detention facility. You paid the clerk the $15,000 bail before leaving to wait outside.

You leaned against the car, foot tapping anxiously, arms crossed. Limping down the stairs at the entrance to the building, a grin on his face upon seeing you.

“I called Wilson!”

“You’re an arrogant idiot.” You told him and entered the car.

You drove in silence, every time he tried to talk, to justify himself you were sure, you raised your hand to shut him.

You dropped him at the entrance to the hospital and waited for him to get out.

“I’ll see you in the office.” You informed him quietly.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and opened his mouth to say something but instead shut it back up and nodded once before leaving your vehicle.

Later that day House got a call about Tritter who got a search warrant for his house and found a stash of about 600 pills, which of course made Tritter add trafficking to the charges.

Convinced that House is an addict and decided to apply pressure on his co-workers to testify against him.

When Wilson found out House had stolen his prescription pad to write himself prescriptions he came straight to you, he told you he lied, and said he signed them himself, however, Tritter noticed that the signatures didn't match, and as a result his car was impounded and accounts froze.

When the diagnostic team refused to turn him in as well, Tritter decided to go after all of your weaknesses: he went after Cameron by appealing to her love for House, not knowing it was no longer there. He went after Foreman by promising to help his brother get out of prison, and Chase by making it look like he has already co-operated, not that any of you believed that. The only one he has yet to try was you. Which made everyone uncomfortable.

Due to clubbed fingers, House diagnosed the patient with lung cancer, and tests confirmed small cell lung carcinoma, which has metastasized. The patient only had a few months to live. Cameron volunteered to break him the news which allowed you to leave for the day.

You made your way to your car, searching your purse for the keys. You jumped as you looked up and saw Tritter leaning against your trunk.

“Oh good you didn’t forget me, I was insulted.”

He half smiled as he chewed his nicotine gum, “Did you hear that I searched Dr. House’s apartment,”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you also aware of the fact that I found 600 Vicodin pills in his apartment?” Pushing himself to stand upright and fully smiling, “Should I say, your apartment? Found a picture of you and your mom in a drawer on a bedside table. I assume you wouldn’t want your boyfriend to go to jail and lose his medical license. It wasn’t Dr. Cameron that’s in love with him, it’s you. You know that lying to a cop is a criminal offense?”

Crossing your arms across your chest, “You think threatening me will help you convince me to help you put House behind bars?”

“If you don’t, you’ll face the same consequences as your colleagues. Just one phone call away from having your account frozen as well.”

Moving to open your car door, you tossed your purse to the seat next to the driver, “Good thing I went grocery shopping yesterday.” You snarked and entered the car.

“Is he worth your medical license?” He yelled.

Turning the engine on and reversing out of the parking space, you pulled the window down, “I’ll see you in court.” And drove away.

Entering the apartment, threw the keys on the counter, your purse was tossed aside and you walked straight to the bedroom.

House looked up from the piano, slightly confused at your lack of greeting. Marching back to the living room you dropped his pillow and a blanket on the couch before turning to face him, “You’re sleeping here until this mess clears up and you apologize to Wilson.”

You went back to the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

You woke up in the middle of the night, at first you weren’t sure what pulled you from sleep but you did when you felt the bed dipped.

“Get out.”

He laid down and put his arm around your waist, he kissed your shoulder blade.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

Moving his arm off of you, you pushed the blanket back and sat up.

“Fine, you take the bed.” You said as you left the room.

He rushed after you as fast as he could without his cane, holding onto his thigh.

“Don’t you think you’re being ridiculous?”

Turning sharply to look at him, “Wilson got his car impounded because of you, that’s the only reason I came to bail you out. He cannot write prescriptions, everybody’s accounts are frozen, my license is on the line because Tritter searched the apartment and you don’t give a crap.”

He took a step closer to you, “He threatened you?”

Sighing, you rubbed your hand across your forehead, “Doesn’t matter what he did.“

“He’s a bully.”

“I don’t care House! You caused this mess! I’m going to sleep, don’t come after me because I don’t want to see your face right now.”

Sitting down heavily on the couch he saw his bottle of Vicodin on the coffee table. Reaching, he popped it open, shook two pills out, and tossed them back before lying down and settling to sleep.

After a week of separate sleeping and House and Wilson fighting due to Wilson cutting a deal with Tritter. He was offered to go into rehab, but no jail time. Of course, he believed that Wilson was only cooperating with Tritter to get his practice back.

You unlocked your apartment door, tired and cranky. It was dark and quiet. You assumed maybe your boyfriend used the opportunity you weren’t home to go to sleep in your shared bed.

You shut the door and entered the living room to see House passed out on the floor near his vomit, along with the prescribed oxycodone that he stole from Wilson’s dead patient.

Rushing to his side to check if he had a pulse, he turned his head to look at you with hazy eyes.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked down at him, “I can’t anymore.” You whispered, got up, and left the apartment.

The next day House went to Tritter to take the deal, but Tritter turned him down. Tritter found out about the stolen oxycodone, so he didn’t need yours nor Wilson's testimony to prosecute House.

He came back from court, he stood next to you in the kitchenette. You moved to sit on the opposite side of the table, as far away from him as you could while still being in the same room. House didn’t take his eyes off you the whole DDX. Soon as he ordered tests you were the first to flee the room.

A few days later, following Cameron’s visit the team performed electroshock therapy on the patient. He remembered his name after the treatment, but little else. You let his brother and Amy into the room. He didn’t react negatively, but he didn't recognize them.

The patient was getting better, despite his memory loss. The only side effect was that his voice had gotten higher. Wilson came to see House again and even brought him a new tie for court. House apologized to Wilson because he knew that Wilson was trying to do what he thought was best.

You ran into Wilson in the elevator on your way to the clinic after he came back from seeing House and was on his way to leave work.

“Did you force him into rehab?” He asked.

Shocked you turned to face Wilson fully.

He looked at you slightly horrified, “You didn’t know he was there?”

“Tell me what’s going on.” You demanded.

“House entered rehab voluntarily. A few days ago. I thought you had something to do with it, he said you haven’t been home since the oxycodone fiasco.”

You shook your head just as the elevator doors opened to reveal the hospital lobby and clinic. Instead of going to the clinic, you press the floor for the rehab center.

You found him vomiting in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, and looking miserable. He glanced up at you before lowering his gaze back to the floor.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

Stepping forward, you crossed your arms across your chest, “Because you told everyone not to tell me you’re here.”

He shrugged once, “Tritter came to visit.” He shared quietly.

You sat down opposite him on the floor.

“Told me, he doesn't give addicts another chance, and even my actions are a lie.”

“You caused all of this.”

He nodded, “I know.”

Getting up, “Good luck with the trial.”

“Will you be there?”

You paused at the bathroom doorway, “I haven’t decided yet.” You said honestly and left.

You got to the hearing as Tritter gave his testimony about House taking another patient's drugs. You sat beside Wilson and he held your hand in silent support. Everyone paused to stare at House as his phone rang, the team (minus you) called House in court to say that the patient’s memories were false. House ignored the judge’s instructions to give up his cell phone and made a smarmy comment to the judge. You rolled your eyes and looked at Wilson in despair. He then left the courthouse and the judge found him in contempt.

On his way out of the courtroom, he noticed you sitting and winched, making you even angrier.

House came back to find Cuddy on the stand. She told the court that she had the pharmacist substitute placebos for the oxycodone because she was afraid that House would be in a particularly vulnerable state. She even had an inventory report to back it up. Tritter accused her of perjury, but she only held back the inventory report because she didn't expect the matter to go this far, she said and looked at you this time. The judge chastised House and dismissed the charges, not before instructing the bailiff to incarcerate House overnight for leaving the courtroom, and ordered House to return to rehab upon release from jail.

You went with Cuddy and Wilson to visit House in jail. Cuddy, furious that she had to perjure herself, told him that she would be working him harder than ever and left.

Wilson gave him his withdrawal medication, which you figured out was actually Vicodin.

You waited further back until Wilson left, only then you neared the bars separating the two of you.

“Great way to celebrate our one-year anniversary.” You told him.

Sighing, he put his hands on top of yours through the bars.

“It’s just one night.”

“You didn’t even learn anything from what happened, those were still Vicodin and you got your way.”

“No, I got out of jail. Well, sort of at least. I hurt you along the way and I am sorry about that.”

“You should be.”

He chuckled, “I’m sorry.”

Reaching between the metal bars, you cupped his cheek, “You’re going to make it up to me. For the last few weeks as well as being stuck in a jail cell on our first anniversary.”

“Anything you want.”

[ladyshinga]

I recommend to everyone online to follow at least ONE (1) weirdo. Not a qanon conspiracy flavor weirdo, I'm talking follow furries with specific fixations you've never even heard of (I just saw a post about paranormal investigator bear furries but with no context or explanation and, sure, fuck it, why not), follow artists who use materials you've never heard of before and have barely any aesthetic interest in, follow writers whose work confuses the fuck out of you but makes you pause and think.

And the next part, and this part is VITALLY important... shut the fuck up

DON'T constantly comment "what does this mean", "I don't get it", "explain it to me", "ok but why", etc

Just shut up

There's a time and place for questions and I think it's HEALTHY to have AT LEAST one place where you COMPLETELY STOP YOURSELF from questions.

A place where you sit, stare, and let yourself Not Get It.

One of the biggest problems I run into with people is their entitled expectations to Understand everything, or at least they want to THINK they understand everything (so they're a lot more likely to fall for batshit conspiracy theories because, well, pointing at a Shadowy Group Responsible For Everything is pretty easy to understand). They see something they don't get and they flip out, they want to label it, diagnose it, make panicked laws about it.

You need... NEEEEED... for the sake of your own maturity and mental health... to know when it's okay to sit there in silence and go "hm. I don't get it. Cool."

You need to know how to sit in silence in some one's art and worldview and words and think to yourself "all of this is put together in a reasonable way, but I am not connecting with it"...

GOOD.

You shouldn't HAVE to! You shouldn't be in this world thinking EVERYTHING in it is accessible to you, is understandable to you. You NEED to embrace the idea that SOME things will always evade your understanding. The universe is unfathomably huge and it's absolute NONSENSE to think to yourself that you can fathom everything in it.

Find the harmlessly weird shit to follow IN SILENCE and let yourself not understand. It's good for you.

[animeyanderelover]

Prompt 153 "Tell me how much you love me whilst I fuck you into the mattress.” For Muzan?

I’m so excited for the new season to come out. By the way, I'm not sure who exactly his real parents were back in the Heian era so this is conjured up by my own imagination. This is one of the darker pieces that I have written so be aware of that.

@leveyani @kanaosprotector

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, manipulation, violence, death, afab s/o, Nsfw, blood kink, dacryphilia, degradation, non-con, s/o starts bleeding during sex

Words: 5.9k

Prompt 153

“Muzan?”

You called out hesitantly as you stepped onto the property of his family's residency. It was already night, a chilly breeze blowing through the district that made you shudder in the yukata that you had hastily put on when you had been notified by one of his other servants that the young lord had wished for your presence. Had something happened? Had his health further deteriorated? The servant hadn't answered you any of those questions as they had quickly left you as soon as they had delivered the message. But they had looked terrified for whatever reason.

Obviously you were worried about Muzan as you had been his personal maid for years now and had stayed with him despite his fragile condition. You had stayed up many nights whenever he had been bedridden and had always accompanied him whenever his health had been slightly better and he had wished to go outside. You had even been there when a doctor had diagnosed him with a terminal illness that would kill him before he could even reach the young age of 20 years.

The mortified look on Muzan's face, the angry glint in his eyes, his shaky hands as he had grabbed the doctor with the weak strength he still possessed in his sick condition as he had hissed at the doctor in sheer wrath yet also fear, had demanded from him to find a cure only for you to quickly help him to lay down again when a coughing fit had suddenly sized him.

It was a terrible memory as you had never felt as hopeless before as back then, unable to help Muzan to escape from the inevitable death that had been trying to take him from the moment he had been in his mother's womb. Even your words hadn't been able to soothe him from that moment on. In fact it had been from that moment on that he had started rejecting you completely for reasons you didn't fully understand but had accepted silently anyways. You knew that you were only a servant and hadn't been able to truly feel angry at him. Muzan was lonely and confused, scared and angry. You hadn't been able to blame him for his behavior. It had still come as a shock when you had been informed that he had told the remaining few servants in the household that he didn't wish to see you anymore yet you had swallowed your sadness and confusion and had moved on by helping your parents.

Yet here you were again. It hadn't been that long since you had been last here but for some reason it still felt strange. Precisely because you had spent so many days of your life here were you able to notice that something felt off. You couldn't detect any other sounds which was strange because normally some servants would still be awake at this time and enjoy some quiet time for themselves. You could also not see any light behind the shoji doors nor were any of the lanterns outside lit up for your arrival. The only source of light was the crescent hanging in the sky.

"Hello?" You called out again, this time in a slightly raised voice, your eyes trying to decipher anything within the compound that would indicate that someone was there. You just needed the validation that your gut feeling was lying to you by seeing a servant somewhere or just seeing anyone on here who belonged here.

You gulped comedically loud, the sound of you swallowing cutting through the thick silence that made you fidgety, your hands unable to relax as you clutched the thin material of your yukata in your sweaty palms. You didn't know what to do. No one was here to welcome you, to invite you inside and the uneasy feeling somewhere deep inside your stomach warned you that something was wrong and that you should leave. You just stood there within the residency, contemplating if you should leave and just come back tomorrow.

"(y/n)."

You nearly jumped when you heard Muzan's voice from somewhere. You looked up in surprise, eyes flying over the scenery before you spotted his silhoutte. You hadn't heard him at all and wondered when exactly he had appeared. On the other hand you could only see very little due to the darkness anyways so it was just likely that you had missed him because of the lack of lanterns being lit.

"What are you just standing there? I believe that I ordered you to return to me, didn't I?"

There it was again. The knot of anxiety somewhere in the pit of your stomach that only tightened when you heard his voice. He sounded... so cold. His voice held a strong and confident tone that you had never heard before yet there was also this underlying tone of iciness that you just hadn't expected to hear when he was talking to you.

"Forgive me, please. It's just that I saw no one awaiting my arrival so I was unsure if I could just enter without any permission." You quickly spoke when you pulled yourself out of your slightly shocked state. You bowed to express your apology before you straightened again. Your eyes tried to recognize his face yet it was hidden by the shadow of the roof as the moonlight only shone enough to help you identify the rough outline of his body and the dark robe with a pattern you couldn't discern.

He seemed to consider your reply for a while, to gauge your every reaction before you could spot him turning around.

"Don't make me wait again the next time."

Again you were caught off guard by the coldness in his voice but you did not let him wait this time as you picked up his silent command to follow him. You quickly removed your shoes before you went after him. As you had already expected from the looks outside the house, inside was no light on at all. No lanterns, no fire, no nothing. It was even darker than it was outside as the only natural light from the moon could only reach so far inside. As your sight was so greatly restricted, you found your steps being hesitant and slow as if afraid that you would stumble over something otherwise. Even now that you were inside, you could still hear nothing. It was almost as if only Muzan was in here but that wasn't possible. There were the other servants, there were his parents and also the doctor who had recently visited Muzan with the promise of finding a cure to his illness.

Were all of them asleep already?

"I thought I just told you to not make me wait. Is there a reason for you to ignore my words again?"

The clear tinge of displeasure in his voice was palpable to you as he stopped walking for a moment. Your steps came to an abrupt hold too. You were shuffling your feet nervously in an attempt to deal with the tension in the air.

“Muzan…where are the other servants?”

There was no answer. Only the thick silence that made you slowly break out in cold sweat. Had you said something wrong?

“You’re here for me. You’re my maid. What the rest of the servants are up to should be none of your concern.”

You bowed your head when you could now hear the sharp disdain in his tone, the clear annoyance he now felt for your behavior.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t ask again.”

You kept your head low, didn’t dare to look up. It was only when you heard his footsteps walking again that you looked back up and did your best to follow him. You didn’t want to be scolded again. There were so many questions and worries in your mind yet you had to silence them all.

When Muzan slid open the shoji doors which led to his room, you were right behind him. You could very faintly identify some furniture within the room, even though the lack of any candlelight made you still uneasy.

Both of you stood there, in his room where you had catered to his health for so many nights on end. It was a room more familiar to you than your parent’s house yet you had never felt more uncomfortable than in this moment. You stood silently right behind him, not moving and not speaking until he would do it first.

“Sit down.”

You slowly bent your knees down, your fingers stretching out to feel the floor beneath you so that you wouldn’t accidentally sit on something that was laying on the ground. As soon as you were seated on the floor, you folded your hands politely in your lap. Your eyes kept on glancing at his form briefly before going back to your lap.

“Stay here and wait for me.”

You nodded your head, although you weren’t even sure if he could even see it due to the darkness. You could sense his body passing your own sitting on the ground before he was gone, even his footsteps disappearing after a while. That’s when you let out a deep breath you hadn’t even been aware that you had held in. Your chest felt heavy as you took deep breaths to regulate your beating heart. The pressure and anxiety you had been feeling since he had found you outside had had a bigger toll on you than you had anticipated.

Muzan was your master and you held him dear in your heart but within the confinement of the heavy darkness, you found yourself dreading his return.

It was the beam of light that caught your attention whilst you were sitting and waiting for him. You could see it through the shoji doors as the brightness approached where you were. There was a sense of security washing over you when you saw the light. When the doors were slid open, your surroundings were instantly dipped in the dull yet warm light of the lantern Muzan had brought with him. Relief took hold of you when you could finally see your surroundings better. You wanted to thank Muzan for his consideration but your words got lost in your throat when you were finally able to take your first good look at his face.

He had always been pale as he had been forced to spend most of his days inside, sick and bedridden. Right now, even in the gentle glow of the lantern he was holding up, you could see that his skin was paler than it had ever been before. It almost reminded you of the drained face of a dead person. Only that Muzan didn’t look like he was close to death. The dark rings under his eyes were gone and you were sure that he had gained muscles on what used to be a fragile and ill body.

What caught you by surprise the most were the plum red eyes that were looking at you. Muzan had never had red eyes. His stare was cruel and unforgiving and it matched the cold tone he had used on you ever since you had returned. Those red eyes made your chest tighten, made you hyperaware of every breath you struggled to take in as quietly as possible. Your mind was racing, trying to come up with an explanation of what you were seeing right now.

“You-you look a lot…better.” You spoke with an audible tremble in your voice. You had wanted to say “healthy” at first but this sickly pale skin of his didn’t allow you to do so.

The silence didn’t break with your words as you had hoped. Instead it only increased your uncomfortableness and nervousness as those red eyes appeared to stare straight into your soul. You had to suppress the urge to swallow, his look giving you the impression that by merely opening your mouth you would do something to displease him.

Muzan put the lantern wordlessly down, his gaze focusing on the source of light for a moment before he turned away. He wasn’t looking at you though, his back facing you as he turned into the other direction. You could see how he lifted up one of his hands, curling it into a fist before uncurling it again. He did this multiple times, flexing the muscles on his arm as if needing the reassurance that it was real.

“The medicine worked.”

It should have been a sentence that would bring you joy and relief. Muzan was healed. He would live. Yet why didn’t he sound happy? Why did he sound so angry?

“That’s a good thing… You must be relieved.” You still decided to say, although you made it sound more like a question than a statement.

When he turned his head around and his crushing gaze found yours, you almost felt the weight on your shoulders. Your body sank further down, your shoulders hunched over and your head hanging low as you attempted to make yourself smaller. You should have just stayed quiet after all.

“Relieved?”

Your heart dropped when he closed the distance between you two with a few long strides. Chills erupted all over your skin when icy hands grabbed your face and forced you to look up. So cold. His skin was so cold that it felt like the hands of death were gripping your face tightly. Red eyes were blazing with such anger and frustration, his pupils narrowing into slits as his nails dug into the skin of your face.

“It’s not enough, (y/n). I’m close… So close to becoming the perfect being and yet I’m being it denied. How can I feel relieved when I can’t walk in the sun?”

His glare was scorching and freezing you at the same time as cold sweat started coating your skin. Your breath was shaky, your heartbeat drumming against your rib cage as you squirmed in his hold. You didn’t understand anything that he was saying. It sounded like he had lost it yet there was this twisted anguish on his face that gave you a bad feeling.

“Muzan…You’re hurting me!”

You cried out as your hands started grasping his biceps to pry his hands away from your face. His nails were embedded in your skin and had already created crescent-shaped imprints. The hold he had on you was still tightening as his emotions of anger seemed to overflow. You were afraid that his nails would break through your skin at any moment.

That’s when he suddenly let go of you and pushed you forcefully back. Your body flew backwards before your back made a sudden and forceful impact with the floor beneath you. A pained groan left your lips, your hands grasping the material of the futon that was lying behind you. Your breath left your mouth in stuttering patterns, tears gathering in your eyes as you looked up at Muzan like a scared child.

Your chest tightened and your lips started wobbling. Those plum red eyes were unforgiving and cruel as they scrutinized you without any hint of sympathy.

“What did you do to all the servants and your parents?”

The words had left you before you had been able to even grasp your thoughts. You didn’t even know from where these words had come from. When you felt a knot in your chest though, one consisting of anxiety and fear, you knew from where those words had originated from. It was a bad foreboding that had now manifested as you tried to endure his cruel eyes.

Nothing on his face changed. The cruelty, the coldness, the apathy remained on it as he answered your question.

“I killed them.”

His words were so uncaring, so indifferent that it almost made your heart stop. You couldn’t even begin to phantom how anyone could talk so detached about people who had cared for them their entire lives.

However…if he had killed all of them…Why had he called you here?

You scrambled slowly away from him as if slower movements wouldn’t trigger him to jump on you. Your heart was hurting from its racing speed and your chest felt as if it was made out of stone as every breath you drew in felt difficult.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Your voice sounded pathetic as you whimpered the accusation. You couldn’t help it though, you were too scared to care about this. At your words, Muzan tilted his head in a dangerous way as if the sound of your soft crying annoyed him.

“Kill you?”

You couldn’t quite tell if the short flicker of pitiful amusement was only an imagination of your hearing or not. Your body started stiffening when he stepped closer to you. Every movement felt heavy as it felt like your limbs had been turned into stone when you shuffled away from him again. Your movements looked clumsy, a strong contrast to his own. There was confidence in every twitch of his muscles, his eyes glowing with a new emotion that you pinpointed down to be anticipation and desire. His gaze was so intense, so thorough that you felt vulnerable and exposed as if those eyes had stripped you completely naked.

When he finally knelt down to your height, your breath got caught in your throat. You could almost feel the inhumane coldness of his skin and as a reaction goosebumps started to appear all over your skin.

Your stomach was twisting and turning with nausea as you saw his eyes traveling over the swell of your breasts and the curves of your body. You felt violated but there was also a steady fear rising inside of you due to the lust you saw in his piercing red orbs.

"I didn't call you here to kill you." He began as one of his hands came up to rest on your hips, his thumb digging into the skin of your pelvis. Your throat closed up when he leaned close, too close for you.

"I want something else from you."

No...

You couldn't stop the salty tears from cascading down your cheeks as you shook your head in useless resistance. Your hands trying to push against his toned chest did nothing as he pushed you down, your body halfway on the futon and halfway on the tatami floor.

"Undress."

He told, no, demanded from you in an authoritarian voice that almost made you want to obey out of fear of what would happen if you wouldn't do as he said. Apparently your hesitation was already enough to anger him as you could see from the way his eyes narrowed as he observed you.

"What's wrong?"

Your mouth was agape as you tried to force anything out of your mouth.

"I-I don't want to do this." You ultimately spoke, honestly expressing your emotions as you started sobbing in silent terror. Your vision was blurry as the tears wouldn't stop.

A short burning flicker of anger you had never seen been directed at you before his cold palm struck you with a strength that made your head nearly collide with the floor. You started crying harder as you felt the hot and pulsing pain on the entire half of your face.

Muzan had just hit you. He had never done this before.

"Have you forgotten that you are my servant? A servant doesn't speak up against their master. Do you understand, (y/n)? Do you understand why I have to punish disobedience?"

You were looking at him with wide eyes. You felt the urge to throw up but you swallowed the acetous bile down your throat as you bit your lips in pain and nodded.

"If you understand, then do as I say."

With the pain still throbbing on the side of your face, your hands shakily peeled off all the layers of your clothing. You could see now that your entire body had started trembling. Fear, shame and humiliation were all mixing together in your core as you could see the greed and the lust in his eyes.

He was now right above you, his long hair touching your face as his hands rested on either side of your head.

"That's better. Now do the same for me."

You had to muffle your cries by biting your lips as you shuffled around to get his robes off of him. Your warm body was forced to touch his cold one as you did so and you didn't know if you were only imagining it but you could have sworn that you could his heartbeat from multiple parts of his body at once. His eyes monitored your shaky hands closely as you slowly pushed his own yukata off of his body. When you saw his already half-erect cock, you had to really suppress the urge to dry heave.

"That wasn't that hard now, was it? That's a good girl."

You flinched when the same hand which had struck you was now caressing your stinging face, the coolness of his skin now almost soothing your burning cheek.

Your hands, still clutching his shed yukata tightly as a way to vent out some of your turbulent emotions slowly pulled back to your own body. Only that they were stopped when Muzan grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

"Your job isn't done yet."

You knew exactly what he meant when you glanced back to his half-hard member. You wanted to cry, to scream to push him away and run but all of those urges were eclipsed by the overwhelming fear his eyes alone spawned inside of you. So you could only continue sobbing silently as you forced your trembling fingers around his cock and started squeezing and rubbing up and down his pale shaft all whilst Muzan was watching you, only adding to your growing shame.

The only thing you were grateful for was that the tears flowing down your face blurred your vision so that you couldn't notice every vein visible on his hardening manhood. You had to really focus on not pulling away the moment you felt the pre-cum on the tip of his penis that was smeared all over his shaft and your palms as you slid your hands steadily and clumsily over his dick. Through your tears you could barely see the way his eyes twitched occasionally, his brows knitting as he forced you to pleasure his cock.

"Stop."

You pulled back almost too fast and for a moment you were worried that you had offended him. When he forced you to spread your legs further apart though, you knew that he had other plans with you now. You could only watch through your tear-stained eyelashes how he positioned yourself and how he took one last anticipating look at your body.

He gave you no warning and no preparation before he brutally entered you dry. You let out a scream as he forced himself with one smack of his hips fully inside of you, your tight walls in searing pain as they struggled to adapt to the rapid intrusion. Your legs were cramping and kicking around, your hands grasped the futon beneath you tightly until your knuckles turned white. You saw black dots dancing across your vision as you could only gasp for breath whilst tasting your own salty tears. The burning pain spread from your lower regions to your stomach, your gut churning around and pushing the acidic bile up your throat again.

You wanted to beg him to pull out or to at least have enough mercy to give your body some time to prepare but the pain cut out your ability to speak as only whimpers could leave your mouth. Perhaps even if you would have begged him, he wouldn't have listened.

"Tell me how much you love me whilst I fuck you into the mattress.”

That is the only warning you got yet your scrambling mind still isn’t prepared when he starts thrusting in and out of you with the same brutal hip movements without giving you any break. You could barely catch a break as he pulled out almost completely until only his tip was kissing your burning hole before thrusting with full force back inside of you until his hips met your own. Your whole body was bouncing with every intense slap of his hips and your sobbing only continued as every intrusion of his cock in your most sacred body part renewed the pain. You could barely process what was happening around you, the pain all-consuming.

Muzan and you were on completely different spectrums of emotions. Every thrust of his body that brought you agony brought him sparking pleasure. Tight. You were so deliciously tight as your warm walls struggled to wrap around his thick girth. He had always known this but now he could really feel that you were a virgin. Untainted, unclaimed and ripe for him to take.

He had always fantasized about what you would feel even when he had been sick and weak. But even his greatest dreams could have never prepared him for the euphoric feeling of plunging inside those plush virgin walls and shaping your insides to take him in perfectly. It was exhilarating. It was euphoric. And it wouldn't be the last time.

You let out a strangled sob when he suddenly grabbed your hips and lifted them up, allowing his dick to disappear even deeper into parts that no one before him had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. He intended to keep it that way.

Sweat and tears were coating your face, your stomach twisting and turning in a nauseating mixture of pain, disgust and the occasional spark of growing pleasure. As hard as you tried, it was impossible to ignore the feeling of his length defiling you and brushing against your seared and sensitive walls.

When he ankled his cock in a particular way, you let out a shriek as the pain abruptly exploded and ripped away at your insides. Your cries rose in volumes in response yet Muzan didn't slow down at all.

You made the mistake of glancing down and when you saw his cock sliding in and out of you, coated in the little bit of slick you had started producing and your own blood, you wanted to throw up. The sight went right through yout intestines and you started heaving. You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, trying your best to suppress the gagging reflex that threatened to cause you to vomit.

The moment he tore something inside of you and caused you to bleed though, you heard a growl coming from him. You dared to glance up at him and felt your blood freezing. You saw his eyes turning to thin slits as his nostrils flared up as he took in the sweet aroma of your blood. His lips parted as he bared his sharp teeth, his pupils quivering as if he was a wild animal about to devour his prey. His gaze flew down, staring at the part of your body where both of you merged and at the sight of your blood, he could feel his mouth salivating. Even your blood was lovely.

It took some willpower before he was able to tear his gaze away from your bleeding vagina and back to your face. You were a mess. Your face was sticky with hot sweat, tears and snot all running down your face. You looked at him with such despair in your eyes, your mouth trying to form words but unable to let out anything else besides sobs that probably would have broken the heart of everyone else. But Muzan wasn't everyone else.

His head was suddenly pressed against your neck, taking in deep breaths as he could hear and feel your racing pulse against his cold lips and the flowing blood right beneath your skin.

When one of his hands roughly seized your shoulder to stop you from squirming so much and you could already feel his tongue drawing over your skin as if searching for a good spot to start, your trembles intensified. Yet you knew that you could do nothing as you felt another additional pain when sharp teeth bit into your flesh and you could feel the vibrations of a growling moan of pleasure resonating somewhere from deep within his chest.

Your sweet blood melted on his tongue as he dug his tongue into the wound, greedy for more of it. It was a delicate and flavourful taste, far better than any of the flesh he had tasted from his parents and all the other servants.

You were shaking, heaving, sobbing as everything became too much for you and all the different sensations overwhelmed you and slaughtered your coherent thoughts and senses. The searing pain between your legs, your guts clenching around whatever food was still being digested inside of you, your body heaving the acidic taste up to the back of your throat only for you to swallow it constantly down again, the skin of your face tingling with all the salty tears streaming down, the burning sting of the bites Muzan placed all over your shoulders and chest, the multiple heartbeats you could feel through his cold skin as he pressed you beneath his body further into his futon and somewhere in between all of that the dull knot of pleasure somewhere else in your body.

All of it melted together into one giant blop of sensations that blackened your vision and made your ears ring. Everything felt overwhelming to in one moment and then dull and distant in the next moment as your brain started shutting down.

You wanted to embrace that pitch-black nothingness, you could almost grasp it...

Then something tore through all of your senses like a tsunami with such an intensity that for a few seconds you were wide awake. Your eyes flew open, your whole body was trembling with spasms and you opened your mouth to let out a high-pitched scream as it came over you and held you in its hold for a few seconds. You felt your walls clamping down around Muzan's length and somewhere within the depth of your mind you finally understood that you were having an orgasm as your vision was overwritten by pure white for a few fleeting moments before it all stopped as abruptly as it had come and your body fell limply back onto the futon.

You could still feel Muzan snapping his pelvis against your own, his speed increasing as he could feel your own body coming around his cock before with one last grunt he pressed himself as deeply inside of your bleeding warmth as possible as he reached his own orgasm. You could faintly feel thick spurts of cum staining your insides as he kept on grinding his pelvis against yours for a few seconds to fully ride his orgasm out before he stopped.

You didn't know what he was planning to do now and you didn't care anymore either. All you cared about were those dark spots taking over your vision, promising you temporary release from all of this.

"You haven't told me yet."

Through your slowly darkening vision, you could make out his face. There was a frown on his face that expressed his mild annoyance but for whatever reason he didn't seem as mad as he had been before. Perhaps because he had released all pent-up emotions on you.

Your mind was working very slowly as you tried to understand what he meant. What did he want you to say?

"Tell me that you love me." He repeated for you and you could faintly recall that he had said that before he had raped you and abused you. You stared at him as your mind started drifting away, his face slowly vanishing until only those red eyes remained that seemed to find you even in this darkness. You could only feel it from far away when he started thrusting inside of you again, not done with you yet.

"I love you. More than anyone else." Was the only coherent thing you were able to conjure up before your consciousness was swallowed by the dark nothingness where even those haunting red eyes couldn't reach you...

---

Your head was propped up by him with one arm as the other one gently pushed a cup of water through your lips and teeth, forcing the cooling liquid down your dry and burning throat. You looked for the first time on that night peaceful within the depths of unconsciousness where he couldn't reach you yet. A part of the demon didn't want you to have this rest. He wanted to force you to say his name over and over again and have you screaming that you belonged to him whilst cumming around his dick yet he had to remain himself that you were only a human. Weak and limited.

He had been like that not too long ago too, only that he had been even weaker than you had been. His entire life had been nothing but a pathetic fight against death and his own useless body. Now that Muzan had been stripped off his humanity and mortality though, he felt a confidence and strength that he had never been able to experience before.

As he gazed at your sleeping face, he couldn't help but reminisce about how long he had been longing for you already yet had been tied down by his own sick body. He had always wanted to ask for you to marry him yet he had been far too ashamed of his own pathetic condition to do so. So when he had been told that he wouldn't even live longer than twenty years, the desperation had crushed him as he had realized something.

That you would never be his. That you would move on after his death, marry a healthy and strong man, bear his children and eventually completely forget about him. He hadn't even been able to look at you after the visit from the doctor without imagining it. How dare you being able to forget about him? Bitterness had tarnished him and had turned his love for you partially into hatred as he had started harboring a resentment against you and your kind words tainted in pity for his health. Every gaze and every action from your side had felt like an insult to him as he had grown to fully despise how you had secretly looked down on him for his inevitable death. It had always felt wrong.

Now everything was right though. Now everything was finally as it should have been from the start.

He took notice of the way you started shuddering when he wrapped his arms around you, his body not providing any warmth for you. He narrowed his eyes, contemplating something before he grabbed the blanket that was lying on the end of the futon before wrapping it around you, giving you the warmth you were seeking for subconsciously. Then he wrapped his arms around you again, hoping that the blanket would shield you from his cold skin. He pressed his face against the back of your neck, taking deep breaths of the stenching smell of blood, sweat, tears and sex clinging to your skin.

He would have to keep you inside the house as soon as the sun would rise but it was very unlikely that you would be able to move your body around in the first place after he had finally claimed you.

He finally had you. The only thing that was missing now was the Blue Spider Lily...

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls Chapter 13 part 1/2

masterpost

The next patrol night, Jason’s shoulder was still a little sore from how hard Jack Fenton had pumped it to say goodbye after they’d gone ‘ghost chasing- not hunting!’ in the family van. The van and the family were both growing on him. He was going to really hate it if he had to arrest either of the Fenton kids. It might damage his relationship with Jack and Maddie.

“How was your trip?”

“Might have gotten adopted but I’m not sure why,” Jason said. He shot his grapple and aimed to get a good view of the neighborhood. He winced as it reeled him up. It was a quiet night and cool air buffeted him hard from the side. He didn’t expect trouble. He’d been seen, which was the main deterrent Crime Alley needed at this point. “Did a bit of journalism. Had an impromptu refresher on tactical driving.” He hit boots-first with relief and immediately rolled his shoulder.

“...You’re doing that shitty thing where you make it sound like you’re blowing me off with lies, but then later I find out it was all true and you make some jackass comment about being an honest guy,” Tim diagnosed. He sounded cranky about it, too.

Jason just shrugged. “Did Gotham miss me?” Horns honked in the distance. He looked in that direction on reflex; but no explosion or crash followed. He relaxed again.

“Not even a little bit. But something happened while you were in the air, actually, that might be relevant. Have time to watch?” A little red cursor appeared on the feed inside his helmet.

Jason retracted his grapple and settled in on the ledge like a gargoyle. “Go for it.” He rested his elbows on his knees and crouched. Then he redirected his focus from the real world around him to the little screen that Tim was hijacking.

“Yeah, you’ll like this,” Tim said under his breath. “Just a sec. No theory yet, but check this shit out.”

Jason grimaced preemptively.

The shared screen switched to an Arkham security camera, complete with logo in the bottom right hand corner. It showed a single occupancy low-security cell at night. A man was sleeping in the bed. The quality was crappy enough that Jason doubted he’d be able to identify the prisoner if they looked directly at the camera.

“That Waters?” he checked.

“Sure is.” A button clicked. “Here we go.”

It was hard to tell that the video was playing, aside from the seconds ticking by on the display. Jason resisted the urge to fidget. Tim had selected this part for a reason. Maybe that reason was to be a dick, but probably he was serious.

The screen went black. Then static. Then the feed started wavering across the screen in lines.

“Huh.” Jason lifted his eyebrows. “Not great quality.”

“Reminds me of the quality of Jasmine Fenton’s phone calls,” Tim muttered. “But hold on. It’s hard to see, but-”

Waters was sitting up in one frame. In the next, he was scrambling out of bed and to the floor to prostrate face down in front of absolutely nobody.

He had to make a dry comment. “Wonder why he’s in Arkham.”

Granted, Jason knew the guy was kinda right about the afterworld. But he really wasn’t conveying ‘I am a stable member of society who won’t try any more human sacrifices in a community center rental room.’

Jason squinted. “Does it look like he’s talking to you?”

“Sure does.” Tim sounded frustrated. “No sound, and there’s no chance of reading lips on this even if the angle was better.”

Jason checked the full view of the camera angle again with a sharp eye for any anomalies. Lots of people had special powers that let them go unseen. There was usually some kind of sign, though. A shadow? Something small on the floor that was disturbed? An indication that something moved because someone touched it?

If there was anyone in that room, they didn’t touch anything, and they didn’t stay long. Waters wrenched himself up and threw a fit, hitting the floor and pulling at his hair. Jason watched impassively, waiting to see how long it took for something to happen.

“Response time isn’t too bad,” he remarked. Two orderlies appeared outside of the cell and began trying to talk Waters down.

“Over two minutes,” Tim said judgmentally.

Jason rolled his eyes, because he lived in the real fucking world where that was a short amount of time to notice and reach a cell at night. On the screen, Waters started to respond to whatever was being said. He uncurled from his ball on the floor. He gradually got up. He nodded a few times. The rest of the clip seemed utterly unremarkable and Jason had to assume they were only watching it to be certain they were thorough.

When it was finally over Jason leaned back and contemplated the night sky. “You think that Jasmine Fenton is connected?” he had to ask.

“She did look up when his cell transfer would be and this happened half a day later, the last night before he got moved. I can’t think of how she’d be connected, unless you believe- well.” Tim cleared his throat. “I looked up the Fentons. They say they’re, uh.” He sounded embarrassed just to say it.

Jason could have cut in at any time with ‘ectobiologists?’ Instead, he sat back and enjoyed how uncomfortable his shitty little foster brother was about mad science. Bit rich, coming from the mental breakdown cloning guy. But hey, free schadenfreude source.

Tim sighed so hard it sent static across the feed. Jason turned on the recording function just in time to capture Tim say, “They’re ghost hunters. Ecobiologists. Hey, you sack of-”

Jason ended the recording. “Imma trim that,” he muttered to himself, and saved the file where Tim couldn’t access it. “Gonna be my ringtone for you,” he lied cheerfully. He could think of much better uses for ‘they’re ghost hunters.’

But in the interest of fairness-

“They’re not ghost hunters,” Jason clarified. “They’re ghost chasers, now. Like storm chasers.”

“Wow,” Tim muttered. “I’ll take that note down for my diary.

Jason stood up and ignored the sarcasm. “You’re theorizing that there might have been a ghost in that cell?”

[wearebarca]

3. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character pt. 3

Part 1 part 2 part 3

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed too long at the same place. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

word count: 4,3K

18 + (eventually)

A/N: Hello, notify me if you'd like a little album of the pictures Rosalie takes. Spanish is from google translate so please be nice. French is my first language so all should be good on that part. Enjoy.

The question took the brunette by surprise. She could see that the footballer was getting more comfortable around her but she did not think that the woman would ask such a personal question. The subject had always been quite sensitive for the Canadian but, for unknown reasons she felt that, here, in this empty facility, with the catalonian trusting her with this whole process, she felt like she could share this bit of her story.

“ My uncle was a wedding photographer. When I was younger, he used to bring me with him to some weddings and have me play his little assistant. He would give me one of those single use cameras and tell me to capture what I found beautiful.” The memory put a nostalgic smile to the woman’s face. To this day, she still incredibly misses her uncle and wishes that he could see her today. 

“My parents were busy people, so my uncle took me under his wing. He taught me everything he knew and encouraged me to pursue this passion and helped me make a career out of it.” She raised her camera and snapped a shot of the blond who was listening with a small smile on her face.  “ Can you angle yourself towards the left please?” 

The blond moved to the side and for the first time tonight, really took the time to look at the brunette. Her hair was in a messy bun with a few strands escaping and framing her face. Her high waisted jean shorts showed off her long legs. She had on an oversized gray grandad cardigan on top of her black t–shirt. The sleeves of her sweater were slightly too long and went over her hands. The brunette looked comfortable and at ease, she was relaxed and completely in her element. She looked nothing like the photographer’s Alexia had worked with in the past. She was used to flamboyant people who yelled orders at their models or were constantly harassing her with their camera, not this slightly awkward, caring, beautiful woman who was willingly sharing her story with the footballer.

“ He must be an incredible photographer.”

“ He was yes,” The brunette’s expression dimed at that, Alexia suddenly felt bad for bringing the subject but the smaller woman motionned to her that everything was ok and continued. “  Eleven years ago he was diagnosed with bone cancer. He died a year later, not long after my eighteenth birthday.”  

“ I am sorry,”

“ Don’t be, I’m happy to talk about him,” She said smiling, “ What about you? Why football?”

“ My dad, he loved football. He was always very supportive and proud. He got sick.” The blond said, looking down, not wanting the photographer to see her be vulnerable. Rosalie felt the shift in the atmosphere and put down her camera. “ He said that he would not die before seeing his daughter play for Barcelona’s first team, but he went two months before I reached our goal.” 

The brunette wanted to hug the girl standing in front of her but could not decide if she would be comfortable enough to do so. “ I am sure he is extremely proud of what you have accomplished, La reina”, the name earned the smaller woman an eye roll from the footballer who shifted in a different position for the photographer. 

“ Ok, let’s get this shoot over with, I think we both deserve to go home and finally relax.” They finished up quickly and Rosalie was quite happy with the pictures that came out. While she uploaded the pictures to her computer, the blond helped picking up the equipment. Grateful for her help, the brunette promised the captain that she would bring her coffee next week as a thank you.

They walked out of the empty training center as the sun was starting to set. When the brunette reached her small car, she turned around to see the taller woman standing awkwardly behind her. 

“ I just wanted to thank you for making this shooting so casual and easy.”

“ Of course, anything to make you comfortable, Alexia.” She grabbed the blond’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. “ Have a good weekend Capitana,” 

“Thank you,” The blond started to walk towards her own car but turned back around after a few steps. 

“ Bonne nuit Rosalià.”

The morning air was crisp against her sweat coated skin and the breeze coming from the sea kept the brunette cool even after running for an hour. It was still incredibly early in the morning and the only sounds that could be heard were the odd car passing and the sound of her feet hitting the pavement. Early morning was her favorite time to go run. It allowed her to be completely submerce by the calmness of the still sleeping city. Rosalie didn’t often run with music, preferring to listen to the sounds of her own steps, which acted as some sort of metronome for the torrent of thoughts running in her head lately. 

It had been four days since her shooting with the captain and still, the whole ordeal seemed to be the subject her brain would drift back to whenever the French-Canadian would let her mind run free. The fact that the blond seemed to make tremendous effort to stay as far as she could from the photographer had not helped the questions that were quickly multiplying in her head. 

Rosalie somehow thought that after that night, Alexia would be more approachable and less standoffish. But clearly the woman was not as comfortable as she thought with how vulnerable they had gotten and now she was probably regretting telling the brunette so much. Or maybe she thought that Rosalie went too far by sharing her story with the footballer. Whatever the reason was, the results were still the same. 

Later today, the team will be taking off towards Sevilla for a two day trip. They would all meet at the training center and take the team bus towards the airport. Flying had always been a tricky thing for Rosalie. When she was a teenager she had been on a plane with extremely violent turbulence that had scared the girl and ever since, flying had been one of the woman’s biggest fears. Her friends had always found the thing ironic, since the brunette's job required Rosalie to fly frequently and said that she should’ve gotten used to it by now. But nonetheless, every time the photographer simply thought about flying, she would get restless and anxiety would start creating a pit in her stomach. 

This was the reason why she was currently out at such an ungodly hour, trying to literally run away from her anxious thoughts. Around her she could see that the small coffee shops that were lined on the streets were starting to set up their front patios in order to open and the smell of freshly baked pastries was floating in the morning air. A quick look at her watch told her that she still had a good three hours before Lucy and Keira would arrive at her apartment to pick her up, meaning that she still had time to hit  the half marathon mark before heading back.

She wasn’t used to running this long on morning runs, but she had gone over her training program with Sara, one of the coaches and switched up her training to make it more challenging. So far her breathing was good and she could feel the slight burn of her legs but overall, her pace was good and she was more than satisfied with her time. 

Sara had been a true angel this past week. She had helped the runner organize a new training plan that was focused more on endurance rather than speed. Rosalis had always struggled with long distances which was why marathons were her least favourite type of races. She was extremely hard headed though so she was still focused on mastering this type of event. 

She even went as far as going running with the Canadian during the weekend. She was quite impressed by the level of fitness the brunette was displaying and found that she very much appreciated the company of the French-Canadian. After their run they had stopped at a local café and had agreed to room together during the upcoming trip. 

When Rosalie arrived at her apartment complex, she noticed the couple’s car parked by the door. She checked her watch to see that she technically still had at least an hour and a half before they were supposed to be here. She opened her door to come face to face with a sleeping form on her couch and Lucy running around in her kitchen.the smell of crêpe was wafting in the space.

“ Took you long enough,” The older woman whispered, handing Rosalie a fresh cup of coffee.

“How did you even get in here?”

“ You’re the one who left her door unlocked Rosie, which is not very safe darling you should be more careful.” 

The blob of  blankets on the couch stirred enough to reveal disheveled blond reddish hair. “ Lucy, please shut your mouth. I'm trying to sleep here.”

Rosalie made her  way to the living room and jumped on the woman who screamed at the Canadian to get off.

“ Frenchy you smell like ass go shower, Mama Bronze isn’t done with food anyway.” 

After her shower the brunette put on some comfortable clothes consisting of the staff’s tracksuit pants, a white t-shirt with the Barcelona logo and the Nike club vest that had quickly become one of her favorite articles of clothing. When she came back in the kitchen, everything had been picked up and the kitchen island was dressed up with the food. Lucy and keira were already sitting down and shoveling down food.

“ Mais quel bande d’animal, sincèrement? Vous ne pouviez pas attendre que j’aille fini?”

“ Tais toi femme et viens manger.” Lucy replied with her mouth full.

“ I regret teaching you French, I hope you know that.” She sat down and sipped on her coffee. She wasn’t hungry due to the knot that kept her stomach in check. Knowing that the younger woman would most likely not be able to eat due to her nervousness, Lucy got up and pulled out from the fridge a protein smoothie she had made at home before coming over. 

“Here, at least drink this, you just came back from what I assume was a big run. You gotta put something in you.”

Once breakfast was over, Rosalie finished packing up her camera bag while the girls were loading her bags in the car. The drive to the training center was quiet. Keira was still half asleep and Rosalie was simply too stressed to engage in conversation. Lucy didn’t mind the silence, she was relaxing and enjoying the time spent with two of the most important people in her life. 

The bus ride with the team was more or less the same, with everyone in  pretty much the same state as Keira. As they got closer to the airport, Rosalie’s nerves became worse. Her knee was bouncing up and down and the woman kept zoning out, unable to keep listening to Martina who was going on about a rumor about some people working in management. Thanks to Marcello’s participation in the conversation, Rosalie’s state remained relatively unknown. Or so she thought. 

A few seats behind her, Ingrid, Alexia, Mapi, Keira and Lucy were all sitting together. Knowing that the younger girl was quite fragile at the moment, Lucy had kept a close eye on her. 

“ Hermana, you keep watching Rosie, is everything good?” Mapi wondered, stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of the photographer. 

“She hates flying, it affects her a lot. I just don’t want her to get too bad, you know » Alexia had also noticed the change in the brunette. The normally bubbly woman looked pale and uncharacteristically quiet. 

« Can we do something to help? » Ingrid asked.

« Not really, nothing really distracts her in this situation. We just have to let her process this and stay close, just in case. » Keira replied. They were used to flying with the brunette and had tried everything to help her calm down but nothing really did the trick. She usually would put her headphones in and grip the seat as  hard as she could until they would land. 

Lucy got up and excused herself. Alexia watched her make her way to the front of the bus where the coaches, therapist and the rest of the staff were. “What is she doing?”

“ I think she’s trying to figure out who’s sitting with Frenchy on the plane.” Keira answered, turning towards her girlfriend.

“ They are close, Si?” Alexia’s curiosity had gotten the best of her. She wasn’t jealous, she could see that Lucy and Keira cared a lot about the green-eyed woman and she did not understand why, but she wanted to know as much as she could about her. 

“ Yeah, Like sisters they are. Lucy’s very protective of her, she does have much family. We’re hers now, you know.” Keira smiled as she watched Lucy walk back to her seat, but not without stopping to drop a granola bar on The Canadian’s lap and threatening her to eat it before they boarded. 

“ So who’s with her?” 

“ Apparently she’s the only staff member who didn’t get a ticket in the same area, probably because they booked it after everyone else. She’s gonna sit with the team, but we don’t know our seats yet so..” She said as she sat back down.

“ It’s ok, I can ask whoever is with her to swap with me, I’ll sit with her.” Ingrid said smiling. 

“ Thank you Ingrid,” Lucy said, visibly more relaxed knowing that the brunette would be with someone she seemed to trust.

At the airport, security went smoothly and the team collected their boarding passes only to be called moments later to the gate. The speed at which everything was going was a godsend for Rosalie who was too focused on making sure she had all her documents all the while taking pictures of the team, to have time to think about the moment the wheel of the plane would leave the ground. 

As she walked in the tunnel leading to the aircraft, Rosalie could feel her heart hammering in her chest and her palms getting increasingly sweaty. Lucy’s grounding presence helped the brunette a little but her fear was fighting hard to gain control. The photographer checked her boarding pass for the first time since receiving it to check what seat she had been assigned. 

“ where are you sitting?” The question came from Ingrid who was walking in front of them. 

“ I have B47,” her answer came put a lot more calm than the woman felt as she scanned the seats to find her own. 

“ That's good, Mapi and I are right in front of you,” As she was answering, the Norwegian stopped and picked up her bag to place it in the overhead bin, which told Rosalie that they had reached their seats. She walked the few steps that separated her from her seat, only to come face to face with the woman that had been occupying her mind for the last few days. 

Suddenly, Rosalie’s anxiety found a new target to spiral about. A hand on her shoulder pulled the photographer out of her thoughts. 

“Are you ok? We can sit together if you want? I have a few movies downloaded on my tablet. Mapi can sit with Alexia.” Ingrid asked, smiling softly at the brunette. Rosalie appreciated the dark haired girl but there's one thing that woman hated more than flying, and it was  pity. She knew that they only wanted to help her but she couldn’t help but feel like they were pitying her and she didn't want to appear weak in front of her new team, which is why she politely declined, thanking the couple and placing her belongings in the bin on top of her seat. 

The comotion caught the attention of the blond captain who had not seen who was prepared to sit next to her. She was more than surprised to see the photographer standing in the alley with a nervous small playing on her lips. 

“ Hey,”

“Hola,” Alexia said smiling, picking up her bag from the seat next to her. She sat down next to the blond and closed her eyes to try to calm herself before take off. 

Looking at the brunette, Alexia felt a strange sense of protectiveness wash over her. She wanted to make the brunette feel better, make that smile that takes her breath away appear on the photographer’s soft features. A few seats away, she could see Lucy watch them with a worried expression which Alexia answered with a reassuring smile. She would not let the brunette spiral. 

Surprisingly, Alexia was not the first one to speak. “ I am sorry if I overstepped during the shooting. I didn’t want to male you feel uncomfortable.” She said, eyes still closed and head thrown back. If she was to sit with the blond for this trip, might as well try to make it a little less awkward. 

“ What do you mean?”

“ I don’t know, I just  don’t want you to think that I’m probing your personal life.”

“ No, no I did not think that, do not worry,” the footballer took a second to think about what she was going to say next. She was aware of her own behaviour towards the photographer. The woman made her nervous and she felt like with the brunette, she did not need to put on a controlled facade like with the rest of the media team, and that scared the Ballon d’Or winner. Alexia hated feeling like she wasn’t in complete control of herself, so the easiest solution in her mind was simply to keep her distances. But staying away from the brunette did not appease her curiosity. “ I am very sorry if I made you feel this way. I appreciate your presence Rosalia.” 

The blond’s small confession made Rosalie slightly relax, enough for a small smile to escape her lips. She turned her head towards Alexia, who felt a warm feeling take place at the sight. “ I appreciate your presence as well.” 

The plane jolted, signaling the brunette, who had momentarily forgotten where she was, that they would be taking off very soon. She quickly grabbed the arm rest and panic flooded brain. Alexia, who had seen the brunette deteriorate, did the first thing that came to her mind. She grabbed the hand that was gripping the arm rest and held it with her own. She reached with her other hand and gently turned the photographer’s face towards her. Green met Hazel and the brunette was instantly captured by the depth of the footballer’s gaze. 

“You’re ok, hey look at me, breathe with me ok?” The blond took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her lips. The brunette followed the footballer’s lead, her eyes never straying from Alexia’s. “ bien, lo estás haciendo muy bien”

Alexia’s words ignited a small flame at the pit of the photographer’s stomach which successfully calmed some of the anxiety, but replaced it with an odd feeling that the French-Canadian was simply not ready to face yet. 

“ Here take this, it'll help with the pressure,” the captain pulled out a pack of gum and popped two pieces in Rosalie’s hand. The first bite surprised the photographer who made a face that pulled a chuckle from the footballer. 

“ What kind of psycho chews cinnamon gum?”

“Hey it’s good don’t be mean,” the woman answered with a hurt expression. She could see that Rosalie had calmed down quite a bit, but the deadly grip she still had on the blond’s hand showed her just how sacred the photographer was. Suddenly, they could feel the plane gain some speed and the wheel lifting off the ground. The brunette’s gaze shifted quickly towards the small window as panic clouded her eyes.

“ no, no sigue mirándome” With her hand still on Rosalie’s face, she drew the brunette closer still. Only a few inches separating the two. Rosalie could smell Alexia’s perfume, something sweet, like strawberries. She smelled like summer, it was intoxicating. She didn’t understand what the blond had said but it did not matter, since as soon as her gaze met hers, the blond smiled sweetly and Rosalie forgot once again where she was. 

“ Tell me one of your happiest memories,” The French-Canadian was surprised by the blond’s question. She had gone from ignoring the photographer to taking care of her during takeoff. She knew that Alexia was simply trying to distract her, but the curiosity she could see shining through her eyes made the brunette realize that maybe, the football player didn’t hate her after all. 

“ My first triathlon, it would have to be one of the most meaningful things in my life.” She answered.

“ Tell me about it, si?” 

“ It was a few years ago, my uncle loved triathlons. He used to do one every summer. He also volunteered as a photographer for the races. When I got older I would volunteer with him and he used to say that I would be a great triathlete if I wanted.” She said, smiling at the memory. 

“ He knew that my football days were over since I had gotten injured and needed surgery on my ankle. He said that once I’d be on my feet again I should give it a try. But I used to think that I would hate running, it was the part I hated the most during training.” Rosalie’s expression darkened. 

“When he died, I thought that it would be a good way to honour him in a way, the training was so hard. I had never swum before and my cardio wasn’t great coming back from injury.” She took a deep breath and her gaze left Alexia’s to shift to their intertwined fingers. 

“ But the rush of crossing the finish line was electric. It felt like I made him proud.” She looked back up only to see the captain's face lighting up along with hers. 

A few seats in front of the two, Lucy was witnessing the whole thing along with Keira. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. In the time they had known her they had never seen her be so relaxed on a plane, nor being so physically close with someone she had just met. She had always been a bit weird about physical touch, it had taken a while before she started to relax whenever the English women hugged her. But at this moment, hand in hand and only a few inches separating their faces, the photographer looked comfortable, happy almost. 

The sound indicating that you could take the seat belts off pulled the two women out of their little bubble. Realizing that she was still gripping the footballer’s hand, Rosalie slowly untangled her fingers from Alexia’s and slightly pulled away from her. 

“Thank you for distracting me,” 

“My pleasure, I am always happy to know more about you Rosalia” The footballer turned around and pulled out her headphones from her case. Rosalie, still surprised by the blond’s statement, put one headphone back in her ear, letting the other one dangle in on her chest and closed her eyes, listening to the calming sound of her music, all the while keeping an ear out in case anything happened. 

A few minutes passed, not much could be heard around. Everyone was either on their phones or had put a movie on their screen. Rosalie could see from the space between seats that Mapi and Ingrid were snuggled up and watching The Lion King on their tablet. An intense shuffling sound pulled her attention away from their screen to see Alexia intensely searching for something in her bag.

“ Ah mierda , where are they?” She sounded frustrated enough for the brunette to lean in to see.

“ Are you ok?”

“ Si, I think I did not bring my headphone charger and they just died,” The blond said frustrated. 

“ Here,” The brunette took her headphone that was resting on her chest and offered it to the footballer. “ we can share if you’d like, I’m not using them both.” She said smiling. 

“ You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not, it’s the least I can do after you helped me like that.” She said, getting closer so the wire wouldn’t pull her other headphone out. “ What do you usually listen to?” 

“ You can leave on what you were listening to, I just don’t like working without music.” The blond said, pulling out her laptop. Rosalie pressed play again and the soft piano song started again in her ear. After a moment, the blond stopped typing and spoke again. 

“ This is nice, very calm, what is it called?” 

“ This is Interlude by this group called London Grammar. The singer’s voice is so powerful, it’s one of my favourite groups.” she said, happy to share her music with the blond.

“ Good, I will look them up then.” The blond went back to her work, softly humming to the music in her ear. Meanwhile, Rosalie was starting to feel like her lack of sleep and intense morning run were slowly taking a toll on her body. Alexia’s calm and grounding presence, along with her perfume that flooded her senses every time she took a breath allowed the photographer to relax enough for her eyelids to become heavy. Slowly her whole body became heavy and her head lolled to the side, resting gently on Alexia’s shoulder. 

At the contact, the footballer went rigid, but relaxed as soon as she realized that the photographer had finally succumbed to sleep, after being on edge all morning.  Knowing she could not work without disturbing the brunette, Alexia closed her laptop and relaxed in her seat, letting the soft music guide her towards sleep as well.

A/N: feedback is appreciated

[urfavoritesecretadmirer]

I love you systems who

• I love you systems who thought you were genderfluid at first. This is actually really common, and same.

• I love you systems who are/were in denial. We were in denial for the longes time.

• I love you systems who have accepted it. We are also learning to accept it and we understand it is difficult, you got this.

• I love you systems who’s first therapist didn’t understand. Our therapist didn’t understand at first. It may be hard to find a therapist at first but that’s okay.

• I love you systems who are diagnosed. You guys are so brave and I’m so proud of you.

• I love you systems who don’t want to be diagnosed. That’s completely fine and I understand, I’m still so proud of you.

• I love you systems who are self diagnosed. Great job on all your research over these past few months/years. I’m glad you finally know how you’ve been feeling now.

• I love you systems who are now in a safe environment. I’m so happy for you, continue to settle into this environment. I’m glad you’re safe.

• I love you systems who are still in toxic environment. I’m so sorry, it will get better I promise. You’ll get out one day, and until then we are here for you.

• I love you systems who were misinformed about some things at first, it’s okay. You are still learning and you should not be shamed because someone else misinformed you.

• I love you systems with high alter counts. You are not any less valid than other systems, and I understand the struggle of high alter counts.

• I love you systems who have low alter counts. It is still difficult, and I know you all will push through. I believe in you.

• I love you systems who love being a system. I know how you feel, you don’t feel alone anymore. It’s okay to love your headmates. It’s okay to see your system as a cure rather than a curse.

• I love you systems who hate being a system. This is totally okay and it’s natural to feel this way. As well as it’s okay to think of being a system as a cure, it’s okay to think of it as a curse. Being a system is hard and I understand your struggles.

• I love you systems who are neutral about being a system. It’s the same for us, it’s okay to not love or hate it. I’m here with you.

• I love you systems who are newly discovered. First of all, welcome to the system side of tumblr. Second, we are all here with you. Make sure to do your research further and if you want, try communicating with your system. I’m glad you have discovered yourself.

• I love you systems who thought they were endogenic at first because you didn’t remember your trauma. I’m sorry you went through that, and I’m glad you figured out how you feel.

• I love you systems who fit the demonized stereotype. This does not make you any less valid and it doesn’t make you all bad people. Media is bad sometimes, trust me we love you and you are valid.

• I love you systems who don’t know their head count. It’s okay to not know everything about your system, and as sad as it is, you may never know everything. But that’s okay.

• I love you systems with really good communication. Being able to communicate is a very big plus to being a system, and I’m so proud of you that you can do that. (Can we maybe have some communication tips? /nf)

• I love you systems that have low/no communication. That’s okay, and you are not invalid. If you want to work on communication, that’s great. If you don’t, that’s great too. We’ll be here for you all the way.

• I love you systems who are still in MS/HS. I know how rude kids can be, and I know it may be scary to tell kids your age you’re a system. You will get through this.

• I love you systems who mask/hide your system for any reason. You don’t have to explain to anyone why you hide being a system. I understand. And I’m with you.

• I love you systems who use hyper specific labels. That’s totally fine and I understand. Labels can make you feel organized, and it’s a very helpful thing to use.

• I love you systems who use no/some labels. This is okay, not using labels can make you feel less stressed and it may just be easier.

• I love you systems who don’t present their system online. This is okay, privacy and safety is an important factor to everyone’s lives.

• I love you systems who have whole accounts dedicated to your system, this is okay and really cool that you’re helping people learn about systems.

• I love you systems who are introject heavy. Whether it’s factives, fictives, fuzztives, you are valid. You can’t control what alters are in your system and that’s okay.

• I love you systems who have alters from “problematic” sources. You are still valid, again, you can’t control what alters you do and don’t have. You are loved.

I love you

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 2 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: mentions of attempted suic*de and an insanity plea (follows the plot from the movie Batman Begins).

A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.

Choke- I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME 🎶

A few days pass but they feel like weeks. You’re expecting Dr. Jonathan Crane at the precinct to conduct Falcone’s psychological examination, and shift impatiently in your seat. You check your watch routinely, having assumed Crane would be a very punctual person and arrive right at 4:00. And you’re right. 

Crane saunters down the hallway like a black cat, his dark hair combed back against his head and his glasses perched perfectly on his button-like nose. You stand as you see him, pushing your chair back from your desk. You step out to meet him, keeping one hand securely on your hip to ensure your gun stays there and doesn’t get picked up by this handsome criminal mind. Dr. Crane smirks softly when he sees you and gives you a curt nod. 

“Detective Vale,” he greets you and sticks out his hand. You give a professional nod back and shake his offered hand, surprised to find it so warm. 

“Dr. Crane, thank you for coming on such short notice. One of the men we have detained in the precinct attempted last night, I’m sure you understand that we have to follow protocol- get him checked out before his trial in case there’s a more serious issue here.” You explain, knowing Crane can see right through you and your speech (just a matter of routine). 

“I’m always… happy,” he takes a breath, “to help law enforcement when I can.” The smile he gives is false, a lie, but one that you share. You nod and open your mouth to speak again when you hear Rachel Dawes’ voice splinter the conversation. 

“What’s he doing here?” Dawes stands beside you, crossing her arms over her chest in her crisp suit. You watch Crane suppress a scowl as he sees Dawes appear in front of him in her annoyingly professional suit. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a thing for powerful women.

“Ah, Miss Dawes. To what do I owe this… pleasure?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dawes retorts, her nose scrunched in distaste. 

“Dr. Crane is conducting a psychological examination on Falcone for the department,” you turn to Dawes, putting your hands casually into the pockets of your pants. 

“Is he? Then perhaps he can also explain why so many of Falcone’s men end up in Arkham because of his diagnosis.” 

Crane holds back a sigh and gives his best charming smile. “Miss Dawes, I’m simply giving professional diagnoses and my most honest clinical opinions about each of Falcone’s men. They end up in Arkham because that is where they belong. That’s hardly my fault, if criminals have a certain association with the insane.” Dawes begins to level a threat at Crane when you cut in. 

“Rachel, we’re going to get him on this one, I promise you. I’m going to oversee the examination with Dr. Crane.” You speak softly to Rachel, meeting her dark brown eyes. 

“Well I’m glad you're overseeing it, some people need it,” she glances over at Crane who looks back without speaking. You look between them before clearing your throat softly. 

“Let me know what the results are, Victoria. The judge wants to meet with Falcone on Monday,” Dawes directs her words to you and then turns to Crane again. “Falcone has no history of psychiatric problems. He got a hold of a blade and claims he wanted to hurt himself. I think he’s faking it.”  

Crane nods once, still cool and clinical despite the unspoken accusations launched at him. “We’ll see.” 

Dawes and Crane scowl at each other before you nod once again and gesture down the hallway. 

“I’ll be there to watch, Rachel, and I’ll let you know what the decision is. We all want a conviction as much as you do.” Your words sound truthful and sincere. Rachel’s pager buzzes and she looks down at it, frowning. She turns and nods at you in thanks before walking away, her black stiletto heels clicking angrily. You look again at Crane whose eyes are already on you, examining you silently.

“Very interesting…” he says coolly. You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest. 

“How’s that?”

“It’s interesting how you interact with her. You deal with her so casually.” 

“I have many talents,” you answer distractedly and turn down the hallway, beckoning him to follow, “shall we?” 

“Lead the way, Miss Vale.” His voice feels close to your neck, prickly and hot like a hand. You close your eyes for a moment and sigh, allowing yourself to dissolve in the riptide of his voice. Then you’re back, you glance around to make sure that no one has seen your “friendly” interaction and continue walking, your steps wide apart and fast. Crane follows easily behind, his gaze unfazed and silent. You stop in front of one of the soundproof interrogation rooms in the precinct where Falcone has already been placed. You step inside, Crane just behind you, and close the door, locking it and pulling the blinds.

Falcone is sitting at the table with his wrists cuffed, though there are thick bandages between the steel and his skin. He has a cigarette placed between his purplish mouth that reeks of sour milk. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he sees Crane and looks between you, unimpressed. 

“Geez doc, I gotta get help. The voices… blah blah blah,” Falcone looks around for a lighter and then turns his eyes up to Crane’s. “Got a light?” 

Crane’s jaw clenches and he sighs deeply through his nose before he pulls the lighter from his breast pocket. He flips open the cap with his thumb in one swift movement and leans over the table to light Falcone’s cigarette. You watch as this moment passes between the men, your eyes following the silver lighter as it returns to Crane’s pocket. When Falcone leans back in his chair, his cigarette lit, that’s when Crane finally speaks. 

“Now Mr. Falcone, I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer… honestly,” Crane clears his throat and sits at the table, opening a file folder of Falcone’s medical records. 

“Sure, great,” Falcone mutters and looks at you, narrowing his eyes. “Are you staying? Is she gonna stay?” He turns back to Crane who looks up at him, frowning. 

You regard Falcone coolly and nod once. “I’m here to observe.” 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to get started, Mr. Falcone,” Crane cuts in, his patience thinning quickly. Falcone grumbles and nods, waving his chained hands to prompt Crane to continue. Crane takes another file from his briefcase and opens it on the table. You can sense Falcone starting to get irritated, Crane’s lips pull into a small smile. 

“I was just looking into your medical record. You’ve got a bit of a history with drug use, don’t you, Mister Falcone?” 

Falcone looks over at you for help, confused by Crane’s line of questioning. You shrug and remain silent, your arms crossed over your chest. Falcone thinks for a moment before answering. 

“Oh… yeah. Meds and stuff.”

“And stuff? In your file it says that you’re taking a prescription for a severe anxiety disorder. Is that true?” Crane raises an eyebrow, a plan brewing behind his blue eyes. One that neither you nor Falcone can predict. 

“Say, doc, what kind of question is that? You’re supposed to declare me insane and get me out of here. We had a deal.” Falcone’s tone is low and sounds slightly scared but he tries not to let it show.

Crane pauses for a moment, the statement hangs in the air like a cloud of smoke. You look between Crane and Falcone, your curiosity piqued. Crane maintains a clinical tone as he continues slowly as if he were talking to a child, “I know we had a deal, Mr. Falcone. Our deal was that I’d keep you out of jail, not out of my line of questioning…” Crane smiles, his heart beats faster with adrenaline, “I’m curious. Are you taking any anxiety medication?” 

“Sure, of course…” Falcone stutters and furrows his eyebrows. “I take all that stuff. I’m crazy…” 

You can feel the tension in the room build, and it sets your teeth on edge. You try to keep your focus on Falcone but the dull throbbing between your legs reverberates whenever Crane speaks. He reaches into his briefcase and removes a vial containing one singular pill. 

“This is an anti-anxiety pill. Quite powerful, actually. Do you know the name of this medication, Mr. Falcone?” 

Falcone’s face is a bright red now and he strains against his handcuffs. You regard Crane curiously, asking yourself why he’s asking all these strange questions. Why not just declare him insane and let that be the end of it? Crane feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he watches Falcone struggle, and you notice it evidently on his face and the way he holds his body, taut like a coiled wire. 

“Well? I asked you a question, I do expect an answer. I’m not going to declare you insane until I know for certain that you’re not faking. So, what is the name of this anti-anxiety medication?” 

"I... I don't know! Why are you asking me all of these questions? Just declare me insane already!” Falcone lowers his voice, “You know damn well I don't take any of that..." 

Crane sighs deeply and puts the vial back into his briefcase. He clasps his hands together, pleased. He smiles menacingly and lowers his voice too. 

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Falcone- that pill I was holding? It’s not anti-anxiety medication…” 

When he says that you turn, your brow furrows. Where is he going with this? Falcone rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette angrily. 

“You see, this medication isn’t used to treat anxiety. This medication is a powerful hallucinogenic, an extremely potent, mind-altering drug. It’s my most recent concoction, a fear toxin.” 

Falcone freezes and narrows his eyes at Crane. You feel yourself match Crane’s smile, a knowing excitement creeps into your body, your fingers flex. When he sees Falcone start to struggle even more, Crane’s smile widens. Falcone goes white and begins to panic, resorting to a feeble attempt at blackmail. 

"I'll tell everyone that I was working for you. I'll testify. I don't know what kind of drug you had us moving but I know it was something dangerous!” 

Crane lets out a small, humorless laugh and leans back in the thin plastic chair, his eyes never leaving Falcone. 

“How? You don’t know anything. And even if you did, who would believe you? You’re a delusional psychotic criminal with hallucinations. No one’s going to believe you if you tell them you’ve been moving drugs for me.”

“Get me away from this madman! I’m not fucking crazy!” Falcone shouts at you, pulling at his cuffs. You stare back, a small smirk pulling at your lips. 

“Not yet, but you will be. You see, if you want people to believe that you’re crazy, wouldn’t it just be easier to be crazy?” 

“What-what are you implying?” Falcone tries to push away from the table but the chains binding his feet prevent him from making it very far. Crane smiles and looks at you, his gaze giving you permission to contribute. 

“Mr. Falcone, I’d suggest that you shut your mouth before you say anything else you’ll regret. You’re in no position to make threats here.” You lean forward, your palms fisted on the table. Falcone looks between you and nods slowly, a slimy smile appearing slowly on his lips. 

“Oh, I see. You’re working together, aren’t you?” Falcone laughs. 

Crane’s smile drops and he turns back to Falcone, his steel gaze sharp enough to slice right through the mobster. 

“It seems we’ve reached an impasse, Detective Vale.” Crane’s voice is rougher now, more sadistic. Your whole body shivers, your cunt throbs with morbid excitement. 

 “Might I make a suggestion, Dr. Crane?” You cross your arms over your chest and rock back and forth on your heels. Crane looks you up and down briefly, discreetly. You can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he likes how your body looks in your dark slacks and a green blouse. 

Don’t get too distracted, Crane. 

Crane’s struggling to control his breathing as he watches you, his eyes lingering on the way your body moves. He tears his gaze away from you as he answers. 

“A suggestion? And what might that be, Detective Vale?”

“Well if he isn't going to be able to convince anyone that he's as 'crazy' as he says he is, maybe we should help him out. Make it more believable…” You shrug, your voice light and misleading. Falcone looks between you, his eyes wide as he tries to understand what you mean. Perspiration dots his forehead but he doesn’t wipe it away.  

Crane raises an eyebrow at your proposal but his eyes remain on Falcone, shaking in the seat across the table from him. There’s a dangerous tone in his voice as he murmurs. 

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?”

“Don't you have anything else in that briefcase of yours? Maybe something that could make him a little more... convincing?” You tilt your head towards the open briefcase, your eyes saying more than your words. Crane looks over at you, he swallows and nods, another soft smile on his face. He glances down at his briefcase and a slight shiver of excitement passes through him. Crane glances over at Falcone and feels a cruel grin spread across his face as he realizes what you’re implying. 

It’s like you’ve given him permission. You don’t need to tell him twice. Crane removes his glasses with a sigh and folds them neatly on the table beside him. Falcone watches him warily, his eyes dropping to the glasses then back up to Crane.

“As a matter of fact, I do have something else that would… help.” He slowly reaches into the briefcase and pulls out the burlap mask, his hands holding it with an almost reverent excitement. “Would you like to see my mask?” 

Falcone doesn't even respond. He's gone silent and dumb with fear. In his lack of words, You smile kindly at the man, giving him a false sense of safety.

“He uses it for his experiments, you know. It's probably not very scary to someone like you but to the crazies in Arkham… they can't stand it,” you trail off, backing away in preparation for whatever the hell Crane is about to do. 

Crane’s voice remains low as he leans forward, the mask still gripped in his fist. 

“But for you, Falcone? This isn’t just something to fear. For you… it’s going to be a nightmare.”Falcone struggles in his plastic seat, the chains shaking and clattering against each other as he tries to escape. You release a euphoric sigh as Crane pulls on the mask and gestures to the front of its burlap facade. 

His voice is no longer gentle, no longer friendly, no longer even remotely human as he continues to speak, “You’re going to spend the rest of your life in Arkham, Falcone. That’s a promise.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth his finger presses a button inside his briefcase, releasing a narrow cloud of fear toxin. It hits Falcone squarely in the face, his eyes bulge and lose their focus as some horrible nightmare overcomes him. Crane’s mask morphs into a real scarecrow, something uncanny and deranged. Falcone screams and Crane laughs, rising up from his seat and letting his palms rest on the table.

“I did warn you, didn’t I, Falcone?” 

His voice is barely audible over Falcone’s frantic screams. Crane rips off his mask, smiling contently. His hair is tousled and crazy about his head, your thighs throb. He looks over at you and you nod back, only allowing him a smirk.

“He certainly isn't going to testify now. Dawes won't be able to argue with you either.” He looks more psychotic without the silver glasses that you’re so familiar with seeing. There’s almost a ring of red in his eyes. “Impressive, Dr. Crane.” 

Crane tosses the mask aside and runs a hand through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. His face is flushed with excitement and adrenaline, and he can’t help but smile wider at you, the adrenaline making him bold.

“Thank you, Miss Vale,” he chuckles and shakes his head, looking back at Falcone, “That went well, didn’t it?”

You both look back at the screaming Falcone, smiles on your faces. A match made in hell, you and him.

“I'd stay and savor this moment with you but people will get suspicious. I'll go and arrange for his transfer to Arkham but first I need you to tell me that he's not faking it and that we need to move him to a secure wing in Arkham for treatment. I just need to hear you say it, legality,” you wave your hand about your face briefly. Crane raises a surprised brow. 

“You pick and choose the laws you follow now? How interesting,” Crane says in a soft sarcastic manner, his eyes still wide with pleasure. 

“Technically you are the expert and we brought you in here to diagnose Falcone…” you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Fine,” he takes a deep breath which is more attractive than you’d like to admit, “No, he’s definitely not faking. I believe he’s actively having a psychotic episode and will be in no position to testify. I recommend moving him to a secure wing at Arkham Asylum immediately. He’s a danger to himself and others.”

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” you smile and turn towards the door. 

“So what? I do this favor for you, Miss Vale and then you leave me alone with the deranged?” Crane chuckles and puts on his glasses, looking you up and down. Your hand is on the doorknob but you turn and regard him, a sly smile on your face. 

“I thought you liked being around the deranged…” 

Crane raises an eyebrow back and turns his back on Falcone who continues to scream in the background. Crane’s nice dark gray suit shifts as he shifts. 

“And what does that mean for you?” 

“You’re the psychologist, not me,” you whisper back and open the door. The door closes sharply behind you but not before Falcone’s screams can be heard echoing down the hallway. You pull an officer aside. 

“Tell Prosecutor Rachel Dawes that Falcone needs to be moved to Arckham. It’s true, he’s insane too. He’ll need to be moved immediately, he’s already becoming violent. Dr. Crane is completing the paperwork and I’ll see to the transfer myself.”

… 

It is late at night when you finally finish Falcone’s transfer. You had shed your quilted jacket days before because Gotham City was in the middle of a miniature heat-spike after weeks of cold, damp weather. You check your watch and look off into the city skyline, thinking. You had followed Crane for weeks before you decided to speak to him, so you know his schedule just as well as your own. He would be in his lab at the university, working on his own projects in the secrecy of the night. His students would never know what their strange professor was up to. You make a rash decision and change directions, your feet taking you a few blocks to the left, to Gotham University. 

  Gotham University was not the type of institution that most students strive for but it still offered a good education for those who could pay. The buildings on campus were all dark and gothic, like orphanages set against a city scene. Students walking home from the library walk past you, speaking softly to one another. Some mention Professor Crane, some don’t. 

The science building is silent and empty when you break in, using the door with the broken sensor (your doing). You find Crane’s lab on the third floor, the only source of light in the dark hallway. You go to the door and open it slowly, silently. Crane has his back to you as he makes notes in a notebook with a red pen. He’s wearing a white lab coat that nearly makes his shoulders look broader, stronger. You stand by the door, watching, and waiting to see how long it takes until he notices you’re there. You pull the string that closes the blinds with a soft snap. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Crane's voice rises from the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widen only slightly in surprise, but then you smile and approach his lab table slowly, eyeing him up and down. His gray-blue eyes remain fixed on his work. 

“Did I frighten you?” 

“Oh no, I’m not scared of anything, remember?” Crane retorts with a distracted smirk as he finishes writing a line in his notes. When he finishes he finally turns and leans against the lab table, looking you up and down. “So, what are you doing here, Miss Vale? Why’d you close the blinds?” His smirk widens, the fact that you’re both completely alone excites him. He nearly shivers. 

“No one can know that I was here. I'm sure Dawes is already suspicious of me because I 'oversaw' your evaluation and approved the transfer when the three of us all know he was fine when we walked into the examination room the first time.” You smile and mirror his posture. 

“Mmm yes, I’m sure Dawes has already had a few choice words with you,” Crane nods and looks up, remembering the exchange the three of you had earlier at the precinct: two smart, powerful women in one room, amazing. 

“I can handle her, don’t worry.” 

Crane looks back at you and shakes his head, “Oh I don’t doubt it. You’re a highly intelligent woman, I’m sure Dawes doesn’t pose much of a problem for you.” 

You smile, flattered though you don’t need Crane to tell you what you already know. You ignore the way Crane’s eyes continue to trace the length of your body, imagining what he’d find beneath your blouse…

“No, but I'm concerned that she'll prove to be a bigger problem the more she finds out. Which is why I'm in charge of the case... or at least until she kicks me off. I'll make sure she doesn't learn too much about the 'operation' you're running here. But I need something from you first.”

“And what do you need from me, Miss Vale?” Crane’s voice is low, husky, and short, like the response was second nature.

You look him up and down, a smile growing on your lips. You can tell that he wants you and it's exhilarating to be wanted by such an attractive man... but first, you need information from him. It must be so frustrating for him but hey, that's life. You walk around the lab table and put your hands over his, gripping the edge of the table. You lean forward only slightly, leaving some distance between your bodies.

“Tell me about your plans for Gotham, Crane.”

His jaw clenches but he keeps his voice calm, composed, and his eyes evade yours. “What do you want to know?”

“If I'm going to be an equal partner in this, I need to know what you've been doing with Falcone and his men.” You look down at his lips as you speak. 

Crane’s breathing gets heavier, more ragged. His eyes are still avoiding yours, but he knows exactly where your gaze is fixated. 

“I know that Falcone has been moving shipments of your fear toxin into Arkham and I noticed that the military’s microwave emitter happened to go missing recently. Did you have anything to do with that, Crane?”

Crane can smell your pheromones like perfume and he stifles a frustrated sigh. He rolls his eyes and shrugs slowly. 

“Perhaps.”

“You could have made Falcone take the fear toxin pills you had in the box but you didn’t. You used a different form, gas. The microwave emitter vaporizes water… Your fear toxin doesn’t work in water, does it? It’s water soluble. It needs to be in a gas or powder form, correct?” 

“You’re clever, pet.” Crane smirks and moves his hands away from yours to cross against his chest. “But the pill I showed to Falcone was just a sugar pill, a placebo. Here’s a little lesson in Psychology: the body’s sense of smell is the fastest to recalibrate. By putting the toxin into gas form, the subject inhales it and reacts much faster. It’s all about speed. Water washes the toxin out.” 

“So the microwave emitter?” You prompt him to continue. 

“Yes, you’re right. If it works, it will dry up the main water line on the island, then I can release the toxin into the air… Every man, woman, and child in Gotham city would be paralyzed with fear.”

You let your lips inch closer, exhaling against his lips. Crane almost believes that you’ll kiss him until you pull away at the last moment and smirk. 

“I’ve read everything you’ve ever written about the chemical components of fear. I’ve tried recreating your ‘recipes’,” you look back at the experiments on the table, “but I can’t get the same results. There’s something important missing from your original research isn’t there? What’s the final ingredient? It has to be exotic, something you could only recently get access to. Maybe you met someone with connections. Someone who also read your research and offered to fund your project….” 

Crane is still recovering from your little trick and sighs tightly, impatiently. He looks up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lighting reflecting off of his glasses. “Is that right?” 

You hum once in confirmation and reach your hand out beside his left arm, brushing his sleeve. He keeps his gaze averted, still pissed that you teased him. While he pouts, you pick up a small petri dish from the lab table. A bright blue flower is preserved inside.

“Blue poppies?” 

Crane raises an eyebrow, finally looking down at you. He wets his lips and sighs, rearranging his arms to rest over his chest. 

“You can recognize obscure botanicals now?” He nearly snaps. You flick your eyes up to his, meeting his icy gaze. 

“That was a lucky guess.” You shrug and smile, “I’ve only read about these. So how did you get these? Who are you working for?”

Crane’s body reacts strangely to your smile, his navel warms. Your smile is so wrong… he loves it. He’s still slightly wary of your skills of deduction. He looks down at the petri dish for a moment, his mind trying to get back on track before he answers your question.

“I came into contact with someone who has strong connections. He’s agreed to fund my research and supply me with all the necessary equipment and ingredients.”

“Who?” You  ask with a little less patience. Crane enjoys witnessing one of your rare moments of impatience and smiles, getting the upper-hand. Crane’s smile only widens as he leans back against the edge of the lab table again, his hands gripping the edge in a white-knuckled grip to keep his body in check.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you know him… He’s quite the controversial figure….”

You lick your lips and you try to think. Surely it wasn’t Bruce Wayne- Crane would never work with him. Not Falcone. Not Gordon. What criminal would have both the money and power to operate something like this. Someone in the League of Shadows?

Crane’s eyes focus on the way your tongue moves across your lips. His mouth waters and he feels himself start to get hard. Instead of shying away, he steps closer, one of his hands fixing the bridge of his glasses. 

“I’m honestly impressed you haven’t figured it out yet…” he tuts patronizingly. 

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me figure it out myself?” 

Crane laughs and shakes his head. 

“Oh, this is just too good. You’re clearly bothered by the fact that you don’t have a name yet, Miss Vale.” He leans closer to you, his head tilting to the side as he continues in a low voice, “I wonder what you’ll do to get me to answer your question…”

You scowl, Crane getting on your nerves now. You push him back gently with a few clicks of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “It hasn’t come to that yet, Crane.” You think for a few more moments and then something you read randomly comes to you, “the blue poppies grow in South Asia… Bhutan.” 

“Ding ding ding, good girl. The blue poppies are indigenous to South Asia.” 

“There’s only one man that I know of from Bhutan, he has a warrant out for his arrest in multiple different countries… Ra’s Al Ghul.” 

Crane’s smile widens into a crazy grin. He claps softly and then takes the petri desk back from you. “Correct.”

“Does Al Ghul know you plan to lead Gotham when it’s all said and done?” 

Crane nods slowly, looking away for a moment, his lips pursed. “He believes that my methods are necessary in order to bring about the change that the city needs. We already agreed that I will have control of Gotham when my plan is successful.” 

“Then what’s in it for him, Crane?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

He steps even closer to you, until there are only a few inches of space left between you. His voice is lower now as he continues to speak to you.

“He gets to auction off the city back to the government, he gets the money, I get the power. Oh, I’ve also promised him a certain number of…let’s say…highly skilled individuals for his cause.” 

“People you’ve locked up in Arkham?” You clarify, thinking it all through.

Crane nods and turns back to his research, his hand moving once again to the pen to write something down, putting his arousal to the side for a moment. Work will always come first to a man like Dr. Jonathan Crane. 

“Do you trust him?” 

Crane looks at you, surprised by your obvious question. He scoffs finally and turns back to face you. “No, I don’t trust him. But I see our partnership as a mutually beneficial arrangement. And honestly, I wouldn’t be able to continue my research at the same rate without his financial support and his access to the poppies.”

“Something about him gives me a bad feeling…” you mutter, crossing your arms beneath your breasts and tucking your head slightly to think. 

Crane tilts his head to the side in curiosity, as if he’s studying you. “Why do you say that?”

You shake your head and furrow your brow. “I don’t have a reason exactly except that it’s just an instinct. Something tells me not to trust him.”

Crane clenches his jaw slightly and his eyes harden as he starts to take you seriously. He raps his fingers against his elbow and lowers his voice slightly, almost like he’s trying to be kind.

“When have your instincts ever been wrong, Miss Vale?” 

You look up at him and shake your head finally, confident. “Never.”

Crane takes a final step closer to you, his chest nearly touching yours now. He can’t help himself from being drawn even closer to you, like a magnet. His voice is even lower than before as he looks down at your face.

“So, what do your instincts tell you now, Miss Vale?”

You look up into his eyes, heavy with desire. You feel the same desire, the same unquenchable and animalistic urges. Your noses are nearly touching as you exhale softly against his lips. You swallow and then speak. 

“This...”

________________________________________________

@m0thh3ad @sl-newsie @strangeobsessed @cillamity

[alwaysabeautifullife]

So idk how much detail I should go into but to catch everyone up

Last June (2022) I was on a date with my husband and he tried to strangle me to death and s*xually assault me (in public). I’m not entirely sure why, but the events that led up to that point were disgusting and strange.

I was told by him several months ago he had pleaded guilty and was convicted, but after I moved 3 states away (I’m back home in Idaho) I called the prosecutor and found out that he has not yet gone to trial, it keeps getting pushed back

I now am a single mom, with 0 support from my husband in regards to raising the children or any type of financial help. He is seeing someone else, and doesn’t want contact with the children due to this. There is a protective order in place, and the divorce cannot proceed until his trial is complete.

The good news is I received a promotion and now have my own store, the largest (square ft wise) in the company. I work a lot, which helps keep my mind off of some of the events that happened that night.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, and I have difficulty accepting that someone I loved and trusted so much would do something like this to me and then abandon their children. The only way I can explain it is that he died that night, because the person I knew was gone. Most the time it doesn’t seem real.

I never imagined something like this would happen to me, and I thought that if I tried to do everything right, everything someone wanted or needed that my marriage and my life would always be as it was. In reality I can control myself, but I can’t control the actions of anyone else.

I would like to say that I have found myself ‘strong enough’ to “forgive” him, but every day that passes by and I look at my children who are struggling to understand why their dad isn’t present anymore, and struggling to get by by myself, I get more and more angry. I have a hunger for justice, and it seems like it will never come.

To say this challenged my faith would be an understatement.

[rawbin-hsr]

Hi! Could i request Feixiao, Boothill, and Argenti with a s/o who has panic disorder (or panic attacks in general). Just generally how they react and such :)

@dragon-anon

A/N: Surprisingly I found this a little difficult IUESJhief I have a lot of experience with. having anxiety when I was younger. I think I was even diagnosed with it at some point ? Which is weird because I’m not diagnosed any longer and I no longer really get anxiety attacks so idk what the fuck that was erm. Anyways that’s beside the point. I really struggled to make Feixiao and Argenti different because I think they would handle it similarly (hence why Argenti’s part ended up so much shorter than the other two, cause I didn’t want to just. Repeat Feixiao’s whole part.) and I’m a little worried Boothill is ooc because I haven’t done the new quest and it seems like it showed a lot of his backstory so forgive me if I’m not up to date on that. Sorry about rambling I’ll get on with it now help

Reader has an anxiety disorder

Characters: Feixiao, Boothill, Argenti

Cw: anxiety/panic attacks (descriptions kept brief, not very detailed), slight mention of self-harm inflicting behaviours in Argenti's part (only reader unintentionally scratching themself, not necessarily done out of a desire to harm oneself).

Lmk if there's anything else I should add !

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

╭──────────.★..─╮ Feixiao ╰─..★.──────────╯

Oh she’s great 

Amazing at picking up your signals, amazing at assessing what course of action would help you most, amazing at following through with it

She can tell what sets you off, even without you telling her, and she has a lot of firsthand experience with handling other people’s anxiety (both from more intimate relationships and from soldiers she doesn’t exactly know on any personal level). It’s not hard for her to figure out what calms you down most quickly. 

Your episodes have never been shorter than they are with her around 🙏🙏

I’m not sure exactly how I imagine her handling it, because I think it switches a lot depending on what she knows about you. If she knows you find physical touch comforting, she’ll hold you and gently talk you down. If you’re the type who doesn’t need much reassurance, she’ll firmly remind you of where you are, that she’s with you, that you’re safe, etc, etc. She’ll find whatever solution works best for you. 

Apart from being great with damage control if you do have a panic attack, she’s also pretty good at preventing them from happening in the first place. 

If she recognises you’re stepping into an environment you’re likely to have an attack in, she’ll either steer you out of it if she can or she’ll make sure you’re in there for as little time as possible. Like, for example, if you’re bad with large crowds, she’ll usually just find a less packed road to take around the mass of people.

Obviously it’s unavoidable sometimes, and she won’t always be able to adhere to you completely because she does have a very important job that she can’t really put on hold for your sake, but like I said, she’s great at handling it then too. 

If something needs to be done but you can’t do it, she’ll do it for you (after gently trying to encourage you to face your fears and do it yourself — but she does quickly relent if she notices you really, really don’t want to)

10/10 would recommend she’s amazing

╭──────────.★..─╮ Boothill ╰─..★.──────────╯

I feel like Boothill would be absolutely dogwater at preventing any anxiety attacks from happening, but he’d be great at stopping them once they do happen

Like obviously he won’t trigger you on purpose but he won’t tiptoe around the things that put you off either. Both because he doesn’t usually have much choice in the matter considering his line of work, and because he believes in exposure therapy. And because he maybe sort of kind of forgets. 😭

But he’d be great while you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack ! So that counts for something !!!!

He always manages to snap you out of it pretty quickly. Takes you out of the situation once he recognises the signs that the attack is coming, then gets you present in the current moment again. How ? That’s very simple. He confuses the fuck out of you

You know that tip about making someone having an anxiety attack bite into a lemon ? Yeah

(If you haven’t heard about it: a way to snap someone out of a panic/anxiety attack can be to make them lick a really sour lemon without any warning. The sensory input is really overwhelming and the person having the episode might be so shocked by it they kind of just snap out of it because who the fuck makes you taste a lemon when you’re at your lowest like that ???)

You’re curled up in a ball, hyperventilating because there are too many people, too many sounds, too many what-have-you ? Not anymore, now you’re too busy being confused and lowkey angry at him for shoving an ice cube down your throat. Like wtf are you doing my guy

Usually his little stunts do the trick to get you out of that headspace, and then he can just verbally talk you down so you’re nice and calm again. Will let you cool off while he solves whatever issue it was that led to your anxiety attack. Don’t worry about it anymore, he’s got this. 

If he can’t confuse you out of it, though, he’ll just do whatever you’ve instructed him to do while lucid. If it’s hugging you and talking gently until you’re calm, he can do that. If it’s to just take you into a quiet space and let you ride it out, no problem. If it’s to just continue on and let you just stand next to him, sure. 

Only thing he won’t do is to avoid your triggers altogether. He can give you a heads-up when possible, he can let you sit it out if you really need to, but he won’t (in his words) “baby you”. In his opinion, you’ll never get over it if you just avoid it forever. 

He says it in a kind of harsh way, but there’s genuine care in his tone and his expression, so you know he doesn’t mean it like that. 

All in all I think Boothill is really great if you’re the resilient type and you have the kind of anxiety that can actually get better through treatment, but if you’re sensitive and need someone who actively helps you avoid your triggers I definitely wouldn’t recommend him 😭

╭──────────.★..─╮ Argenti ╰─..★.──────────╯

Obviously amazing at handling it is there anything he’s not good at ? 🙄 (/j)

He immediately becomes very serious when he realises your control is slipping, falls silent and looks at you worriedly. He recognises surprisingly quickly what’s happening, and steps into your field of view and crouches down, makes sure you can see his face. Takes both of your hands in his, wishes he didn’t have armour so he could let you feel his heartbeat.

He calmly talks you out of it. He sounds so sure of everything he does, to a point where you’ll question afterwards if he has firsthand experience with this. 

(He does. He used to experience a lot of anxiety and panic attacks as a child, it is only natural when you grow up surrounded by war; you’d never guess just looking at him now, though.)

He’ll obviously switch how he handles your panic attacks if you ask him to, but his default is to hold your hands (both to prevent you from accidentally scratching yourself, and to remind you he’s there) and to softly reassure you

I think he becomes sort of hyper aware of what triggers you, and does as much as he can to avoid it. Lowkey starts to baby you a little, but just a little, and even if it’s annoying it’s done with love, done out of a desire for you to be happy. It does put him in some tough spots though, considering it means he sometimes tells you to sit an adventure out, but the plan was for it to have the both of you and it’s harder to handle a lot of things alone 😭

Overall super good though I love him <3

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My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[koibitogata]

hey hatchet!! hope youre doing okay, could i request some angsty romantic headcanons between ticci toby and a gn!reader? maybe like if they argue about toby's behavior and whatnot

hey there darling! i’m actually doing great, and i hope you are too! i absolutely love the sound of this request, so here we fucking go (disclaimer i am not an expert on his MULTITUDE of conditions, which practically make up his whole person atp)

arguments about Toby’s behavior are not uncommon.

Toby was born with multiple diseases and disorders; though he doesn’t know his own past, you figure that if his parents did even a little less for him, he would be way worse off than he is now. in fact, you’re pretty sure this is as good as it could get.

but oh, there are so many things you simply do not love about this man.

his CIPA (congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis) prevents him from feeling pain, and as such he has not felt pain since he was born. as such, completely lacking the concept of pain and never remembering that others are susceptible to it, he is often a little too rough with you, not just in bed. sometimes, he grabs you just a little too hard, and it gets to you.

you know he is as dense as he seems, but just in case, you hope hard that he never realizes you’re slowly becoming distant from him. you simply can’t do it, not with his roughness and lack of reverence on your body.

and oh, this is just scratching the surface of his behavioral issues.

Toby is also diagnosed with BPD (borderline personality disorder). this is what you consider to be the worst part of his behavioral issues.

you had the misfortune of ending up as his favorite person (though in his defense there are not many others around him so his poor mentally ill brain pretty much has no choice).

you talk to the cashier at 7-11 for a millisecond too long? suddenly as you walk out, Toby is gone from where he was waiting for you and when you look back, the cashier’s gone too. but you know somewhere behind the store, the poor cashier’s blood is being spilled.

and even if you need just a small something from his fellow proxies, they’re not immune either.

though, you have to say, you prefer asking a random person instead.

because even though tim and brian may be punished by Toby, you feel like you are the one being punished the hardest.

he’ll give you the cold shoulder and guilt trip you and manipulate you.

it’s to the point you don’t think you know what a normal relationship feels like anymore. are boyfriends supposed to be loving? or are they supposed to scowl at you, go silent and cold the moment they notice you talking to someone else, even if it’s absolutely necessary?

and so you do the only thing you can do to rebel: argue.

you first start out gently, chiding him when he does something he’s not supposed to do. you correct him and explain to him why it’s wrong.

but you’re not sure if it goes through to him at all. you genuinely cannot tell, between his desperate apologies right after and the blatant repetition of his behavior.

for a while, it’d just been the apologies and repetition. though you disliked it, you soon came to realize that it was better than apologies, repetition and THEN arguments, guilt tripping and manipulation.

“why can’t you just love me for who i am? do you not love me after all? i was right all along. you’re desperate to get rid of me.”

and the truth is, you are.

[a-dragons-journal]

i don’t think my words hold much value to people like you, and i don’t think you would be willing to listen or take it to heart, but it’s still worth trying. i would like you to realise that you are human in every way. you are not an animal, you are not a dragon. (you probably already know this. maybe you’re in denial. i don’t know) either way, none of you would actually be willing to give it even a second of thought because you’re insecure about yourself, and you’re insecure because you know you’re human. i assure you that you will not reach full personal contentment until you live out your life without pretending to be a mythical creature. wtv have a good day

Ooh, I haven’t gotten one of these asks in a few years.

So I ask this, and every other question I will follow up with, completely genuinely, and if you’re willing to really get into the weeds discussing it I’d love to do so (though I’ll probably reblog any follow-ups to my other blog): why do you think you know me and my experiences better than I do?

Why do you think you can armchair diagnose me with insecurity? What evidence do you actually have for that, besides the fact that I’m nonhuman? What evidence do you have that I’m not already content and fulfilled in my life?

Is it possible that identifying as nonhuman is unrelated to those things entirely, and you’re making a false assumption?

I get it. It looks crazy, when you’re completely new to the concept. It’s weird - it is! But pause and listen to us when we talk about our experiences for a moment.

For many of us, myself included, finding nonhumanity is a moment of suddenly understanding - of pieces falling into place, of my life experiences suddenly making sense. Awakening is something that made me more content and fulfilled, not less - there’s a sadness in it sometimes, yes, but so too is there the comfort of understanding yourself in a new way, of realizing, oh. I’m not just weird. There’s not something wrong with me. There are other people like me.

(If this sounds a lot like the experience of figuring out you’re queer, there’s a reason for that.)

To use myself as an example of the flaws in your hypothesis: there’s… honestly not much dissatisfaction with my life right now. I’ve got a stable job with decent income. I’d like to be able to cut back my hours a bit, but that will come in time. I’ve got enough free time as it is to do my art and play my tabletop games with friends in my off time. I’ve got family and friends around me. Sure, I miss my wings, but I’m hoping to pick up powered paragliding in the near future and hoping that’ll scratch that itch at least somewhat. I’m doing pretty well, honestly. This isn’t the case for all otherkin, but it’s not the case for all orthohumans (people who aren’t alterhuman in any way) either. What it does indicate, however, is that your hypothesis that being otherkin inherently means you’re insecure and unhappy with your life is false, or at minimum flawed - if it were true, I wouldn’t exist.

So, I ask again: why do you think you understand my own experiences better than I do? And moreover, why does it bother you so much that I am the way I am?

The name for the thing you’re doing here, intentionally or not, is concern trolling - trying to push me out of an identity by professing concern for problems that don’t exist. Why? Why are you going out of your way to tell other people they’re wrong about their own identity? Why is your reaction, when you see an identity you don’t understand, to decide it’s unhealthy, or just make-believe, or whatever, and then to make that the problem of the people who identify that way? What exactly makes you think this is inherently unhealthy?

Would it not be better to devote that energy to trying to understand us, instead of trying to change us?

You don’t have to answer these questions to me, obviously, but I do encourage you to answer them to yourself at least. Pick apart your worldview for a minute and see if it actually holds up under scrutiny - it’s good for you, and mental enrichment to boot! If you are willing to really get into the weeds of this discussion with me, again, I’d love to do that - I love having discussions like this, and it’s good for me to have my worldview challenged every so often too! Please, genuinely, pick at the flaws in my logic if you see them - if it can be pulled apart under scrutiny, it needs to be pulled apart and rebuilt. No one on the internet is obligated to let a stranger do that, obviously, but personally I enjoy it - it’s a meat pumpkin for me - so let’s talk, if you’re up for it. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten a good interesting antikin to debate with.