#he proved the fear gas with her

[nelkcats]

Bad Omens

When Danny woke up late and missed two of his classes he knew it was going to be a bad day. The feeling only grew as he tripped over stairs and broke windows by accident. He wondered if Johnny was around or he was just unlucky.

It turned out that no, neither Shadow nor Kitty or Johnny were in the realm of the living. When he went to visit them in the Infinite Realms he heard them whispering about...Spectra? The bad feeling that had been increasing with the passing of the hours only grew.

Luckily the ghosts seemed quite communicative and revealed the psychologist's plans: Spectra had planned to attack a place called "Gotham" where her ex-husband, a certain Jonathan Crane, lived (the halfa still didn't know how she managed to get married in the first place).

From the looks of it they had never been divorced, but Spectra was in the process of filing the paperwork before her death, which was saying a lot. He asked Johnny and Kitty where she was, when they pointed to a glowing natural portal, Danny groaned.

Resigned to a disastrous weekend, the halfa headed to Gotham. Johnny and Kitty followed him curiously, they seemed to be trying to tell him about "scary gas" or something similar, the halfa didn't quite understand. His goal was only one thing: Protect Jonathan, the poor husband of the spiteful ghost (and avoid the furries, that were probably Spectra sidekicks or something).

If only he knew that Crane wasn't as innocent as he seemed.

[rboooks]

DC x DP Fic idea: The Bakery is a Front!...right?

Danny Fenton starts his own business in Gotham. He knows that moving to Gotham is dangerous in a way, but it is the only other place with enough natural ectoplasm that can sustain him.

He wanted to move away from Amity Park to start on a clean slate. His parents now knew the truth, and to show their support, they were turning their research into a more sociological base instead of biological- I.E. ripped ghosts apart. Jaz got accepted into her dream college- Oxbridge. She moved overseas and is doing well in her advanced physiological courses. They told their parents of Dani, who promptly adopted her and signed her up for a traveling club under the condition she returned home for school.

The ghosts stopped challenging him after he explained Amity was his haunt and that it was bad manners to spar inside a haunt. He is open game in the ghost zone, but Danny got to choose when to go in there- his obsession requires him to defend something, so defending weaker ghosts in the Zone was a good option.

Danny always wanted to be an astronaut, but his teenage vigilante lifestyle ruined his chances- it isn't even his grades. It's a fact Danny's heart is so slow due to his ghost side it is mistaken as a heart condition. No space program would ever send him up with that. Danny decided that he would instead go with his second joy- baking. He opened Phantom Bakes in his second week in Gotham using funds from his Ghost King vault.

He served everyone and asked no questions. He was mostly sure half of his customers were gang members, but he didn't start anything and didn't allow any fights in his bakery. He became a sort of haven for everyone. He even began preparing packs for people experiencing homelessness, and bought the building next door to put some heating systems for anyone to sleep In during the winter.

Despite his obsession with protection, his human side made it possible for him to ignore it. He decided that his teenage years were spent too much giving in to his obsession and that in his twenties, he would retire. He did nothing while the various Bats threw themselves into battle, he turned a blind eye to petty crimes and basically tried not to bring any attention to himself.

He managed about six months until he accidentally walked through a cloud of fear gas while texting Sam and Tucker. His friends were tying the knot- the fact they all were best friends and exes was only slightly strange- and he was so focused on helping them plan the wedding as their Best Man he didn't hear the gasps, and horrified yells until he ran into Scarecrow.

He apologized for not looking where he was going and got a needle shoved unto his arm as a response. Danny's reflex to that was to punch the man a foot away from him.

The Bats quickly locked up the villain, and Danny decided he needed to be gone as fast as possible. He tried to return to his everyday life, but the next day, some of Scarecrow's goons showed up at his bakery asking him for work....so he hired them and taught them to make pastries. Then those goons brought over some friends who needed work but were recovering addicts and couldn't find employment.

He added coffee to his menu and threw them into that. Then some street kids asked if he would buy some stuff from them. Danny told them that he wasn't interested in car parts, but he was interested in furniture for the building next door. He had kids bringing in broken bookshelves, bed frames, and much more, paying them far more than the shady garages would.

Then some shady groups of men kept coming to his bakery asking for money for protection but Danny can protect himself just fine and proved it every single time a group made trouble.

He started having the streey kids make deliveries hoping to get them out of life of crime.

He made natural ectoplasm which, after much testing and research done by his parents, proved to clean out dangerous substances from the body. He made unique pastries that could help overcome addiction and heal withdraw.

He saw the light slowly return to the eyes of a drug-ridden community, and it brought him so much joy he barely charged for them.

Unknown to Danny, he has set himself as a up and coming villain. Rumors of his Fear Gas immunity attracted the attention of the Joker- who was found with all limbs broken, beaten black and blue after the clown tried to take a swing at Danny's employees. The baker had taken his broken body back to Arkharm, dragging the bleeding man through the streets uncaring of the line of red he left or the various people recording him in awed fear.

The rest of Gotham waited to see his true colors as he carefully built a front and gathered people. Some want to take him out as soon as possible.

Red Hood, most of all, after he heard that Danny had kids run special deliveries to know addicts. The only reason he hadn't blown his brains out was because Danny hadn't set himself up in crime alley.

The Bats had even talked him into joining an undercover mission to learn more about Danny. They didn't know what drugs he was moving or if he had a hand in other crimes, and needed more information that Oracle was unable to find.

She couldn't pull anything on Danny, driving her insane. (Techus erased Danny from the internet as a prank once and forgot to undo it.)

That led to Jason and Tim entering Phantom Bakes, acting like street kids who ran away from a homophobic father looking for a job.

Danny had them decorate cupcakes within the hour, letting them know he didn't expect them to crunch out masterpieces. They knew it would be a while to see Danny's real business so they bite thier tongues and got to work.

Tim just hopes they finish this mission before Jason snaps and shoots their main suspect....or before Danny romances the entire of Gotham because, goddammit, he has as much game as Brucie pretends to have. It's getting frustrating to see so many people throwing themselves at him, only for Danny to pretend not to notice. His good looks, charming personality, and carefully manipulated cover, drag good people into his schemes. He didn't want another Harley Quinn.

(He will ignore that his heart skips a beat whenever Danny gets too close. Thank you very much. It's just a crush; people get those all the time.)

(Part 2) (Part 3)

[mrs-weasley-reid]

SPEED OF LIGHT•••

bau!team x bau!reader

Synopsis: speed is one of the bau team's special skills. Traveling from one state to another, one address to the next, catching unsubs in the blink of an eye. So when one of the members was put in danger, you didn't hesitate to prove that you belonged in the team. WARNING: cursing. silly goofy time with derek and spencer A/N: a short fun blurb

"We'll be there," Spencer flipped his phone, turning to you and Derek with a horrified look.

Derek raised his brows, "What is it?"

Spencer gulped, "The unsub is Mary, and JJ's with her." He couldn't hide the worry in his voice.

You felt the same sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had to get there fast, or JJ would be in serious danger. None of you wanted that.

Derek was about to jump on the driver's seat when you stole the keys from his hand. "What are you doing? This is not the time to play games."

"I'll drive, hop in." You stated and claimed the seat, buckling yourself up.

Spencer said your name in panic, "We don't have time for this. We need to hurry!" He argued, all while hopping on the backseat.

You rolled your eyes. Men. You sighed in your head, starting the engine. It was ironic enough how they continued to complain yet still glued their asses on the leather seat of the SUV.

"Then buckle up and shut up. Derek, either you strap yourself on your seat or get out of the car. The clock is ticking." Your voice vibrated authority, which was rare, much less nonexistent in their vocabulary of your personality.

Derek didn't say anything but still reluctantly sat on the shotgun seat. He gave you the address, and as soon as his seatbelt clicked, you slammed the gas pedal.

Their bodies automatically hit the back of their seats. The speed of the black SUV you're in seemed impossible to reach. Its engine growled loudly.

You loved car racing, finding yourself on race tracks every time you had a chance. You loved the high, the thrill of speeding down the asphalt burning at the touch of your tires.

On the contrary, you never drove during cases, letting Derek or Emily or Dave or Hotch or JJ, basically everyone—Spencer was no exception—get a hold of the wheel. They never questioned it, more so, assumed that you were a horrible driver. And maybe your driving skills at the moment would only prove their assumption, but you paid no mind.

Spencer and Derek watched in fear as you earned angry honks from the poor patrons. You had the badge and gun to reason in case any of the civilians had the guts to block you.

You had one mission: get yourselves to JJ's aid, fast.

"W-watch, watch out!" Derek stammered in fear for his life. He had never experienced such speed before, feeling his skin stretched off to the back of his head.

Spencer fell silently dead in the backseat. His skin was pale, lips sealed from utter anxiety. He could feel his stomach dance into knots, mocking him. He gripped his seatbelt tightly, turning his knuckles white. He could've sworn his ass was holding onto his seat.

In a matter of seven minutes, which was supposed to be a normal thirty-minute drive, you parked the car with a screech.

You got out of the vehicle, fishing your gun from your holster. You made your way into position, unbothered by the 150 mph drive.

"What happened to you guys?" Emily hushed at the two gentlemen behind you.

Derek's eyes were watery, and Spencer's hair looked like he just emerged from a tornado.

"Our lives flashing before our eyes," Spencer exclaimed in horror. "You wouldn't know how it feels." He was staring into the distance as if he was watching some kind of horror film on the air.

"Sure," Emily shrugged, "Not like I faked my own death and had a funeral or anything."

Hotch was approaching when Derek and Spencer tiptoed away from Emily. "Did something happen?" He interrogates.

Emily only stared at the two with a weird look, "That's what I want to know too." And your small stature came into her sight, "I think she broke them... somehow."

Derek may have acted cool about the entire thing, but his stomach constantly shrunk, making him gag every three seconds. "I'm never going to complain about your driving," He whispered to Spencer as they settled themselves in position.

Spencer nodded and gulped the vomit he was holding in his throat, prompting Derek to do the same. "Yeah, yeah, me too."

And that day remained a mystery to the entire team... plus you were officially banned from driving.

bau masterlist | masterlist

[moon-simmers]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH

As every year this is a good date to remember the daily struggle for the rights of the LBGT+ community. It is also a time to learn about the people who made it possible for us to identify ourselves as who we are today without fear of reprisals or being punished by the law. This month I got involved in the history of Argentina and its different movements for the fight for rights through the 20th century. Here I come to share some important figures, some more known than others, but obviously there are a lot that I have left out of this publication.

Sara Facio (1932-2024) & Maria Elena Walsh (1930-2011)

A couple of intellectual artists that would need a separate publication to go deeper into the subject. Sara is one of the greatest Latin American photographers who with her camera contributed to the creation of the most outstanding photographic heritage of the country. Maria Elena is a writer, singer and composer whose children's songs resonate to this day because they are much more profound than they seem and are still relevant today.

Salvadora Medina Onrubia (1894-1972)

She was a writer, militant anarchist, single mother and the first woman to run a newspaper in the country. She was the first Argentinean woman to dare to write about double sinners, lesbians and adulteresses. One of her most valued plays was Las descentradas, premiered in 1929. There, Salvadora honors her own contradictions, narrating women who question monogamous structures, marriage and the traditional family.

Malva Solis (1920-2015)

She was a transvestite writer who lived for 95 years when the life expectancy of this community in the country was under 40 years old. In 1951 founded the first trans organization on record, Maricas Unidas Argentinas. She has the oldest series of trans photographs in the country, dating from 1940 to 1980, when simply having those photographs at home was cause for being arrested. There is a documentary based on the photographs and conversations with her at her home called "Con Nombre de flor".

Jorge Horacio Ballve Piñero (1920-?)

Piñero was a young man from a well-to-do family of the Buenos Aires society at the beginning of the century. Together with his best friend Adolfo and Blanca, he organized gatherings in his apartment in Recoleta, and was a pioneer of male erotic photography. They mixed the privileged social class with workers, dishwashers, gas station workers, sailors and cadets from the Military College. These three characters were involved in a police case involving cadets from the military college, known as the Cadet Scandal. In the police archives remain captive the photographic collection, intended for pleasure and personal aesthetic enjoyment that tragically proved key to incriminate some friends who just wanted to have fun.

Ruth Mary Kelly (1925-1994)

She was a bisexual woman, who worked as a "Wohoo Worker". Founder of Grupo Safo in 1972, the first Argentine lesbian organization, and of the Frente de Liberación Homosexual (Homosexual Liberation Front). In 1972 she wrote Memorial de los Infiernos about her experiences as a "Wohoo" worker and bisexual, persecuted by the psychiatric-prison system.

Manuel Puig (1932-1990)

He was an Argentine writer and LGBT+ activist, author of the novels Boquitas pintadas, El beso de la mujer araña (Considered one of the most recognized LGBT works in Latin America and one of the best works in Spanish of the 20th century) etc. He also fought against authoritarianism and machismo, and was one of the founders of the Homosexual Liberation Front in 1971, one of the first associations for the defense of LGBTQI+ rights.

Mariela Muñoz (1943-2017)

She was the first transsexual woman to be recognized by the state and given a female ID card on May 2, 1997. At the age of 16 she became independent, and it was then that she began caring for children, teenagers and single mothers. She cared for children who had been abandoned by their mothers, whom she loved and cared for. She raised, during her lifetime, 23 children and 30 grandchildren. In a dispute over the guardianship of 3 children in 1993, Argentina was confronted for the first time with the debate as to whether a transsexual person "could be a mother"

Carlos Jauregui (1957-1996) & Raul Soria

Carlos was a History professor and the founder of the Civil Association Gays for Civil Rights, organizer of the first Pride march in Buenos Aires and an essential figure for Argentine activism. In 1984, he broke with the schemes by appearing in the magazine Siete Días embracing the activist Raul Soria, a homosexual person assumed his sexuality in a public way for the first time. He believed that media visibility is fundamental for LGTB people. Leaving aside the fear and silence that other generations suffered for years. In 1985, Raul would present himself as the first gay candidate for congressman in the country.

Roberto Jauregui (1960-1994)

Brother of Carlos, was a journalist, actor and the first activist for the rights of people with HIV in the country. In 1989 he exposed the inequality in access to treatment at that time due to the price of medication. He played a central role in marches, actions, talks and interviews to demand human rights for people living with the virus. A well-known phrase of his is "Showing one's face is not easy in a society that discriminates, censures and separates".

Cris Miró (1965-1999)

Cris was the first visible trans people that appeared in the media and broke with the "transvestite" paradigm. A dental student, she got involved in the artistic underworld and later studied classical dance, musical comedy and acting. Her career was meteoric: the popularity of revue theater catapulted her to the small screen where she became a sought-after figure in the most popular programs. On June 23rd, a series about his life inspired by his biography was released, available on Prime Video.

Alejandro Vannelli (1948-) y Ernesto Larresse (1950-)

They were the first couple in the province of Buenos Aires to get legally married on July 30, 2010 after the Equal Marriage Law was passed. They met in 1976 because of a triple A bomb in the theater where Larresse was performing with Nacha Guevara, then he joined the cast of Vannelli. At the beginning they did not like each other because of Vanelli's appearance as a wealthy young man and Larresse was the opposite, but opposites attracted and they were a couple for 34 years.

Norma Castillo (1943-) y Ramona "Cachita" Arévalo (1943-2018)

They were the of South America's first gay marriage on April 9, 2010. Norma and Ramona were married to two Colombians, who were cousins to each other. During the dictatorship they both went into exile in Colombia and there they fell in love and lived their romance clandestinely, until Cachita separated and Norma was widowed by her husband. They lived their love freely and even opened an LGBT discotheque in Colombia. In 1998 they returned to Argentina and began to work in sexual diversity organizations.

Feliciano Centurión 1962-1996)

He was a visual artist, a Paraguayan painter professionally trained in Argentina. He grew up in a home dominated by women, where he learned to sew and crochet. Inspired by queer aesthetics and folk art, he used to incorporate household textiles and references to the natural world. She handled kitsch art and languages not considered high art with a great deal of knowledge and sensitivity.

Humberto Tortonese (1964-) , Alejandro Urdapilleta (1954-2013) & Batato Barea (1961-1991)

Batato was an actor and "literary transvestite clown" as he called himself, one of the most important personalities of the underground theater movement of the post-dictatorship years. Together with Alejandro Urdapilleta and Humberto Tortonese, revolutionized the underground scene of the 80's - in places like the Parakultural. They disguised themselves, wore make-up and improvised delirious and strident scenes for the decade.

Sandra Mihanovich & Celeste Carballo

Sandra and Celeste are two singers who were visibly lesbians during the 80s and early 90s. Together they released the albums "Somos mucho mas que dos" and "Mujer contra mujer" which became a symbol of belonging for the whole LGBTQ arc in our country. They managed to be part of the rock scene, an area historically dominated by men. Sandra among all her songs is "Soy lo que soy" released in 1984 composed by Henry Jerman.

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 12 640

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mild body horror, fear gas, lowkey prey/predator kink (chasing), kidnapping

Summary: Y/n, a university student, forms an unexpected friendship with Professor Jonathan Crane. But are his intentions what he says they are?

A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies A/N: This one accidentally became a bit of a slow-burn but hey! it is what is~ I didn't know which one to call this so I just did both 💀 My initial plan for this was just a short one, around 2k-3k words... guess that didn't work out. A lot of it may be repetitive, so apologies - (Part 2) (Part 3)

-

Y/n entered the psychology lecture hall, the familiar scent of old textbooks and the low hum of whispered conversations enveloping her as she took her usual seat near the front. The lecture hall was spacious, rows of worn-out seats filled with few students, as most dropped the class within the first week, due to the Professors harsh attitude. As she settled in, her eyes wandered to the front of the room, where Professor Crane's desk stood. He usually entered on the dot so it wasn’t strange to see his desk empty. 

The sound of the office door's wide swing echoed through the hall, Professor Crane walking in, his presence evoked a collective hush in the lecture room. As if choreographed, he navigated the room with an air of precision, placing his meticulously organized files and papers onto the desk.

Professor Crane wasted no time, setting the tone for the day's lesson. It became immediately apparent to every student that patience was not a virtue Professor Crane indulged in. The swift, deliberate motion of his hand grabbed a piece of chalk, and with a decisive sweep, he began writing the day's lesson on the board.

-

As the lesson drew to a close, marking the end of another lengthy lecture, Y/n found herself grappling with the weight of the information presented. Despite her best efforts to remain focused, the sheer volume of content in today's lesson proved to be a challenge for her to fully absorb. The struggle to grasp the concept left her feeling both mentally fatigued, yearning for a moment of rest.

“If there’s any trouble, my office hours are available for help,” Professor Crane finished, as the students left. 

Despite being aware of the option to attend Professor Crane's office hours, Y/n hesitated, daunted by the intimidating presence of the man. The memory of him calling on classmates during class, casually degrading them when they struggled to grasp concepts, lingered in her mind. The thought of engaging in a one-on-one conversation with him only stirred up anxiety. Opting against visiting Professor Crane's office, Y/n retreated to her dorm. 

-

Back in her dorm, Y/n sank into her desk chair, frustration evident on her face. The psychology book lay open before her, its pages a source of bewilderment. Despite her earnest attempts to comprehend the material covered in class, the concept continued to slip through her grasp. With a sigh of exasperation, she tossed her pen onto the desk, leaning back into her chair.

The struggle was real, and Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being lost in a sea of incomprehension. Even reaching out to fellow classmates had proven futile, as they too found themselves in the dark. The weight of confusion hung heavy in the air, leaving Y/n grappling with the unsettling realization that she may have to push her anxieties away for help.

Glancing at her class calander she made at the beginning of the year, Y/n noticed that Professor Crane had office hours scheduled a couple of hours before tomorrows class. A moment of contemplation ensued, marked by the rhythmic bouncing of her leg. Eventually, she reasoned that giving it a shot couldn't hurt. After all, even if Professor Crane were to belittle her, at least there wouldn't be an audience to witness any potential humiliation.

-

The following morning, Y/n gathered her books and essentials, preparing for another day at the university. As she stepped onto the campus, her destination clear, she headed towards Professor Crane's office. Each step felt burdened, her legs heavy with nervousness that clung to her as she approached the looming encounter.

Standing in front of Professor Crane's office door, Y/n took a shaky breath before knocking. The response came swiftly, "Come in," in Professor Crane's authoritative voice.

Twisting the handle, she entered the room. Professor Crane, engrossed in some papers, looked up as she stepped in. Y/n found herself at a loss for words, her shyness momentarily stifling her thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Professor Crane inquired, "Can I help you with something?"

Caught off guard, Y/n stammered, "Uh, yes, sorry. I was, umm, trying to go over the things we learned yesterday, but I had trouble trying to grasp the concept. I was wondering if you could help me go over it?"

Jonathan regarded her for a moment before gesturing towards the seat opposite him, a silent invitation for her to sit. Y/n promptly took the seat, positioning herself across from him.

Y/n looked around the room, taking in the surroundings. Bookshelves adorned with a myriad of psychology titles graced the walls, that offer a visual journey through the expansive world of the mind. Disheveled piles of papers and folders, likely files from Arkham, added an air of mystery to the atmosphere. The walls were adorned with various academic accolades and framed degrees. The inviting couch, a standard feature in university offices, seemed strangely pristine and untouched.

"Do you have anything for me to look at? Anything specific?" Jonathan inquired, shifting his papers to make room for her.

Nodding, Y/n retrieved her textbook and a few of her own papers. As she handed them over, Professor Crane asked, "What part did you not understand?" The question, though genuine, had a way of making her feel a bit foolish, and a sudden warmth crept into her face.

"Well...I had trouble with the start of it so...I didn’t understand...any of it," Y/n admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her words.

Avoiding eye contact with her professor, Y/n couldn't help but feel small in his presence. She felt like a complete idiot.

"Well..." Crane sighed, surprising Y/n with a comment that sounded unexpectedly friendly. "Looks like we got a lot of work ahead of us."

Despite the friendly remark, Y/n remained on edge. Professor Crane pulled the book closer, running his pen tip over the first couple of sentences. Reading them aloud, he delved into more depth, echoing the teaching style she was familiar with from his lectures.

Y/n clung to his words, processing and understanding the material more with each passing moment. Her notebook lay open beside her, writing brief notes that she intended to expand upon during her own time. To her surprise, Professor Crane exhibited an unexpected gentleness and patience, allowing her the space to ask questions and guiding her through the material at a measured pace.

In this one-on-one session, Y/n found herself gaining more information that surpassed what she could have achieved on her own. The personalized attention and the chance to delve deeper into the subject with Professor Crane were proving invaluable to her comprehension of the challenging concepts.

"Has that helped?" Professor Crane inquired, reclining in his chair.

"Yes, thank you. This makes so much sense now," Y/n replied, unable to contain her smile.

"Glad I could help," Professor Crane acknowledged. "Thanks for coming in; don't hesitate so much next time," he added.

Y/n couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised by Professor Crane's kindness throughout the entire session. The encounter left her with a newfound appreciation for his approachability and willingness to assist.

Y/n finally looked up at him properly, meeting his gaze for the first time in that half-hour. She was taken aback, realizing the striking blue hue of his eyes, a detail she had never noticed before as she avoided looking at him in lectures, hoping he wouldn’t call on her.

Quickly averting her gaze, she began packing away all her materials. "Thank you again, sir," Y/n expressed, her smile lingering.

"Feel free to come back after today's lesson too if you're having trouble," he suggested, offering her a slight smile in return.

The unexpected kindness from Professor Crane left Y/n pleasantly surprised. "I will, sir. Thank you," she replied before leaving the office, carrying with her a newfound appreciation for the approachability and support she hadn't anticipated.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Y/n practically skipped her way to the library to finalize her notes. The weight that had initially clung to the prospect of talking to Professor Crane had lifted, and she discovered that he wasn't as intimidating as she had initially thought.

-

As class approached, Y/n felt a wave of optimism about the upcoming lesson, knowing she now had the option to seek more help later. The prospect of understanding the material became less daunting.

When Professor Crane entered the class, the usual hush fell over the room. Unfazed, he seamlessly resumed his routine, initiating the lesson with his familiar writing on the board. The air was charged with anticipation, and Y/n felt a renewed sense of readiness to tackle the subject matter with the newfound support at her disposal.

Not even 10 minutes into the class, Y/n watched as Professor Crane once again questioned a student's intelligence, a sharp contrast to the kindness she had experienced earlier. It caught her off guard — his demeanor seemed to shift dramatically when addressing individuals in front of the class. She wondered if he found enjoyment in embarrassing people publicly or if there was another motive behind his approach. Y/n instinctively shrank back into her seat, hoping not to be the next target.

-

As the lesson concluded, Y/n made a quick move toward the door, only to find herself intercepted by Professor Crane stepping in front of her.

"Understand today's lesson?" he inquired, hands clasped behind his back. His slight smile surprised her, considering the belittlement she had witnessed throughout the class.

"Yeah, I think I got it," Y/n responded quickly.

The Professor nodded. "Alright, just don't be scared to ask for help," he advised before strolling back to his office. Y/n stood there, grappling with the unexpected duality of Professor Crane's demeanor, thankful for the support she had received earlier but still perplexed by the contrasting experiences in the classroom.

-

Regrettably for Y/n, the intricacies of today's lesson eluded her, slipping through the gaps in her understanding during the last 10 minutes of class. Her meticulous note-taking proved insufficient, she clearly didn’t get the last part of the lesson. The idea of seeking help at Professor Crane's office hours lingered, but a sense of unease settled in after the day's earlier interactions.

The peculiar contrast in Professor Crane's treatment of her versus the rest of the class left Y/n feeling unsettled. Was he kinder to those who sought help, or was there a different dynamic at play? It remained uncertain, casting a shadow over the prospect of returning for assistance.

Yet, the urgency of understanding the material prevailed over any reservations. Realizing the potential consequences for future lessons, Y/n knew she would have to get help. Y/n considered asking another classmate again, but preferred the way in which Professor Crane was indepth and had more to offer. She acknowledged the necessity of visiting Professor Crane's office hours the next day, and it didn’t feel as daunting as it did the day before.

-

Approaching Professor Crane's office for the second time, Y/n hesitated for a brief moment before knocking on the door. 

"Come in," Professor Crane's voice called out.

Y/n opened the door, offering a tight-lipped smile as she entered. "Thought you'd come back," Professor Crane remarked, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

Taking the now familiar seat across from him, Y/n observed as he pushed aside his work to focus on her. Placing her books on the table, she turned to the last page of the chapter, the faint rustle of paper filling the room.

"It was just the end bit that I kinda lost track of," Y/n admitted, her voice portraying a hint of uncertainty.

“This should be a lot quicker than yesterday, then,” the Professor smiled, joking lightly.

Leaning over the book, Professor Crane again took her through the paragraphs slowly, picking them apart one by one, making sure she understood each thing he said.

As she attempted to maintain focus, the alluring scent of Professor Crane's cologne began to weave its way into her senses, creating a subtle distraction. The close proximity, both of them leaning over the desk to study the book, allowed the fragrance to unfold in intricate layers. The cologne, not noticeable the day before or perhaps just more subdued, now revealed itself with greater prominence.

The scent was strong, but not unpleasant. The fragrance enveloping him carried a sophisticated blend of notes that gracefully danced in the air. A distinct combination of musky undertones and woody accents created an aura of timeless masculinity. As he moved, subtle hints of citrus and spice gently emerged, adding a layer of complexity to the scent. 

"Y/n? Did you get that?" Professor Crane's voice pulled her back to reality.

Y/n shook her head, attempting to refocus. "Oh, sorry, could you repeat that last part?" she squinted, her face warming with embarrassment.

Professor Crane patiently reiterated the information, ensuring she grasped it this time. Internally, Y/n chastised herself, questioning how she could be so easily distracted by a man's cologne.

"You want to write that down?" he suggested, studying her expression.

"It might take a while..." Y/n admitted, well aware of her heightened distraction today.

"That's fine; we have all the time in the world," Professor Crane assured, leaning back in his chair.

"But another student might need help," Y/n hesitated, considering the potential impact on others.

"That's not a problem. No one comes to office hours. Just you," Professor Crane revealed, a statement that slightly shocked Y/n. She had assumed his intimidating demeanor might keep some students away, but the revelation that she was the only one who sought assistance caught her off guard. "O-oh," she stammered in response.

Y/n focused on her notebook, diligently transcribing the information provided by Professor Crane. As she carefully jotted down the details he emphasized, she couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, a vulnerability that crept in unnoticed.

Glancing up, she caught Professor Crane looking directly at her. Despite the file in his hands, his gaze remained fixed on her. The realization left Y/n feeling a bit uneasy, unsure of why she suddenly felt so exposed under his scrutiny. Opting to dismiss the discomfort, she decided to concentrate on her writing, pushing the unease to the back of her mind and assuming it was just a fleeting moment of self-consciousness.

Having finished writing her notes, Y/n placed her pen down and looked back up at her professor. As he set his file aside, he directed his attention to her notebook. "Finished?" he inquired.

Y/n nodded in confirmation.

"Any more questions about yesterday's lesson?" Professor Crane asked.

She shook her head, indicating her understanding.

"Well, I suppose you're free to go then," Professor Crane remarked. Y/n began packing her belongings when, unexpectedly, he continued, "Unless... would you like me to teach you today's lesson?" The offer hung in the air, leaving Y/n momentarily surprised by the unexpected opportunity for additional guidance.

"But... office hours end in like half an hour," Y/n pointed at the clock, expressing her concern.

"They're my office hours; I can change them however I want," Professor Crane replied, his words softened by the friendly smile adorning his face.

"Are you sure you want to waste your time teaching me? I'll just hear it in a couple of hours anyway," Y/n expressed her uncertainty.

"I'd like to teach you; no one's more eager to learn than you are, my Dear. I insist," Professor Crane insisted, the endearment slipping into his words. Y/n almost missed it, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in her professor's tone. It was a side of him she hadn't anticipated, and the kindness he displayed left her pleasantly surprised.

Y/n sighed with a mix of relief and gratitude. "You're too kind, sir. Thank you," she expressed, recognizing this as a valuable opportunity to get ahead in the class.

"Don't need to thank me, Dear," Professor Crane replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he again tested the newfound name.

As she retrieved her books, Professor Crane opened them to the latest chapter. Patiently, he guided her through each part, allowing her the time she needed to take thorough notes. Engrossed in the material, Y/n's awareness was focused on the subject at hand, and she failed to notice Professor Crane's not so subtle staring for the second time.

Unbeknownst to her, he watched as her hair gracefully sat behind her ear and took note of the delicate way her fingers held the pen. The Professor's attentive gaze added an unexpected layer to the lesson, one that went beyond the academic content and into the realm of unspoken dynamics between student and teacher.

Y/n looked back up at Professor Crane, anticipation in her gaze as she awaited the next part of the lesson. As the professor spoke, Y/n found herself gazing up at him, absorbing only fragments of his words. Amid the intricate details of the lesson, her thoughts drifted to a deep appreciation for the professor and the invaluable assistance he was providing.

Glad she had returned to his office hours, Y/n reflected on the decision to have him teach her this lesson. The material was notably more information-heavy than previous lessons, and she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. Without this one-on-one guidance, the complexity of the subject matter would have left her utterly lost in the classroom setting.

Professor Crane skillfully condensed what could have been a two-hour lesson into just over an hour. The efficiency of the session left Y/n feeling remarkably more confident in her understanding of Psychology.

"Thank you so much, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude with a genuine smile.

"Don't have to keep thanking me, Dear. Just doing my job," Professor Crane replied, returning her smile with a warmth that surpassed the formalities of a typical teacher-student interaction.

Checking the clock, Y/n realized class would commence in 20 minutes. "I should head off to give you time to prepare," she suggested, preparing to rise from her seat.

Professor Crane, however, suggested otherwise. "You might as well just wait here. You won't get in the way."

Unsure, Y/n hesitated before asking, "You sure you don't want a break before teaching? You're probably tired of me."

"Not at all... I could use the company," he reassured, his smile indicating a genuine desire for her presence rather than any sense of obligation.

Y/n couldn't help but smile. "Feeling lonely?" she teased, a newfound comfort allowing her to engage in a more playful manner.

"You could say that," Professor Crane replied, meeting her teasing with a genuine smile.

Reclaiming her seat and settling in, Y/n sought to initiate a conversation. "So... not many students come to your office hours?" she inquired, curious about the dynamics of student-teacher interactions.

"None... you're the first to come," Professor Crane admitted.

"Oh..." Y/n's realization set in. When he mentioned earlier that no one attended, she assumed it might be an exaggeration. Now, it became evident that she was indeed the sole student seeking assistance during his office hours. 

Y/n had an realization; perhaps the reason Professor Crane treated her so nicely was that she was the only student attending his office hours. It occurred to her that he might genuinely appreciate her active approach to seeking help, recognizing her passion for the subject.

"I guess the other students are just too intimidated, or don't care," Professor Crane mused, his words carrying a subtle tone that hinted at his sentiments towards the rest of the students.

She sensed a certain disappointment in his words, an unspoken judgment on the other students who, for various reasons, didn't take advantage of the opportunity to seek additional guidance. The realization left Y/n feeling a mix of gratitude for the personalized attention she received and a touch of sympathy for the potential missed opportunities by her peers.

"Gee, you think very little of them, don't you?" Y/n quipped, her tone half-joking. It was her subtle way of delving into why Professor Crane sometimes treated the class so harshly.

She recognized that she might be overstepping, but a genuine curiosity about the man behind the professor prompted her to seek more insight.

"The class is full of imbeciles. They don't know a thing about psychology. The lot of them couldn't tell a psychopath from a sociopath," Crane vented, a hint of frustration in his words.

"Hey, they're not all idiots," Y/n tried to offer a more different perspective.

"You haven't read their papers," Crane rolled his eyes, a touch of exasperation evident in his response. The exchange revealed a layer of dissatisfaction with his students' grasp of the subject, providing Y/n with a glimpse into the source of his occasional sternness in class.

Though Y/n recognized the impossibility of psychoanalyzing her professor, curiosity had taken a firm hold, compelling her to want to understand more about the man behind the lectern. The enigma of Professor Crane's demeanor and his candid assessments of the students intrigued her, prompting a desire to unravel the complexities that lay beneath the surface.

"Well... what about my papers?" Y/n inquired, a mix of anticipation and curiosity evident in her expression. She was eager to hear how Professor Crane would describe her work.

His gaze intensified as he began, "It’s clear through your writing that you’re passionate about psychology. You beautifully discuss topics in a way that engages readers and sparks interest. Your ability to convey complex concepts with clarity and enthusiasm is truly commendable. It's evident that you not only possess a deep understanding of the subject matter but also a genuine passion for sharing that knowledge."

His words hung in the air, the intensity of his gaze holding a weight that went beyond mere academic assessment. Professor Crane's thoughtful analysis revealed not only an appreciation for Y/n's proficiency but also a recognition of the passion that fueled her exploration of psychology. It was a validation that made her feel proud of herself, creating a moment of mutual understanding and acknowledgment.

Y/n was taken aback, her eyes darting all around the room as her face warmed with disbelief. Praise of such magnitude was unfamiliar territory for her, and coming from Professor Crane, renowned for his exacting standards, it added an extra layer to her astonishment. "Gosh, my work couldn't have been that good, sir. You're too kind."

"You know I'm not kind just for the sake of it. I don't praise just any student's work, dear," Professor Crane responded, his expression serious, the weight of his words emphasizing the sincerity behind his commendation. The gravity of the moment lingered, leaving Y/n grappling with a mix of surprise and gratitude for the unexpected recognition of her efforts.

Y/n acknowledged that Professor Crane wasn't the type to dispense niceties without genuine merit, intensifying the authenticity of the moment. "I... I just don't know what to say," she confessed, her words laced with a mix of humility and gratitude.

"You don't have to say anything; just know that you're a brilliant student, and I'm glad to have you in my class," Professor Crane asserted, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped together.

"Thank you," Y/n replied with a genuine smile, the warmth of the professor's acknowledgment lingering.

He nodded politely, reciprocating the smile. "So, what would you be doing right now if you weren't here with me?" he asked, a subtle inquiry into her interests without directly posing the question.

Indulging the curiosity, Y/n shared, "Usually, I'd be back at my dorm studying or maybe out with friends."

"Are these of yours friends taking different courses? It's just that I never see you sitting with anyone in class that much," Professor Crane probed further, expressing unexpected interest in the dynamics of her social circle.

She hadn't anticipated his curiosity about her friends. "Yeah, most of them are taking things like English Literature, History, Biochem," Y/n answered, providing a glimpse into the diverse corses her friend were taking.

"I see... and are all of them…just friends?" Professor Crane asked, his gaze intense, as if searching for something beyond the words.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, a touch of confusion coloring her expression. "I'm not sure I understand the question," she admitted.

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked, taking the conversation into unexpected territory. It caught her off guard. Why was he interested? What prompted such a personal question? Despite her surprise, Y/n chose to keep the conversation flowing, steering clear of awkwardness. "No, I'm not," she answered. Professor Crane nodded, his focus unwavering.

Feeling a degree of boldness, Y/n decided to reciprocate, nervously asking, "How about you? Any wife or anything?" There was a hesitancy in her voice, a fear of overstepping.

"Nope... just me," Professor Crane replied, his tone casual yet offering little insight into his personal life.

Wanting to explore a topic outside the realm of teaching and relationships, Y/n sought a new avenue of conversation. "So you're also a Doctor at Arkham. What's that like?" she inquired.

Professor Crane sighed, a subtle chuckle escaping him. "Every day's a new challenge. I do enjoy my work there, but the patients can be a handful sometimes," he shared, offering a glimpse into the complexities of his dual roles as a professor and a practitioner at Arkham.

"From all the news, it sure sounds like a lot," Y/n remarked, sharing a laugh at the intriguing tales surrounding Arkham Asylum.

"You could come see it for yourself if you'd like. I can take you," Professor Crane offered, extending an unexpected invitation that caught Y/n off guard.

"W-wow, really?" Y/n's eyes widened with excitement. The prospect of exploring the infamous Arkham Asylum, even with it’s poor repetuation, was a dream come true.

"Of course, it would be a good learning experience," Professor Crane affirmed, his smirk hinting at a certain familiarity with the inner workings of the institution.

"Are you sure it's allowed?" Y/n inquired cautiously.

"I'm pretty high up in that place, so I can pull a couple of strings," he responded with a confident smirk, revealing a hint of his influence.

After a quick glace at the clock, Professor Crane rose from his seat. "People should be coming in right about now."

Looking at the time herself, Y/n gathered her belongings and prepared to leave. "We can talk more later about showing you Arkham if you'd like," Professor Crane suggested, holding the door open.

"That sounds perfect. Thank you, Professor," Y/n expressed her gratitude, making her way to the door.

"Talk to you after class, then," he said, smiling at her before returning to his desk.

Walking out of his office, Y/n couldn't fathom the extraordinary opportunity that had just presented itself, and the thought that such an experience might await her left her both thrilled and intrigued.

-

The class came to a close, and Y/n eagerly approached Professor Crane, who had already neatly packed his things, a shared smile bridging the distance between them. 

"Let's talk about Arkham, then," Professor Crane suggested, leading the way to his office, Y/n following in tow.

"Do you have any lectures tomorrow?" Professor Crane inquired, his voice carrying an air of anticipation.

"Not tomorrow, no," Y/n responded.

"Then that sounds like the perfect time for me to take you," Professor Crane declared, a warm smile playing on his lips.

The reality of the situation began to sink in for Y/n. It was happening — the chance to explore the mysterious Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane as her guide. The thrill of the unexpected adventure filled her with a sense of wonder and disbelief.

"Oh my god, thank you so much, sir. This means so much to me," Y/n exclaimed, genuine gratitude painting her expression.

"You deserve it," Professor Crane replied, his assurance carrying a sense of sincerity.

"So umm... how will we go about this?" Y/n asked, eager to plan the logistics of the upcoming adventure.

"I'm assuming you stay at the university dorms?" Professor Crane inquired.

"I am, yes," Y/n confirmed.

"I suppose it would be easiest for me to pick you up from there. I can come get you at 8, if that works for you," Professor Crane suggested, offering a practical solution.

"Of course," Y/n agreed, the excitement bubbling within her, the prospect of exploring Arkham Asylum with Professor Crane creating a sense of giddiness that was hard to contain.

"Perfect," Professor Crane remarked. "Now, I should let you get back to your dorm and get a good rest; tomorrow's gonna be a big day for you," he added with a confident smirk.

Y/n chuckled in agreement. "I could imagine. Thank you, sir. Goodbye."

Professor Crane nodded politely as she exited his office. Y/n practically floated back to her dorm, the anticipation building within her. Following his advice, she decided to rest for the remainder of the day. The excitement of visiting Arkham Asylum, coupled with the mysterious allure of the institution, fueled her imagination.

As night fell, sleep proved elusive for Y/n. Her mind buzzed with anticipation and curiosity about the impending visit. What would she discover within the walls of Arkham? The prospect of the unknown, guided by Professor Crane, fueled her restless excitement, and she could barely contain her anticipation for the extraordinary day that awaited her.

-

The rhythmic buzz of Y/n's alarm clock greeted the new morning, a herald of the exciting day that awaited her. Brimming with anticipation, she practically bounced out of bed, fueled by a burst of energy that could only be described as a cocktail of nervousness and exhilaration. The bathroom became a sanctuary for a swift but thorough morning routine, cleansing her senses and preparing her for the significant day ahead.

As she perused her wardrobe, each garment held the weight of consideration. Y/n recognized the importance of making a favorable impression, especially considering the potential encounters with the discerning doctors at Arkham Asylum. She chose an outfit that balanced professionalism with a touch of her own style, a subtle nod to the gravity of the impending visit.

A glance at the clock revealed that she was ahead of schedule. It was 7:48, and uncertainty lingered about Professor Crane's punctuality. She realised she had no way of telling when he would arrive. Determined not to keep him waiting, Y/n decided to head outside, leaving the dormitory corridors.

The university grounds welcomed her with a subdued ambiance, the early morning calm only disturbed by the distant hum of city life. Y/n found a spot on a sturdy bench at the front of the dorms. The atmosphere was draped in the typical Gotham gloom – a ceiling of gray clouds stretched endlessly above, holding the promise of impending rain. Yet, for now, the air bore only a biting chill, a forewarning of the unpredictable Gotham weather.

Seated on the bench, Y/n couldn't escape the palpable excitement that rippled through her. The visible breaths she exhaled added a tangible layer to the anticipation, creating wisps of mist in the frigid air. The quietude of the campus seemed to magnify the significance of the moment as she patiently awaited the arrival of Professor Crane, the orchestrator of this extraordinary excursion into the unknown.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/n was blissfully unaware of someone approaching until a familiar voice cut through her reverie. "Good morning, Y/n," Professor Crane greeted her, his presence catching her by surprise.

Looking up from the ground, Y/n beamed a warm smile at him. "Good morning, Professor," she responded instinctively, the habit of addressing him formally ingrained in her.

"We're outside of class, my Dear, you don't have to call me Professor. Just Jonathan is fine," he suggested, a rare invitation to familiarity that caught her off guard. Testing the waters, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively trying out his first name. "Okay, Jonathan."

His smile in response conveyed a subtle warmth, as if sharing this piece of himself with her was a gesture of trust. "My car's just around the corner," he mentioned, and she rose from the bench to follow him.

As they made their way to the car, Y/n couldn't shake the peculiar nature of the situation. Getting into her professor's car in full view of her dorms was certainly out of the ordinary, but the sense of trust she felt for Jonathan quelled any reservations. The gentlemanly gesture of him opening the car door for her only added to the surreal atmosphere.

"Thank you," she expressed her gratitude with a smile as she settled into the car. Jonathan circled the vehicle and took his place in the driver's seat, the engine humming to life. As he secured his seatbelt, he shifted the conversation to a more mundane topic. "Have any breakfast before leaving?" he inquired, glancing over at her.

The realization struck her – breakfast had slipped her mind in the whirlwind of excitement. "Uh, no, I didn't," she admitted, a slight sheepishness in her tone.

“Well we can’t be having that,” Jonathan said, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes behind his glasses. 

“Oh, it’s fine really,” Y/n tried to reassure him. 

"You're in for a long day; you need food," Jonathan remarked, his concern for her well-being evident in his words. "Besides, I haven't eaten yet myself. I know a lovely cafe on the way; don't worry about it."

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Y/n smiled and responded, "Thank you."

"Not a problem, my Dear," he assured her, his use of the endearment somehow making the situation feel even more surreal. With that, he skillfully maneuvered the car into the flow of traffic.

To her surprise, the chaotic Gotham roads seemed unusually cooperative, allowing their journey to unfold with an unexpected smoothness. The city, notorious for its perpetual hustle and bustle, offered a brief respite as they cruised toward their destination. In the serene confines of the car, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the contrasting calmness outside. 

Jonathan expertly maneuvered the car into a parking space just outside a charming diner nestled on the outskirts of the Narrows. Exiting the car, the duo made their way into the cozy establishment.

"Seat yourselves, I'll be right with you," greeted a friendly waitress.

Jonathan gestured towards an inviting booth, Y/n slid into the seat, the comfortable booth promising a relaxing start to the day's adventures.

As they settled in, Jonathan reached for a couple of menus discreetly tucked beneath the cutlery. He handed one to Y/n with a casual smile. "Choose anything you'd like—drink and food. I'll pay," he generously offered, his gaze shifting to his own menu.

"Oh, I can't have you pay for me. You're already doing so much for me," Y/n insisted, a hint of guilt tainting her expression.

Jonathan chuckled warmly, his eyes reflecting a genuine understanding. "You're a university student staying at the dorms; money is not something you should be throwing around. I, however, am well off with my jobs. Don't worry."

Despite his reassurance, Y/n couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness. "I just feel bad that you're doing all this for me," she confessed, her sincerity evident in her eyes.

"If you want to so badly, you can pay next time," Jonathan suggested, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

"I'll hold you to that," Y/n responded with a smile, the lighthearted banter momentarily easing the weight of gratitude she felt. The easy camaraderie between them made the ordinary act of sharing a meal feel like an extraordinary moment. 

She appreciated the effortless flow of their conversation, finding an unexpected camaraderie with Jonathan. The notion of befriending a professor initially seemed peculiar, but with each passing moment, it felt surprisingly natural. Their discussions swayed seamlessly between topics, and Y/n discovered a side of Jonathan beyond the classroom, making her appreciate him not just as an educator but as a genuinely pleasant individual.

As the morning sunlight streamed through the diner's windows, casting a warm glow on their table, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which they interacted. The atmosphere was friendly and unburdened by the typical student-teacher dynamic. In that little diner booth, they were just two adults enjoying each other's company, forging a connection that went beyond the confines of academia.

The array of options on the menu presented Y/n with a delightful dilemma. The diner's atmosphere was lively yet intimate, with the aroma of brewing coffee and sizzling breakfast filling the air. 

The waitress gracefully returned to their table, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get for you two?" she inquired with a welcoming smile.

Jonathan was quick to respond, "I'll have a coffee and a breakfast bagel." His eyes then shifted to Y/n.

Feeling more on the sweet side, Y/n replied, "A berry smoothie and a brownie, please."

The waitress, attentive to details, followed up, "Would you like cream or yogurt with the brownie?"

"Yogurt, please," Y/n said.

The waitress jotted down their orders. "Is there anything else?" she asked, awaiting their final decisions.

"That'll be all," Jonathan confirmed, and Y/n nodded in agreement. With that, the waitress gracefully glided away, leaving them to resume their conversation in the cozy diner booth.

Jonathan chuckled at Y/n's choice, "A brownie at 8 in the morning?" he teased playfully.

"I know, it's a bit sweet," Y/n admitted, laughing along with him. "But treats like this are rare for me."

"Everyone deserves a morning indulgence now and then," Jonathan responded with a smile.

Their conversation continued to flow effortlessly, exchanging bits of information about their lives, particularly revolving around university.

Around 10 minutes later, the waitress returned with their orders. "Here you go," she said, placing the plates in front of them.

"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude, eagerly eyeing the delicious spread in front of her.

As the waitress left, Y/n took a moment to appreciate the aroma of the coffee and the vibrant colors of her berry smoothie. Jonathan sipped his coffee and leaned back, a relaxed smile on his face. The atmosphere was comfortable, the diner buzzing with the low hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery.

Jonathan leaned forward, taking ahold of his bagel, a faint smile on his face. "I hope you don't mind the detour for breakfast. It's good to start a day like this every once in a while."

Y/n chuckled, feeling the ease of their interaction. "Not at all. It's a pleasant surprise, actually. I didn't expect today to begin like this."

Jonathan nodded. "Well, sometimes it's the unexpected moments that make the day memorable."

Jonathan took a sip of his coffee before speaking, "So, tell me more about your interest in psychology. What drew you to the field?"

Y/n took a moment to savor her smoothie before answering, "I've always been fascinated by the human mind and how it works. It's like this intricate puzzle, and psychology helps me unravel its complexities. Plus, the idea of helping people through understanding their thoughts and behaviors would also be pretty cool."

Jonathan nodded, "It's a noble pursuit. Psychology has the power to make a significant impact on individuals' lives. Do you have any specific areas within psychology that you find most intriguing?"

“I won’t lie, Arkham has always been an interest of mine. Not necessarily the famous rogues that are constantly escaping, but the more troubled souls that had a rough start,” Y/n shared.

“Not so interested in the Joker then?” Jonathan teased.

“God no,” Y/n responded.

Jonathan chuckled, "Can't blame you there. The Joker is a whole different level of chaos."

Y/n took a sip of her berry smoothie, enjoying the refreshing taste. "But seriously, the idea of helping those who are struggling mentally, especially the ones society tends to overlook, that's where I want to make a difference."

Jonathan nodded, sipping his coffee. "Mental health is often stigmatized, and people don't realize the impact it has on individuals and society as a whole. Your dedication to understanding and helping is commendable."

The conversation continued, effortlessly weaving between casual banter and more serious topics. The comfortable atmosphere of the diner, coupled with Jonathan's easygoing nature, made Y/n feel at ease discussing her aspirations.

-

As they drove toward Arkham, Jonathan and Y/n continued their conversation, Jonathan sharing about the intricate workings of the human mind. The cityscape changed as they delved deeper into the Narrows, with its dodgy alleyways and poorly lit streets, which even in the dark made it difficult to see, creating an atmosphere of unease. The air felt heavy, carrying the weight of the stories locked within the walls of Arkham Asylum.

Jonathan glanced at Y/n. "It's a unique place, Arkham," he remarked, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

Y/n couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. The legendary reputation of Arkham Asylum had always fueled her curiosity, and now, with the prospect of exploring its mysteries, she couldn't contain her anticipation.

Securing a parking spot proved effortless in the vast, desolate parking lot. Stepping out of the car, Y/n gazed up at the imposing structure – a stone fortress that housed some of Gotham's most notorious criminals. Jonathan, an experienced guide in this ominous environment, approached her and led the way inside.

With a swift display of his ID, Jonathan gained entry, Y/n following suit without a single question. He grabbed a visitor badge for her before securing it around her neck.

The echoing clang of the heavy metal door closing behind them filled the entrance hall. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, lined with security personnel stationed at various checkpoints. The cold, sterile air of the facility sent shivers down Y/n's spine as she adjusted the visitor badge Jonathan handed her.

The corridor seemed to wind endlessly, each turn revealing another layer of security. Jonathan led her through the labyrinthine structure, his familiarity with the layout evident. The occasional distant echoes of unsettling sounds from within the facility heightened the tension in the air.

As they passed by the barred cells, Y/n couldn't help but steal glances into the shadows, catching glimpses of faces that seemed to hold a myriad of stories. The residents of Arkham Asylum, each with their own struggles and torments, observed the visitors with a mix of curiosity and detachment.

Jonathan explained the varying levels of security, detailing the procedures in place to ensure the safety of both staff and visitors. Y/n absorbed the information with a mix of fascination and a growing sense of apprehension. The weight of being surrounded by some of Gotham's most troubled souls pressed down on her.

They eventually reached a central area, a hub of activity where staff members bustled about their duties. Y/n observed the dynamics, the interplay between doctors, guards, and the patients who moved within the confines of their respective spaces. The atmosphere was a blend of tension and routine.

Approaching a door, Jonathan turned the doorknob, revealing the door marked with his name – Dr. Crane. The office, his domain, welcomed them, and Jonathan efficiently navigated around his desk to retrieve a couple of files.

Jonathan gathered the necessary files and responded, "Just a regular in-patient for the first session, but the second might be less conventional."

"Will they be okay with me being present?" Y/n asked.

"Well, if you're concerned, you can always ask them. Consent is important," Jonathan replied.

"Thank you," Y/n expressed her gratitude.

Jonathan guided them through the dimly lit halls of Arkham, arriving at the room where the first session would take place. They waited at the door, observing the tense atmosphere. Soon, a guard led a patient down the corridor, and from Jonathan's focused gaze, Y/n assumed this was the individual they were there to see.

"Mr. Wilson, you seem to be in good spirits today," Jonathan remarked, his tone carrying a sense of monotony.

“Mhmm,” Mr. Wilson responded, his eyes wandering around the hallway.

“I have a student from Gotham University joining us today. She's here to observe the session. Would that be acceptable to you?” Jonathan inquired.

Mr. Wilson finally looked up, his gaze meeting Y/n's. It appeared as though he hadn't encountered a woman in years. After a moment's contemplation, he nodded slowly.

“Great,” Jonathan said, holding the door open for everyone to enter the room.

The room was clinical, with pale walls and minimal furniture. Jonathan guided Y/n to a seat near the back, gesturing for her to take a comfortable position. Mr. Wilson settled into a chair across from Jonathan's desk.

As the session began, Jonathan engaged Mr. Wilson in conversation, discussing various topics. Y/n observed the interaction closely, trying to discern the nuances of the therapy process. She noted the controlled detachment in Jonathan's demeanor, a stark contrast to the patient's erratic and paranoid behavior.

Throughout the session, Y/n was captivated by the exchanges between therapist and patient. Mr. Wilson's responses were often fragmented and disjointed, revealing the complexity of his mental state. Jonathan navigated the conversation with finesse, probing gently into sensitive areas while maintaining an air of professionalism.

As the session concluded, Jonathan thanked Mr. Wilson for his time, and the patient was escorted back to his room by a guard. Jonathan turned his attention to Y/n, who had been silently observing.

“What did you think?” he asked, his expression betraying a genuine interest in her perspective.

“You're a really good doctor,” Y/n chuckled softly.

"I appreciate that," Jonathan replied modestly. "It's crucial to establish trust and understanding with the patients here. Each case requires a unique approach."

Y/n nodded in agreement, absorbing the gravity of the therapy session she had witnessed. Jonathan guided her out of the room, and they continued to explore different areas of Arkham, with Jonathan sharing insights into his work and the challenges he faced.

As they walked through the eerie corridors, Y/n couldn't help but feel a mixture of fascination and trepidation. Arkham held a dark allure, and she marveled at the intricate dance between the staff and the troubled individuals confined within its walls.

"So, your next patient?" Y/n inquired curiously.

"I'm sure you've heard of Edward Nigma, otherwise known as the Riddler—a real piece of work, that one," Jonathan remarked.

Y/n felt her heart skip a beat. The Riddler, notorious for creating horrifying traps and puzzels for his victims.

"I'm assuming you're going to sit out on that one?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, please," Y/n replied.

Jonathan chuckled, understanding her hesitation. "Not a fan of riddles, I take it?"

Y/n smiled nervously. "Let's just say I prefer my challenges to be in textbooks, not in the form of elaborate mind games that may or may not get me killed."

"Well, you're not alone in that sentiment," Jonathan assured her. "Nigma is... unique, to say the least. We'll proceed cautiously, and you can observe from the safety of the mirrored room."

They continued down the hall, passing by cells where other inmates were confined. Each face carried its own story, and the air was thick with an unsettling atmosphere.

As they approached the next room, a heavy door with a small window, Jonathan peered inside. "Edward, good afternoon."

The Riddler, a man with sharp features and an air of arrogance, looked up from his seated position. "Crane, always punctual. Who's this?" He nodded toward Y/n.

"Edward, meet Y/n, a psychology student from Gotham University. She's here to observe our sessions," Jonathan explained.

The Riddler's eyes narrowed as he examined Y/n. "Ah, another curious mind seeking the secrets of the human psyche. Fascinating."

As they entered, Nigma looked up, his eyes locking onto Y/n through the window. A sly smile crossed his face. "Are you here to solve my riddles?"

"She'll just be observing," Jonathan explained, gesturing towards the second room—the observation room.

Y/n's discomfort grew at the Riddlers staring, but she managed a polite nod. Jonathan guided her to the observation room, assuring her of the safety measures in place before going in to talk with Nigma. 

From behind the one-way mirror, Y/n observed the intricate dance of intellect between Jonathan and the enigmatic Riddler, realizing that the challenges in the academic world seemed trivial compared to the complexities of Arkham Asylum.

The atmosphere grew more uncomfortable, and Y/n felt a chill run down her spine. She could tell Jonathan was reaching his limit with Edward's antics, his patience visibly waning.

"Riddle me this... how much does the Doll behind the window know?" Edward provocatively inquired, locking eyes with her.

Edward, ever the provocateur, threw a cryptic remark Jonathan’s way, using the unsettling nickname "Doll." She couldn’t understand how he knew where she was behind the window, considering it was a mirror from his side, but he was looking right at her.

Jonathan's reaction was subtle but telling. A momentary pause in his movements, a flash of irritation across his face, and then he composed himself. "My, my, getting lousy with the riddles, are we?" he retorted, his tone laced with thinly veiled frustration.

Edward, undeterred, pressed on, "Then let me ask a question..Why did you really bring her here?...Does she know about Scarecrow?" His tone held a hint of malevolence, making Y/n acutely aware of the dangers potentially surrounding her.

Jonathan decided that enough was enough. "That's it for today, I believe," he declared, swiftly closing his file and rising from his seat.

Edward, seemingly amused by the exchange, reclined in his chair, his laughter lingering as the guard escorted him out of the room. Jonathan approached Y/n, his expression a mix of exhaustion and determination.

-

Even after that chilling session, Y/n found herself increasingly drawn to the complexities of mental health and the delicate art of psychiatric treatment. As the last session concluded, Jonathan silently walked her back to his office, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

Packing away his last thing, Jonathan moved over to Y/n, “Come on…” Jonathan's voice broke the quiet, quietly guiding her out of Arkham, his hand resting on the small of her back.

Reaching his car, Jonathan moved to her side first, holding the door open for her.

"I hope this was an insightful experience for you," he remarked, opening the door for her.

"Absolutely," Y/n replied. "Thank you for the opportunity, Jonathan." She hopped into the car, and Jonathan closed the door behind her before taking his place in the driver's seat.

The day at Arkham had left a lasting impression on Y/n, sparking a newfound interest in the intricacies of the human mind and the challenges faced by those dedicated to healing it.

The occasional streetlight cast shadows across his face as she looked at him from her side. However, her mind couldn't shake the lingering questions from the Riddler's cryptic words at the end of the session. Did Jonathan have another motive for bringing her to Arkham? And what was he referring to with Scarecrow? What was Scarecrow, and what role did Jonathan play in it? The mysteries lingered, casting a shadow on the experience that, despite its profound impact, left Y/n with a sense of curiosity and unanswered questions.

She hadn’t even noticed Jonathan pulling up in front of the University dorms. It took a moment for her to realize that they had arrived, and Jonathan's gesture of opening the car door for her snapped her out of her daydream.

Jonathan opened her door and extended his hand to help her. "Thank you," she expressed meekly as she accepted his assistance.

“Don’t mention it...” Jonathan replied, a subtle smile on his lips.

“...You’ve been so kind to me, Jonathan. I really appreciate it. I honestly couldn't thank you enough,” Y/n conveyed, looking up at him.

“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” Jonathan responded, a warm smile still playing on his lips.

Jonathan walked her to the stairs and as Y/n stood by the entrance of the dorms, she hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was appropriate to ask what had been lingering in her mind.

"Jonathan," she began, "about what the Riddler mentioned... Scarecrow, and your motive for bringing me to Arkham. Is there something more I should know?"

Jonathan's expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like he was carefully choosing his words. He leaned against the car, a thoughtful gaze in his eyes.

"The Riddler likes to play games with words," Jonathan began, "and sometimes, the less you know, the safer you are. It's part of Arkham's peculiar charm."

Y/n nodded, understanding that some things might be better left untouched. "Okay..Thank you, Jonathan."

He nodded in return, a sense of mystery lingering in the air. "See you Monday."

With a final nod and a friendly smile, Y/n made her way into the dorms, the encounter at Arkham echoing in her mind.

-

Monday came around, and Y/n hadn’t stopped thinking about her indirect encounter with the Riddler. The weekend had been filled with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. She went about her usual classes, but the questions surrounding Jonathan's involvement with the Riddler and the cryptic mention of Scarecrow lingered in her mind.

As she entered Professor Crane's psychology class, she couldn't help but wonder if he would address anything related to their visit to Arkham. The room filled with students chatting, the usual buzz before the lecture, but Y/n found herself scanning the room for any signs from Professor Crane.

The door to the classroom swung open, and in walked Professor Crane, looking as composed as ever. He started the class without acknowledging Y/n at all, diving into the lecture material as if it were any other day. Y/n's curiosity grew, but she decided against pressing further, at least during class hours.

After the lecture, as students filed out of the room, Y/n lingered, waiting for the opportune moment to approach Professor Crane. Once the room emptied, she approached his desk.

"Professor Crane," she began, "I've been thinking about our visit to Arkham. I know I shouldn’t, but I haven’t stop thinking about what the Riddler was talking about?"

Professor Crane looked at her, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, he sighed, realizing her curiosity wasn't easily deterred.

"Y/n," he started, "Arkham is filled with various personalities, each with their own stories. The Riddler is among many. Some tales are better left in the shadows. Focus on your studies and leave the mysteries of Arkham where they belong."

It was a cryptic response that left Y/n with more questions than answers. She felt unsettled in the way Jonathan was dismissing it so easily. 

Jonathan sighed, observing her detachment. "Just forget about it, Nigma is in Arkham for a reason. Don’t take what he says seriously... He’s just trying to mess with your head," Jonathan said.

Y/n nodded. "Okay... sorry about that. I won’t ask again."

"No need to apologize," Jonathan replied, his eyes showing a hint of understanding.

“I’ll be off now,” Y/n said, sensing a slight awkwardness in the air.

“You don’t want to stay?” Jonathan asked, his expression softening.

“Uh... would you like me to?” Y/n inquired, feeling a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Only if you wish to,” Jonathan said, leaving the decision up to her. The room held a lingering tension, a silent invitation for more conversation or perhaps a shared moment of quiet reflection.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, considering the unspoken offer. Eventually, she decided to stay.

"I don't mind staying for a bit," she said, offering a tentative smile.

Jonathan gestured toward one of the chairs in his office. "Please, have a seat."

As they settled into a conversation about various topics, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Y/n found herself opening up to Jonathan about her experiences and interests, and he reciprocated by sharing anecdotes from his work at Arkham. The initial professional boundaries started to blur, and a genuine connection began to form between them. It was an unexpected and refreshing turn of events for Y/n, adding a new layer to her academic journey.

-

In the following weeks, Y/n continued to attend Jonathan's office hours, not just for academic assistance but also for the engaging conversations they shared. Their discussions spanned beyond the realm of psychology, delving into personal stories, interests, and even occasional light banter.

As the semester progressed, Y/n found herself becoming more captivated by both the subject matter and her professor's unique approach to teaching. Jonathan's guidance extended beyond the classroom, as he recommended additional readings and shared insights that went beyond the standard curriculum.

-

The day that followed unfolded in a way Y/n hadn't anticipated. Making her way into Jonathan’s office for their customary daily discussions, she greeted him with a warm "Hiya," bearing a takeaway tray adorned with a coffee and a smoothie – their usual indulgences.

"Evening, Dear," Jonathan reciprocated, his smile adding a touch of warmth to the comfortable atmosphere of his office.

Choosing the inviting couch over the formality of the desk, Y/n settled in, and Jonathan joined her after finishing up his paperwork. The shift in seating only enhanced the coziness, turning their daily talks into a more intimate and relaxed exchange. Y/n handed the cup of coffee to Jonathan, a small gesture in their routine. She indulged in the refreshing sips of her smoothie as Jonathan accepted the coffee.

"Thank you, my Dear," he expressed with a grateful smile.

"Anytime," Y/n responded, the casual exchange feeling comforting.

Sipping her smoothie, she rested her head on the back of the couch, facing Jonathan. 

"..I know I said I wouldn't ask again, but.. I just can't shake off what the Riddler was saying..back at Arkham" Y/n said, slowly looking up at Jonathan.

Jonathan huffed, a hint of frustration showing in his expression. "What the Riddler said is not important," he dismissed.

Y/n sat back up, "I know that's not true. I don't understand why you can't just tell—" Y/n was abruptly cut off.

"There's nothing to talk about!" Jonathan suddenly snapped.

The sudden outburst startled Y/n, witnessing a side of Jonathan she wasn’t used to being directed at her. She could feel the tension in the air. Jonathan, realizing his sharp reaction, sighed. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his face with his hand, frustrated.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm just... trying to protect you, okay?" Jonathan explained, his voice softer, revealing an undercurrent of concern.

"..How is this possibly protecting me? The Riddler was taking about me... I need to know," Y/n insisted. She realized she had pushed too far, but this seemed like something serious that Jonathan was intentionally keeping from her.

Jonathan stood up slowly and approached his office door. Y/n heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking, sending fearful shivers through her body.

"What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room," Jonathan stated with a gravity that heightened Y/n's anxiety.

As Jonathan turned around to face her, setting his coffee down, he sighed and began tapping his feet with his hands on his hips—an unusual display of nervousness. Y/n, taken aback, had never seen Jonathan appear so uneasy.

"I will admit, Y/n, the feelings I have for you are not entirely appropriate," Jonathan confessed, avoiding direct eye contact.

Y/n let out a shaky breath. "What?"

"The real reason I brought you to Arkham was to make you feel special... to show off, even," Jonathan revealed.

Y/n's mind raced back to the Riddler's insinuations about Jonathan's potential ulterior motives for bringing her to Arkham. The revelation left her bewildered and unsure of how to respond.

Y/n tried to push aside Jonathan's unsettling confession, focusing on the second thing the Riddler had mentioned. "So what is Scarecrow?" Y/n inquired, curiosity driving her to seek answers.

She could sense Jonathan's breath hitch. "Scarecrow... is an individual with a fascination for fear," Jonathan explained, his gaze fixed on the ground, hands still on his hips. "I'm sure you've been hearing about the recent patients being admitted to Arkham with strange yet similar symptoms of hallucinations."

"So what does this individual have to do with me?" Y/n pressed further.

"Let's just say... his fascination doesn't stop there," Jonathan replied cryptically.

With each passing moment, Y/n's tension heightened. "Jonathan... who is Scarecrow?" she asked nervously.

"I think you already know," Jonathan responded, finally meeting Y/n's gaze with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

Y/n found it difficult to catch her breath as her eyes darted around the room. Setting the forgotten smoothie on the ground beside the couch, Y/n stood up.

"I should probably go," Y/n attempted to make a quick exit past Jonathan, only to be halted by his firm grip on her arm.

The touch made her jolt, but his grasp didn't loosen. "I can't let you leave," Jonathan declared.

"P-please, I promise I won't say anything," Y/n pleaded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

"How do I know that?" Jonathan questioned.

Her blood ran cold. "I promise you, I'll do anything," Y/n begged.

Jonathan looked at her curiously. "Anything?"

Y/n gazed at him, her stomach jumping. Acting on an impulse she couldn't quite comprehend, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. His eyes widened in shock, but the desperation in the air forced him to give in.

Jonathan couldn't resist, kissing her with a passion he had suppressed for months. His hands moved to Y/n's waist, pulling her closer. In that moment, Y/n thought, this was the perfect distraction.

She slowly moved one of her hands behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. Finally getting a firm grasp on it, she slowly turned the knob to open the door. However, luck was not on her side when the lock clicked loudly, the sound echoing in the room. Her heart dropped, and Jonathan's eyes shot open. Just as Y/n was about to hastily open the door, Jonathan pushed her back, causing her to scream as her body slammed against the door, keeping it firmly closed. Harshly grabbing her arms, he held them above her head.

He stared down at her as tears streamed down her face. "Trying to distract me, huh?" Jonathan said, an evil glint in his eye.

Y/n tried to yank her hands out of his grip, but it proved impossible given the strength he had over her.

"Please, Jonathan! You can't do this!" Y/n cried.

Jonathan brought his face closer to hers, she turned her head in fear, closing her eyes tightly. Jonathan dragged his nose up her neck, breathing against her skin. "I'll do what is necessary," he whispered.

In a desperate attempt, she brought her foot up, trying to stomp on his foot, but that only seemed to anger him more. Jonathan aggressively threw her around and shoved her over his desk, holding her down by her hands again. However, this time, he stood between her legs, preventing her from using them.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, but he remained unyielding. "I never wanted this to happen, but you don't leave me much of a choice," Jonathan spoke through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, I'll be nice, but you have to let me go," Y/n pleaded.

"That's not going to happen, my Dear," Jonathan said.

Before Y/n could react, Jonathan swiftly brought his sleeve-covered wrist up to her face, a faint hiss preceding the release of a mysterious puff of gas. Y/n's immediate response was a piercing scream as the unexpected spray hit her face, sending shivers down her spine. The gas had an acrid smell, and as she inhaled, an unsettling sensation crept over her. The world around her started to warp and distort, as if reality itself was bending to the whims of her deepest fears.

Y/n's vision blurred, and her surroundings became an eerie dreamscape. The once-familiar office now transformed into a haunting image. Jonathan's figure morphed, his features elongating and contorting, creating a grotesque visage that sent chills down Y/n's spine.

A sense of dread settled over her, intensifying with every passing moment. As the fear gas took hold, Y/n felt a chilling coldness crawl up her spine. Her body became increasingly heavy, and the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her in a nightmarish reality. The longer she stared at Jonathan, the more the lines between nightmare and reality blurred, until the gas finally overwhelmed her. Y/n's consciousness waned, slipping into the abyss of her deepest anxieties, and the world around her faded to black as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

-

Waking up was excruciating, her head pounding with unbearable intensity. Fear pulsed through her, her heart racing in tandem with the throbbing ache in her temples. As she reluctantly opened her eyes, a disorienting mix of darkness and blinding light assaulted her senses. Surveying her surroundings only deepened her confusion; it appeared as though she had awakened in some kind of forest, a surreal landscape that contradicted Gotham's urban reality. Yet, her vision played tricks on her, rendering it impossible to discern between what was real and what was illusion.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, my Dear,” a voice echoed beside her.

Startled, she turned towards the voice, recognizing it but struggling to reconcile the distorted tones with its origin. The person wore a burlap mask, concealing their identity.

“J-Jonathan,” Y/n stammered, feeling a profound sense of weakness.

“I’m giving you a chance to run,” Jonathan declared.

Confused and disoriented, Y/n attempted to question him, but Jonathan interrupted her.

“I'll give you a 30 seconds headstart. If I can't find you, I’ll leave you alone. But if I catch you…I won’t let you go,” he ominously proclaimed.

“J-Jonathan, I can barely see!” Y/n cried.

“Get up, Y/n,” Jonathan commanded.

“Jonath-”

“Get. Up.”

His authoritative tone sent shivers down Y/n's spine. Trembling, she maneuvered to kneel on her knees, only to be met with a searing pain radiating from her ankles. A guttural scream escaped her lips as she gazed down, her vision still distorted. Through the haze, she discerned the ghastly reality – two bells, meticulously sewn into her flesh on either side of her ankles. The skin threaded through them, attempting to heal around the foreign objects. The grotesque sight made her stomach churn, and she screamed in sheer horror.

“What did you do to me! My fucking feet! You fucking bitch!” Y/n cried, her voice filled with rage and terror as she screamed at Jonathan.

He sighed before grabbing her by the arm roughly and pulling her to her feet. She sobbed, attempting to push Jonathan away, but his strength prevailed, keeping her on her unsteady feet.

“Listen, Y/n... I’ll give you a minute to get ready, but after that, you have to run... I don’t want to hurt you,” Jonathan said, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of calm and sincerity.

“You fucking liar! You put bells on my fucking feet! You gassed me! You have no fucking intentions of letting me go!” Y/n tried shoving Jonathan, her desperation evident, but his unwavering strength proved impossible.

Y/n felt a mix of fear and desperation as the distorted voice of Jonathan haunted her in the dark forest. The minute he gave her felt like an eternity, her mind racing with confusion and terror. She could barely comprehend what had happened to her – the bells on her feet, the agonizing pain, the disorienting surroundings.

As the seconds ticked away, Y/n attempted to collect herself. She fumbled to her feet, the pain shooting through her legs with each movement. She desperately wiped away her tears, trying to focus on her surroundings. The distorted voices in her head urged her to find a way out, to escape from this nightmare.

"Jonathan, please!" she pleaded, her voice shaky and weak.

But Jonathan remained silent, hidden behind the burlap mask, his presence lingering in the shadows. The ominous silence amplified Y/n's anxiety as the countdown continued. The forest seemed to close in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her mind.

As Y/n continued to struggle against Jonathan's grip, he finally let her go. She stumbled backward, her vision still blurry and disoriented. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the gravity of her situation.

“Your minute is up, Y/n,” Jonathan said coldly.

Panicking, Y/n attempted to move, but the pain in her ankles was excruciating. The bells on her feet jingled with each step, amplifying her fear. She could barely see the distorted figures of trees around her, unsure of where to go.

Jonathan's distorted voice echoed, “Run, Y/n. Run if you want to escape.”

With her heart pounding in her ears, Y/n turned around and limped forward, desperately trying to navigate the nightmarish forest. The fear of being caught and the pain in her feet merged into a tormenting symphony.

Every step felt like agony, the pain from her ankles shooting through her with every move. Determined, Y/n forced herself to pick up the pace, only to be met with the relentless jingle of the bells on her feet, echoing through the unsettling silence of the distorted forest. Her screams of frustration reverberated, a desperate attempt to drown out the haunting sound. Uncertain of the reality around her, Y/n pushed herself forward, driven by the primal instinct to escape from the unknown horrors lurking in the shadows.

The echoing chime of the bells attached to her feet seemed to resonate through the eerie forest, an ominous soundtrack to her desperate flight. Despite the seemingly impossible task of escaping undetected, Y/n pressed on, fueled by fear and rage.

Tears streamed down her face as she navigated the distorted landscape, grappling with the stark contrast between the professor she respected and this nightmarish pursuer. Regret and self-blame consumed her thoughts as she questioned whether she had unknowingly unlocked a darker side of Jonathan Crane or if this twisted game had been his true nature all along.

As the forest blurred around her, Y/n couldn't gauge how much time had passed, but the feeling of being hunted intensified with every breath.

The shadows danced around her, but Y/n had more pressing concerns. The closest forest was on the outskirts of Gotham, and by her knowlegde, this wasn’t it. The trees surrounding her didn't match the familiar landscape. Adding to the surreal experience, the echoing sounds of concrete beneath her feet contradicted the visual illusions that played out around her.

Although the effects of the gas were gradually diminishing, the horror lingered. Trees transformed into buildings, and lampposts seemed to sprout from the ground, creating a nightmarish dreamscape that defied the logic of Gotham's familiar streets.

Navigating the unnaturally morphing terrain was challenging on its own, but the addition of bells sewn to her ankles introduced a cruel twist to Y/n's desperate attempt to escape. A sharp turn around a building resulted in the bells grazing against a rough surface, tearing at her delicate skin. Agonizing pain shot up her legs, forcing her to collapse in sheer torment. A cry of pain escaped her lips, quickly stifled in the realization that Jonathan could be lurking anywhere, ears attuned to her distress.

As she sat on the ground, cradling her injured foot, hot tears streamed down her face. The sight of her foot revealed a troubling scene – it was red, irritated, and blood slowly trickled to the ground. Cursing under her breath, she was foolishly leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, marking her path for Jonathan to follow.

Defeated and desperate, Y/n closed her eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming hopelessness that enveloped her. Resting her head against the wall behind her, she weeped. She damned from the very beginning. Jonathan's idea of escape left her grappling with uncertainty – was his definition of ‘escape’ merely leaving this immediate area, contacting the police, or leaving Gotham altogether? Didn’t matter, she didn’t know.

Even if Y/n managed to ‘escape��, she knew all too well that Jonathan wouldn't simply let her be. Having spent months in his company, she had learned that determination and obsession defined him. The prospect of escaping his clutches seemed increasingly elusive, leaving Y/n trapped in a sinister game of hide and seek.

Refusing to succumb to hopelessness against the wall, Y/n gathered her remaining strength. She couldn't accept this as the end; she needed to keep going. Rising to her feet with deliberate determination, she carried on moving. Instead of running, which would only amplify the bells' noise and her exhaustion, Y/n pressed on with a steady walk. She was determined not to let Jonathan's twisted game break her spirit.

Undoubtedly, the blood marked her path, but Y/n had no other choice. Pressing forward was her only option. The effects of the gas seemed to have worn off, revealing a less distorted reality, albeit no less grim. She recognized that she was now in the Narrows, but the specific location remained a mystery.

As she moved cautiously ahead, a voice, dripping with malevolence, echoed from behind her. "I see my Dear has hurt herself..." Her blood ran cold. She didn't need to turn around to know she was in deep trouble.

The tears flowed freely down Y/n's face. "Why are you doing this?"

Jonathan remained silent, a chilling stillness in the air. He took a step forward, and instinctively, she took one back.

"Please..."

Suddenly, Jonathan lunged forward, catching her off guard. Y/n had no time to react as he tackled her to the ground, his weight pinning her down. She screamed and thrashed, the muffled sounds of her distress lost in the indifferent hum of Gotham's background noise. People in nearby buildings likely heard, but in a city like Gotham, such cries often went unanswered.

"Like a doe that's been shot," Jonathan spoke in a low, unsettling tone near her ear.

A syringe emerged from his pocket, and panic surged through her. She squirmed and fought, but his hold was unyielding. The needle pierced her upper thigh, and a sudden rush of paralysis coursed through her body. As consciousness waned, she heard Jonathan's remorseful voice.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," he uttered, holding her captive on the unforgiving ground.

"I thought you were my friend.." Y/n cried, her voice echoing in the desolation of the Narrows.

The world around Y/n blurred as the drug took effect, robbing her of control over her own body. Jonathan's mask became an indistinct smudge, but his unsettling presence still lingered. The last words she heard before succumbing to unconsciousness were Jonathan's remorseful apology, leaving her with a sense of betrayal and a haunting question: What had she done to deserve this? -

A/N: I think it's pretty clear by now I have a chasing(Prey/Predator) kink🧍‍♀️I don't know about you guys, but I want that adrenaline rush of being chased by an obsessive man 😫🤚 Thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it. My requests are open for feel free to request 💚

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩

↳ summary: you ask your distant and cold professor for some help with your thesis. good thing he seems to be an expert on fear

↳ warnings: mentions of murder, booze, guns, and some gore. canon type gotham violence. a wiff of stalking maybe?

↳ song: aleph—gesaffelstein

masterlist!

University life wasn't much different than you had expected. Television and movies glam it up to make it sound like the peak of your young adult life. A time for exceeding expectations and drinking cheap booze out of those weird solo cups in a random person's basement. But this was Gotham—where crime is the highest in the country and misfortune runs galore. The closest anyone got to walking into a stranger's basement these days was with the threat of a gun at their back.

In preparation for the quote-unquote finest school Gotham had to offer, instead of going out and buying the list of supplies your school recommended, you simply lowered your expectations. Not like there was much to begin with in the first place. You could get a protractor later.

Your thought process proved to be worth it too. Barely an hour into your first day, the campus was evacuated as a precaution for a major villain sighting in the area. Something about filling up a building with highly dangerous gas. As of weeks later, details still hadn't been released to the public. That was fine by you. All you cared about was not getting ripped away from your precious lunch again.

The campus cafeteria was drafty and smelled of mold, parties were thrown way too often, and most of your professors were stern with classes people only took so they could get their degrees.

In that case, Mr. Crane was no different from any of the other teachers.

There was certainly no lack of students in his class on the first week—the largely female percentage most likely gathered because of his pretty face. But by the end of it, over half had already dropped out.

You were not one of them. Somewhat regrettably, you had begun to think after hours of pouring over papers in just the first week. But you needed this class to fully understand your thesis topic and you'd be damned if you moved all the way out to Gotham for nothing.

That was what you were thinking about as you rounded the back row of Doctor Crane's class, staring blankly at the missed call from your mother atop your phone's home screen.

It had practically become a ritual for her to call you at least once a day since you'd moved to the city. Anytime you didn't pick up, it would send her into a frenzy—despite your multiple explanations of why you have your phone on silent during lectures. But that wouldn't stop her from constantly pleading for you to come back and finish getting your degree at home. Because even if it would take longer, and completely drain your bank account, at least you would be away from those lunatics. Or so she called them.

"You have nothing to worry about." You'd told her one time while watching a bowl of ramen bubble angrily on your stove. "Even if I was mugged or something, I'm sure the Batman would save me."

It had been meant as a half joke, said only to quell your mothers worries. Yet the more and more newspaper stands you passed on your way to the store, the more the vigilanties name came up. Often accompanied by the words HERO or SAVIOR afterward.

The sudden memory of newspapers stopped you right as you were about to cross the threshold from the lecture hall to the rest of the building. You were quick to turn around, flipping your phone back into your pants pocket loosely before approaching the professor's desk. A few more students filed out from behind you, one even tossing you a wave, before it was just you and the professor left.

Doctor Crane was nothing short of intimidating. Everything from the clean cut suit he worse, to his icy blue eyes—and even his second title as lead doctor in the nearby Arhum Asylum—was surrounded by an air of stoic professionalism.

The man hadn't even been there on the first day of school. Something that would have off-put you if not for the sudden evacuation, haulting any chance of first impressions. Instead, he had shown up the next day like nothing had happened: lips pressed into a tight line and eyes dull as he spoke to the class without really looking at anyone.

He had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was rarely available after class or for tutoring hours, but you doubted that even if he was, nearly anyone would show up for a one on one conversation.

Looks like you would have to be the outlier today.

You waited patiently as he shuffled from one stack of paper to another, eyes never once drifting over the rim of his glasses to look at you. Occasionally you would catch a glimpse of his usually devoid face break into a little frown before making a mark on a paper and moving on. You resisted the urge to peak and see if any of those papers were yours.

"Yes?" He adressed you by your last name suddenly. Packets and papers continued to shuffle. This time he did spare you a glance, a flash of something swirling in his cold eyes before disappearing. Or maybe that had been the dim light. It had been to quick for you to catch.

You cleared your throat before speaking; adjusting your bag unconsciously.

"I had a question or two for you about my thesis topic." You said with a level tone. He asked what it was somewhat dismissively, his monotone way of speaking ever present.

"I've been researching fear and its effects on the human brain for quite sometime, so I felt it was only fitting for that to be my topic."

That seemed to gather his attention. When you looked up from your examination of the plain black stapler on the corner of his desk, you were met with one raised eyebrow. His hand was writing on the stapled essay before him considerably slower.

If you squinted hard enough it almost looked like he was smiling.

"May I ask what has garnered your interest in such a subject?" He pressed. For a moment your mind went a little blank, not expecting such undivided attention from him. It was unnerving, concidering that before today he probably didn't even know your first name.

"Well, I've always been interested in how much emotions have a grip on the mind." The words were now tumbling from your mouth in a flurry of half-baked thoughts.

"It was only after moving here that I really realized how it can affect an entire city, much less just one person. Everyone knows how absurd the crime rates here are, but I don't think they've ever seen the stark contrast in the Gotham residents from, say, another neighboring city.

And not to mention there's a whole group of personas parading around the block inspiring pure fear. When the bigger crimes aren't outwardly released to the public, I'm starting to think the ones the police can cover up are being covered up. I did a quick search of specific types of crimes related to the patterns of people like the Joker, Bane, and Scarecrow, and too much adds up for it to all be a coincidence."

You reminded yourself to breathe. You knew you were passionate about this subject—hence the decision in thesis topic—but you were never this chatty with it. Something about Doctor Cranes' unwavering stare drew it all out of you in one go. He was a surgeon at the moment, prying your brain apart from the inside out and turning it over in his hands.

Or maybe you were over analyzing things again.

"And what do you think of this Scarecrow?" He had stopped grading now, plucking the clear rimmed glasses of the bridge of his nose and folding them neatly beside him. In a second, his icy blue gaze seemed to intensify in strength, pinning you in place like a specimen of his to observe. You made the brief connection between this and a lepidopterist pinning up butterflys by their wings. It was quick to leave.

Instead you thought back as news clippings and articals flashed in bold print on your mind. Pictures of the victims he had since left behind followed.

Most of them had died from shock or poison, toxins coursing through their bloodstream too fast for their bodies to handle. Not a wonderful way to go, but it was no better or worse than the dozens of mugging gone wrong that occurred everyday. If you ignored how they had all clawed their eyes out in terror, that is.

Your response came slow and methodical, words chosen with care. You were well aware that people had been thrown out of prestigious universities for speaking their minds about less, and you couldn't afford that right now. Besides. He had asked you a question. Who were you to deny him?

"I think what he's managed to make, to do, is a breakthrough in the scientific and medical field." If your professor noted the way you swallowed thickly he didn't say anything.

"What else?" It was almost like he knew every thought that crossed your mind before it even formed. As if he had been preparing for this exact moment.

You could continue. You could tell him that you'd started sitting by your thoroughly locked window at night, waiting patiently to catch a glimpse of a masked maniac. You could tell him that monster was the exact thing that pushed you to move to Gotham. You most certantly could tell him that you wanted to get your hands on that gas to do some tests of your own—see exactly what this Scarecrow had managed to create.

But instead you looked to the left and told him that was it.

"Well if that's all, I would like to continue this conversation at a later date." Doctor Cranes glasses were back on now as he stood up and began gathering his things.

"I'm not sure—"

"I'm quite interested in what you have to say." He adressed you by your last name again, shutting his briefcase closed with a chilling click. "After all, I have written some papers on this exact subject."

You know. You had read them in your search for more information on the Scarecrow's toxin.

"I'll keep that in mind, professor." You glanced at the doorway, wondering if it would be unacceptable to make a dash for it. You didn't want to be late for work any more than you were already. And if you were being honest this conversation had taken a turn you weren't prepared for.

By some grace of god he let the conversation drop. Not caring to spare another glance at him, you took to the door, planning out the route home in your head.

If he watched you go, you didn't notice. It wasn't until you had gotten home in your stained work uniform, beat up trainers grayed with labor, that you noticed your folder for his class was missing.

"Shit." You dragged a tired hand down your face, kicking off your socks as you lay next to the spread out compartments of your backpack.

You sighed. Looks like you'd be seeing Doctor Crane again sooner than you thought.

[whywontyoucomeout]

Shadows in the Night

The moon hung low in the inky sky, its silvery light barely penetrating the thick canopy of clouds that blanketed the sprawling estate below. The manor house loomed large against the backdrop of darkness, its imposing silhouette a testament to the power and wealth of its occupant. Guards patrolled the perimeter with clockwork precision, their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of intrusion.

But on this night, their vigilance would prove futile.

Like a whisper on the wind, Hikari moved through the grounds with preternatural grace. Her black attire melded seamlessly with the darkness, rendering her all but invisible to the untrained eye. Each step was calculated, each movement purposeful. She was Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, the greatest ninja of her generation, and tonight she had come to strike fear into the heart of a tyrant.

With practiced ease, Hikari scaled the wall, her fingers finding purchase where others would see only smooth stone. She vaulted over the top, landing silently on the other side. The inner courtyard stretched before her, a maze of meticulously manicured hedges and tranquil ponds. To an ordinary person, it might have seemed peaceful. To Hikari, it was a field of potential dangers.

She moved from shadow to shadow, her senses alert for any sign of detection. As she neared the main building, Hikari caught sight of two guards stationed at the entrance. Their eyes were alert, their postures rigid with attentiveness. But they were no match for her skills. With a flick of her wrist, Hikari sent two senbon needles flying through the air. They struck their targets with pinpoint accuracy, and the guards slumped to the ground, unconscious before they could raise an alarm.

Hikari slipped inside, her dark eyes scanning the opulent interior. Marble floors gleamed in the dim light, and priceless artworks adorned the walls. But she had no time to appreciate such luxuries. Her target lay ahead, in the heart of this gilded cage.

As she ascended the grand staircase, Hikari's thoughts turned to her mission. The man she sought was more than just a corrupt ruler – he was a monster who had brought suffering to countless innocents. Tonight, she would not end his life, but she would shatter the illusion of his invincibility. Fear would be her weapon, more potent than any blade.

The top floor of the manor was even more heavily guarded, but Hikari moved through their defenses like smoke through a grate. A sleeping gas here, a silent takedown there – she left a trail of unconscious bodies in her wake, never once raising an alarm.

Finally, she stood before an ornate door, its gilded surface a testament to the ego of the man who lay beyond. Hikari took a deep breath, centering herself. With silent determination, she eased the door open and slipped inside. The room beyond was dark, save for a sliver of moonlight that crept through a gap in the heavy curtains. And there, in a massive four-poster bed, lay her target – the dictator whose reign of terror was about to be challenged.

As Hikari moved towards the sleeping figure, her hand brushed against a small table, causing a delicate vase to wobble. She froze, her heart pounding, as the vase teetered on the edge for what felt like an eternity. Then, with agonizing slowness, it settled back into place.

The dictator stirred slightly but did not wake. Hikari let out a silent breath of relief, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her body. It was only then, in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, that the true extent of her condition became apparent. Hikari's normally lithe form was dramatically altered, her midsection swollen with the unmistakable shape of advanced pregnancy. Her black attire, designed for stealth, had concealed her condition until now, but in this moment of vulnerability, the truth was revealed.

Despite her heavily pregnant state, Hikari of the Phantom Leaf stood poised and ready, prepared to begin the next phase of her mission. The greatest challenge lay ahead, but she was undeterred. Tonight, a tyrant would learn the meaning of fear, and Hikari would prove that even in her condition, she remained the most formidable ninja of her time.

————————————-

Hikari loomed over the sleeping dictator, her presence a palpable threat in the moonlit room. With a swift motion, she pressed a razor-sharp kunai against his throat, jolting him awake. The man's eyes flew open, terror flooding his features as he realized the precariousness of his situation.

"Who... who are you?" he stammered, his voice hoarse with fear.

"I am your worst nightmare," Hikari whispered, her voice cold and steady. "I am here to show you that your power is an illusion, that your walls and guards mean nothing."

The dictator's eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape. Hikari pressed the blade closer, drawing a thin line of blood. "Your crimes against the people will not go unpunished," she hissed. "From this day forward, you will live in fear, knowing that death can come for you at any moment."

As she spoke, Hikari felt a sharp, sudden pain in her abdomen. She managed to suppress a gasp, but couldn't entirely hide the flicker of discomfort that crossed her face. The dictator, ever observant, noticed the change in her demeanor. His eyes traveled down to her swollen belly, visible now in the dim light.

A cruel smile spread across his face as realization dawned. "Well, well," he chuckled, his fear giving way to a newfound confidence. "It seems the great assassin has a weakness after all. You're in no condition to threaten me, girl. Why don't you waddle on out of here before I call my guards? I'm sure they'd be fascinated to meet such an... interesting intruder."

Hikari gritted her teeth as another contraction hit, stronger this time. The dictator's mockery rang in her ears, fueling her determination. With lightning speed, she moved the kunai from his throat to his eye, the tip hovering mere millimeters from the cornea.

"You mistake my condition for weakness," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I could end your miserable life right now, baby or no baby. Your guards won't save you. Your wealth won't save you. Nothing can save you from me."

To prove her point, Hikari used her free hand to produce three senbon needles, flicking them with deadly accuracy. They embedded themselves in the wall behind the dictator's head, forming a perfect triangle around his ear. The man's bravado crumbled, replaced once again by raw fear.

"Please," he whimpered, all pretense of authority gone. "Please don't kill me. I'll do anything."

Hikari leaned in close, her voice a whisper. "Remember this moment. Remember that your life was in my hands, and I chose to spare it. But if you continue to abuse your power, to hurt the innocent, I will return. And next time, I won't be so merciful."

The dictator nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. Hikari stepped back, satisfied that her mission was accomplished. The man before her was thoroughly broken, his illusion of invincibility shattered.

As she prepared to make her exit, another contraction hit, more intense than the last. Hikari knew she had to move quickly. With one last glare at the cowering dictator, she moved to the window, her movements still graceful despite her condition.

"Remember," she said, her voice carrying a note of finality. "I'll be watching."

With that, Hikari slipped out into the night, leaving behind a tyrant who would never again sleep soundly. As she made her way through the grounds, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Her mission was a success, and now she had an even more important task ahead – bringing new life into the world.

——————————————-

Hikari moved swiftly through the manor grounds, her ninja training allowing her to maintain stealth despite her condition. The cool night air provided some relief as she navigated the intricate maze of hedges and fountains. Freedom was close – she could see the section of wall where she had entered, now her exit point.

But as she approached her escape route, a powerful contraction hit her with unexpected force. For the first time in her career as an elite ninja, Hikari lost control. A sharp cry escaped her lips, echoing in the quiet night. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock at her own outburst.

Before she could recover, she felt a warm gush between her legs. Her water had broken, leaving a conspicuous puddle on the manicured lawn. Hikari's mind raced – this was a complication she hadn't prepared for.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to move. She had to get out now, before –

"Hey! Who's there?" a gruff voice called out. A guard, alerted by her involuntary cry, was approaching with a flashlight in hand.

Hikari melted into the shadows of a nearby topiary, her breathing shallow and controlled despite the pain. She watched as the guard discovered the puddle, his face contorting in confusion.

"What the...?" he muttered, crouching down to examine the liquid.

Hikari knew she couldn't linger. With every second, the risk of discovery increased. She began to move again, using every ounce of her training to remain silent and unseen.

But her body was betraying her. As she crept along the perimeter wall, she felt more fluid trickling down her legs. To her horror, she realized she was leaving a trail – small droplets that glistened in the moonlight, leading directly to her position.

Behind her, she could hear more guards congregating around the initial puddle. Their voices carried on the night air:

"It's not rain."

"Could be from an animal?"

"Wait – there's more over here!"

"Follow it!"

Panic threatened to overwhelm her as Hikari heard the guards beginning to follow her trail. The contractions were coming faster now, each one requiring immense willpower to stay quiet and keep moving.

She reached the spot where she had entered – a section of wall partially hidden by an old oak tree. As she prepared to scale it, another contraction hit. Hikari bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, suppressing another scream.

The guards were getting closer. She could hear their footsteps, see the beams of their flashlights sweeping the grounds. With a final surge of determination, Hikari began to climb.

Her fingers found familiar handholds, her feet somehow maintaining their grip despite the pain and the fluid. She reached the top of the wall just as a flashlight beam illuminated the spot where she had been standing moments before.

"The trail ends here!" a guard shouted.

"Check the other side of the wall!" another responded.

Hikari didn't wait to hear more. She lowered herself down the outer side of the wall, every movement an agony. As her feet touched the ground outside the manor, she heard the guards shouting for reinforcements.

There was no time to rest. Still leaking amniotic fluid, her body wracked with contractions, Hikari disappeared into the forest surrounding the estate. She had escaped the immediate danger, but she was far from safe. Now, she faced an even greater challenge – finding a secure location to give birth, all while evading the search parties that would soon be scouring the area.

The greatest ninja of her generation was now in a race against time, her skills pushed to their absolute limit. The night was far from over, and her most difficult trial was just beginning.

———————————

Hikari's breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed through the dense forest. The sound of pursuit grew louder behind her – the guards had picked up her trail and were closing in fast. Each contraction hit her like a tidal wave, threatening to bring her to her knees.

As she stumbled into a small clearing, Hikari realized with grim certainty that she could no longer outrun her pursuers. The contractions were too intense, too frequent. She could hear the guards crashing through the underbrush, mere moments away from discovering her.

In that instant, Hikari made a decision. She was Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, the greatest ninja of her generation. She would not be hunted down like prey.

With supreme effort, she turned to face the direction of the approaching guards. Her hands moved in a series of rapid signs, preparing a jutsu. As the first guard burst into the clearing, Hikari was ready.

"There she is!" the guard shouted, raising his weapon.

But Hikari was faster. A blast of wind chakra erupted from her palms, sending the man flying backwards into his comrades. Three more guards appeared, their faces a mix of shock and determination as they took in the sight of the heavily pregnant ninja standing defiantly before them.

"Stand down!" one of them commanded. "You can't win this fight in your condition!"

Hikari's response was a flurry of shuriken that forced the guards to dive for cover. She moved with deadly grace, her years of training allowing her to anticipate and counter every attack. A kick here, a precisely thrown kunai there – even in the throes of labor, she was a force to be reckoned with.

One guard managed to get close, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Hikari ducked under the blade, using the man's momentum against him. In one fluid motion, she redirected his swing into another guard, then dropped low to sweep his legs out from under him.

As the battle raged on, Hikari fought not just the guards, but her own body. Each contraction threatened to break her concentration, but she channeled the pain into her attacks, using it to fuel her determination.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the last guard fell unconscious to the forest floor. Hikari stood amid the fallen men, her chest heaving with exertion. She had won, but at a cost. The fight had accelerated her labor, and she could feel the baby coming.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Hikari scanned her surroundings. In the dim pre-dawn light, she spotted the dark mouth of a cave not far from the clearing. It would have to do.

Stumbling now, no longer trying to hide her condition, Hikari made her way to the cave. She barely made it inside before another powerful contraction brought her to her knees. Finding a relatively flat area near the back of the cave, she began to prepare for the imminent birth.

As she arranged herself as comfortably as possible on the cold stone floor, Hikari allowed herself a moment of reflection. This was not how she had envisioned bringing her child into the world, but she had survived, had protected both herself and her baby against impossible odds.

A new contraction built, more intense than any before. Hikari gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the challenge ahead. She had completed her mission and escaped her pursuers. Now, she faced the most important task of her life – bringing new life into the world.

In the quiet of the cave, far from the comforts of home but secure in her own strength and skill, Hikari prepared to meet her child. The greatest ninja of her generation was about to become a mother, and she would face this challenge as she had faced all others – with courage, determination, and an indomitable spirit.

————————-

In the dim light of the cave, Hikari faced her greatest challenge yet. The contractions came in relentless waves, each one more intense than the last. She leaned back against the cool stone wall, her hands instinctively cradling her swollen belly. In this moment of vulnerability, the true extent of her pregnancy was fully revealed – her belly was impressively large, straining against her torn ninja garb.

Hikari, who had moved through heavily guarded compounds without making a sound, now found herself unable to contain her cries. Each contraction drew from her a primal sound that echoed off the cave walls. The dichotomy wasn't lost on her – the silent assassin now filled the air with the raw, unfiltered sounds of impending motherhood.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself between contractions, drawing on the same well of strength that had carried her through countless missions.

Hours passed, blurring together in a haze of effort and determination. Hikari shifted positions frequently, trying to find some measure of comfort in the unforgiving environment. She focused on her breathing, using techniques that had once kept her calm in the face of mortal danger to now manage the pain of childbirth.

As the labor progressed, Hikari felt the baby descending, only to slip back again. It was a dance of progress and retreat, testing her patience and resolve. She widened her stance, bracing herself against the cave floor, every muscle in her body working towards bringing her child into the world.

In a moment of clarity between contractions, Hikari reflected on the irony of her situation. She had spent years honing her body into a silent, lethal weapon. Now, that same body was performing its most natural and vocal function. The juxtaposition was striking – the quietest ninja in the land, now unable to stifle her cries.

But as another powerful contraction built, Hikari realized that this too was a form of strength. To bring life into the world required as much courage and determination as any mission she had undertaken. She was still Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, still the greatest ninja of her generation. This was simply a different kind of battle.

With renewed resolve, Hikari prepared for the final stage of her labor. The greatest challenge of her life was nearing its end, and a new chapter was about to begin.

———————————

The cave echoed with Hikari's labored breathing as the contractions reached their peak intensity. Her body, honed through years of rigorous training, now trembled with exhaustion and pain. In this moment of extreme vulnerability, the walls she had built around her emotions began to crumble.

"Takeshi," she cried out, her voice raw with anguish and longing. "Takeshi, I wish you were here."

The name of her late husband, unspoken for so long, now fell from her lips like a prayer. Hikari, who had faced countless dangers without flinching, found herself yearning for the comfort of his presence. In this intimate moment of weakness, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of her loss.

"Please," she whispered, her hands cradling her swollen belly. "Please, little one, it's time to come out now."

Driven by instinct and desperation, Hikari adjusted her position, trying to find a way to ease the baby's passage. She shifted uncomfortably on the cave floor, doing her best to create more space for the child to emerge.

The pain intensified, and Hikari's pleas turned to determination. She drew upon every ounce of strength left in her body, every lesson in endurance she had ever learned. The greatest ninja of her generation now faced a challenge that required a different kind of courage.

Hours seemed to blur together, punctuated by Hikari's cries and the steady drip of water from the cave's ceiling. And then, just as the first rays of dawn began to filter into the cave's entrance, a new sound pierced the air – the lusty cry of a newborn.

Hikari gasped, her pain momentarily forgotten as she reached for her child. With trembling hands, she cradled the tiny, wriggling form against her chest. Tears streamed down her face, a mix of relief, joy, and lingering sorrow for the husband who would never meet their child.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with love. "Welcome to the world."

As the newborn's cries subsided into soft whimpers, Hikari felt a profound shift within herself. She was still Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, still a formidable ninja, but now she was something more – a mother. The mission that had brought her to this cave was complete, but a new, lifelong mission had just begun.

In the quiet of the early morning, as she held her child close and listened to the gentle sounds of their breathing, Hikari made a silent vow. She would protect this new life with all the skill and dedication she had ever brought to her role as a ninja. And perhaps, in raising this child, she would find a new kind of strength – one born not of silence and shadows, but of love and sacrifice.

As the sun rose over the forest, casting a warm glow into the cave, Hikari and her newborn rested. The night of danger and pain had passed, giving way to a new day full of promise and possibility. The greatest challenge of Hikari's life had been met, and a new chapter was just beginning.

[messers-moony]

Sunshine | D.G

Pairing: Dick Grayson X Fem!Reader

Summary: The caregiver becomes the care receiver.

Word Count: 2.0K

A/N: First time writing DC, hopefully this doesn’t suck.

If anyone took a look at him, they’d see nothing but a sun. The hot, blazing, and bright sun. There wasn’t a day that its light was blocked; despite the clouds coming to block the light, it still shined through, proving everyone wrong. It made her head tilt.

She was no master detective, but she wasn’t stupid either. He smiled with both sides of his mouth, never favoring one another. He held his head up high and shoulders perfectly rolled back. Even at meal times, he had perfect dining etiquette. She looked around the dinner table and saw the rest of his siblings eating comfortably.

Then it started getting foggier. His hair was frizzier than usual. His eyes were tinted red just the slightest bit. He was heavy on his feet. She sat in the cave with Tim. It was always cold and chilly in the cave: the dark grey walls and the occasional chirps of the bats above. The floor was smooth and freezing, but after sitting on it for several hours, she had gotten used to it.

Tim had files and papers scattered throughout the floor. They used the floor like a corkboard and started connecting cases. But she kept him in sight from the corner of her eye. Bruce had placed different types of acrobatic equipment in the cave for him, and he used it. She watched him continue to flip on the bars.

“Y/n?” A voice called, “Hello? Are you listening?”

She shook out of her daydream, “Yes, sorry.”

“I think that scarecrow must be involved?”

“That can’t be, though, he’s in Arkham, and Commissioner Gordon said that these victims appeared to be sprayed with Jokers Venom.”

“Yes, but reading through the police reports and witness statements, it says they all heard intense screaming right before crazed laughter.”

Y/n ran a hand down her face, “Fuck, so are we looking for a mixture of Fear Toxin and Joker Venom?”

“It appears so.”

“Why can’t Gotham just be normal.” Tim chuckled at her distress, “I wish I-“

A thud in the distance cut her off. Suddenly she realized that Dick was no longer in her peripheral vision. Y/n looked up to see him struggling to stand up and using one of the bars as support to help him stand. Her heart was racing, and her eyes narrowed. His body was sweaty, and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

“You okay, Dick?”

He looked up hazily, “I’m fine, Tim. Just slipped, is all.”

“He never slips.” Y/n whispered.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Tim shrugged.

Y/n couldn’t stop staring. His body was lethargic and moving slower than usual. She thought he would reach for the bars again, but he didn’t. Instead, he collapsed on the floor, sitting crisscrossed. It confused her. If he didn’t get it the first time, he would do it until he could do it seamlessly. She could remember his persistence and determination like it was yesterday they were sitting in Haly’s Circus. He begged her to teach him to walk the tightrope but never got it.

“Do you think if I got a sample of the gas, you could have it tested?”

“Possibly, but you’d have to be extremely careful.“

Tim hummed, “I’ll see what I can do. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She stood from her place on the floor and walked to the man lying on the cold floor, covered in sweat. As she approached, she could hear his breathing more clearly. He was panting heavily, and he hadn’t even done much. Y/n got next to him and realized his eyes were closed. She knelt beside his ribs and could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her hand went gently to his left cheek.

“Dick,” He didn’t move, “Dick, are you okay?”

His body was unresponsive, “Love, come on, wake up.”

She felt frantic, and her hand gently slapped his cheek, “Grayson, come on. I know you’re in there. You need to wake up.”

Y/n could hear a faint gurgling noise, and her body kicked into motion, “Tim! Tim! Get me a garbage can, quick!”

Her hands went under his arms and helped him sit upright. She felt the plastic can move to her left and placed his head over it. Her right hand was on his sweat-soaked back, rubbing up and down. His body gasped awake and threw up into the garbage can. Tim sat by her side, concerned and confused. Dick was gasping for air. His left hand was searching for something to grasp.

It quickly found her other hand and squeezed tightly, “It’s alright, I’m right here. You’re doing great.”

Dick sat over the trash can, heaving. His breaths came quick, and his heart palpitating rapidly. He couldn’t hear anything. It was all ringing, and his vision seemed blurry. He recognized the hand in his and the hand on his back. It was the same hands that held him at night, the ones who kept him safe, the ones that kept him steady. He felt something cold on his face. His mouth was being wiped with a washcloth, and his cheeks.

It had all felt so real. It didn’t make sense. He was fine this past week. Except for maybe hearing things that weren’t there or seeing shadows of people no longer living. He remembered sitting in bed while she was at the desk in their shared bedroom. Light music traveled through the room, and he heard it. It was the music that played at the circus. He had asked her if she was playing it, and Y/n shook her head. He didn’t see her turning back to her desk and biting her lip.

They came in spurts. Sometimes it took place over a day or a week, at the worst times, over a month. But nothing would ever make sense until after it occurred. He’d hear the circus music, see shadows of his parents, hear their laughter, see the bright lights. Those bright lights always shined just like the sunlight. He could always feel their radiated warmth, and he shined in it. He thrived in their white led bulbs.

Slowly he was coming back to earth. There were no big bright lights here. It was dark, and the bat computer radiated a blue light throughout the cave. The floor was cold beneath him, and his body shivered. Something soft was placed over his body, and he relished in the warmth. The hands were still on his body. He was thankful. It was keeping him on earth.

Y/n looked into his eyes to see him slowly returning to his senses. Tim was pacing beside them, antsy as always. She watched Dick slowly push the garbage can away from his face. She smiled, “Welcome back to the land of the living, my love.”

Dick gave her a faint smile before looking at his anxious younger brother, “Tim if you don’t stop pacing, I might throw up again.”

“I’m worried!” He exclaimed; Dick furrowed his eyebrows, “I’ve never seen you like that! You’ve never fallen from the bars, ever.”

His body was still coming down from his high, and he swayed. Y/n pulled his body closer to hers, and Dick’s head rested on her chest. His hand was still holding hers tightly. The scent of her perfume easing the process back to the world. He felt terrible for getting sweat all over her clean clothes. She had just done laundry, and Dick felt like a burden. He tried to lift his head, but she didn’t give. He was slightly relieved.

“I’m alright, Tim,” Dick rasped, “No big deal. It happens sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Tim stopped, “What do you mean? Is this a frequent thing? Is this a symptom of something?”

Y/n could hear Tim mumbling under his breath about symptoms of certain conditions because if there was anything Tim knew, it was facts. She smiled at his concern. Dick was still trying to lift his head to get his sweaty hair away from her shirt. Eventually, she let him move his head to her shoulder. The tips of his black hair tickled her neck.

“Tim,” Dicks cheeks were rosy, and his lips were curled in a small smile, “Sit.”

Tim grumbled and sat in front of them. Dick reached his clammy hand out, and Tim took it in his without a second thought. Tim’s hands were always cold and dry, and Dick smiled more at the familiarity, “You know what PTSD is, right?”

“Mhm,” Tim hummed, “It’s a post-traumatic stress disorder. Most of us in this house have it. We wouldn’t have been adopted without some form of it.”

Dick chuckled, “That’s all it is, Tim.”

He didn’t look amused, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve never been like this before, so it just randomly happens one day?” Tim rambled, “I mean, you’ve never even stumbled before, not anywhere. We’ve been to Haly’s Circus since everything happened multiple times.”

“Do you know why we do that?”

“Because you and Y/n grew up there, and you want us to see where you grew up?”

Y/n kissed Dicks temple, “You are right. But we also go so Dick can work through his memories of the Circus.”

“I’m not scared of the circus by any means.” Dick clarified, “I get flashbacks of being on that trapeze, of hearing my mother screaming for me and watching my father try to break her fall.”

Tim squeezes Dick’s hand tighter, “I didn’t know. How could we have not noticed.”

“Tim, it isn’t your fault,”

“No, no.” Tim’s hand was ripped from Dick’s grasp, “I should’ve noticed. I should’ve known. I was there that night and every night afterward.”

Dick stood up unsteadily. Y/n jumped up to help support him, and he walked to Tim. His arms went around the younger boy tightly. He had no choice but to place his head under Dick’s chin and hold him tightly. Tim pulled away, “I guess I never realized that the person holding us all together could also have flaws.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you guys to see it.” Dick said, “I hide it so you guys don’t see that side of me. I’m the golden boy remember? The sunshine of the Wayne household. I got a reputation to uphold.”

Tim latched back onto Dick, holding him tighter than ever, “Don’t ever risk your mental health for reputation.”

Dick snorts, “Okay, Mr ‘I haven’t slept in four days, and I need to get this report done, or Bruce might disown me.’”

Y/n chuckled, and Tim pulled back to glare, “That’s my job, not yours.”

“I love you, baby bird.”

“I love you too.”

It didn’t take long for Dick’s accident to travel throughout the house. Y/n had tried to keep it under wraps for Dick’s sake, but Tim didn’t have it. Dick just shrugged his shoulders. They ended up in the living room of the manor, where boxes of candy were opened and left everywhere. Popcorn was thrown across the room, and Y/n swore she could hear Alfred sighing somewhere.

She and Dick were situated on a two-person couch. His head was on her lap, and his legs were hanging off the armrest. Jason and Tim sat on the other two-person couch. While Steph, Cass, Damian, and Duke sat on the much longer couch between them. A movie was playing on the television, but no one was watching. They were all laughing and talking.

Y/n’s hands ran through Dick’s black hair, and his eyes opened. She saw the sky in them, the beautiful crystal clear sky. They shined with kindness and love. The love for her, for his family, for his life. They shined with hope for his city, for his future wife, and for the people in Gotham and Blüdhaven. His smile was blinding, and he couldn’t have been happier than in her arms with his family of birds and bats.

“So, is this what it feels like to be taken care of?”

“Yes, lovebird,” She smiled softly, “It is.”

[mixelation]

(a)synchronicity - probably the very beginning

Tori was currently tied by the wrist to two other people, part of a chain of five civilians and one shinobi. They stood out in the rain, in a muddy field outside of Ame. Hanzo stalked back and forth in front of them. 

Needless to say, Tori’s day wasn’t going the way she had planned. 

“You are the absolute scum of the earth,” Hanzo wheezed out through the filter over his mouth. “You are traitors and usurpers. Did you really think we would let you get away?”

The Ame Tori knew– the one twenty or so years in the future– would have let civilians move out, if they could prove they needed to. She could have written herself a very compelling letter about having no familial or professional ties and no job prospects, laid out a plan for how she'd be so good at a job somewhere else in the country, and she would have gotten exit papers. 

Apparently in mid-Civil War Ame, even civilians were under suspicion of joining the rebels. Despite being homeless for the last month, despite not having a single thing to her name because she was not even from this time, despite not doing a single thing for Ame or its wars, Tori was meant to stay in Ame even if she starved. That was giving your life to a village, according to Hanzo’s ongoing mental breakdown. 

“I’d rather die here than live another day serving you,” the shinobi that was supposed to be guiding them out snarled. Then she spat into the mud. 

Why, Tori thought. There was no talking her way out of this, not with that attitude. 

“As you wish,” Hanzo answered. His hands rose towards his face. There was a shuffling around them as the Ame-nin holding their sad little group at sword-point pulled gas masks over their mouths and noses. 

Why would sewing a piece of salamander into yourself do that? Tori wondered as she watched purple fumes pour from Hanzo’s mouth. 

She didn’t have it in her to feel fear. She’d done nothing but squat in abandoned, cold buildings and beg for food for the past month. She probably hadn’t gotten properly dry the entire time. She didn’t even have the energy to feel angry. She was just annoyed and tired. 

The poison made all her neurons misfire. Pain shot through random parts of her body, and her legs convulsed and knocked her over. She dragged down both the people she was tied to– or maybe they dragged her down? It was hard to tell. They were one twitching mass of limbs and shrieks of pain at Hanzo’s feet. 

“Tell your filth friends when you see them,” Hanzo said, voice no longer distorted by the mask, “that I will not stop even when Hell is full.”

Tori knew she was properly dead by then, because the gnawing hunger of the Shinigami spread inside her, becoming a part of her, driving out her own feelings. If Hanzo was going to fill her stomach, why wasn’t he? Why was he wasting her time with this measly meal?

It almost felt good to be one with the Shinigami, who did not feel cold or tired, just hungry, always hungry. Except, today she also felt… 

What are you? The Shinigami wondered. But gods did not have to experience time strictly linearly like humans, and it puzzled it together quickly. Disgusting, Tori thought of her own soul, and then suddenly had the very human instinct to vomit. 

She could feel the souls of the five other people in her stomach. She could also feel arms cutting her hands free and then dragging her through the thick mud of the field. Her nerves twitched. This was probably just what corpses killed by Hanzo did, because the person dragging her didn’t react. 

This is a vile feeling, the Shinigami thought. Or perhaps it was what Tori thought. How dare a human touch me?

Tori had to fight to stay limp as repulsion filled her. Then she was being dumped down a hill along with the other bodies. 

Ah, the Shinigami-in-her-head thought. The carcasses after a meal. And yet I’m still hungry…

Tori had been dumped into a mass grave, on top of a pit of rotting human bodies half-submerged in mud. Bile rose in her mouth, but she fought it back down, flailing for the edge of the pit. She refused to look down or think too hard as the Shinigami faded from her brain. 

It took a long time and many failed attempts to crawl her way up the muddy slope. 

Tori allowed herself to splay out in the mud for a few minutes. The Ame-nin were long gone. She hated dying, but it was a convenient little trick. 

The poison still had lingering effects, and she stumbled over her own feet several times as she headed to the forest at the edge of the field. Her vision was spotted. But she was alive, and she was getting the hell out of Rain Country. 

xXx

Tori was still in Rain Country. Travel was… challenging. Rain Country was at war with itself and its neighboring countries. Ninja occupied towns and roads and would randomly show up and kill you for no reason, or perhaps confiscate your supplies if you were lucky. The ninja came from every country, having made Ame the stage for their stupid Third War. 

She had money now, though, at least. Ninja here weren’t any better at not getting tricked than they were in her timeline. 

“What do you mean, kill them?” the farmer’s wife said. “They’re ninja!”

“They’re not even conscious,” Tori countered. She pressed the knife at the woman again. “They’ll die like anyone.”

The farmer’s wife seemed doubtful, her eyes nervously flickering over to her dining room where three young men sat slumped over their seats. 

“Fine, I’ll show you,” Tori said, turning on her heel and marching back into the room. 

It was nice of the farmer’s wife to let her stay with them, curled up in the dry hay of her barn. The ninja had been here since Tori had, because she’d stalked them here. 

The farmer’s wife had old medications prescribed to her husband, from before the supply shortages and before her husband had died resisting a ninja raid. It had taken very little convincing from Tori to get the woman to crush up pills into the food she served the ninja. And then it had worked, because ninja had a hard time believing non-ninja weren’t idiots. They hadn’t expected a young civilian like Tori asking a bunch of stupid questions to be a distraction for another civilian doing something dangerous. 

Of course, there was a period between being drugged and passing out where the ninja had realized something was wrong. There were several kunai in the walls and a huge scorch across the wooden dining table from them freaking out. This was probably why the farmer’s wife had refused to enter the room, despite being gungho about the plan just an hour ago. 

The drugs worked just as well as the warning label had promised, though. There were all out like alight, breath and limbs heavy

Tori hovered over the biggest of the three ninja with the knife. A Konoha headband glinted back up at her. It was funny. She’d always just assumed Konoha-nin would be kinder than everyone else, but they weren’t. They would barge into some lady’s house, scare the shit out of her kids, and demand free room and board, just like any other ninja. The farmer’s wife had no idea what village had killed her husband, and it didn’t matter. All ninja were ninja to someone like her. 

Tori fiddled with the knife. She wasn’t… she didn’t… well. She didn’t mind the idea of killing someone with a knife, but she had no idea how to do it cleanly. 

She ended up turning the knife on herself and making a little incision into the fatty part of her forearm for blood. It would take some extra time and finagling, but fuuinjutsu was almost always what she was most comfortable with. She patted the ninja down for a spare fuuinjutsu brush– a lot of them had them, even if all they knew how to do was re-ink storage scrolls– and set about making a seal that would disrupt the ninja’s chakra just long enough to kill them. 

It took long enough that the farmer’s wife regained the courage to creep into the kitchen.

“You’re one of them,” she gasped at the seal Tori had drawn in blood across the table. 

“Um,” Tori said, settling the third ninja’s hand into place on the seal. “No I’m not?”

She smeared the last character into place with her finger, to activate the seal. She’d drawn the seal imperfectly, as it was on a random table in blood rather than traditional methods, and a lot of very dramatic smoke escaped. 

The farmer’s wife made a lot of dramatic, outraged spitting noises. She didn’t even seem relieved when Tori confirmed all three men were dead now. 

She kicked Tori out, although she did nothing but stand around and accuse Tori of being a lying bitch while Tori patted down the corpses for useful things. Like more pocket change. Or travel supplies. Or– gasp!– sealing ink and a bunch of blank tags!

“Which village sent you?” the farmer’s wife demanded, waving around another knife she’d picked up at some point. “Don’t you dare send any more of your freak friends out here!”

“I suggest burning the bodies,” Tori told her and she packed up her new goodies to leave and wiped the table clean of evidence. She didn’t need any shinobi getting wind of her fuuinjutsu. “Or anything else to hide their identities.”

Of all the villages, Konoha was most likely to send people to investigate random disappearances. They liked tracking where their bloodline limits ended up. Or, at least, that’s what the Iwa-nin that Tori had failed to convince to go engage a Konoha team had said as his excuse.  

The temperature was dropping as she hiked away from the farm. Maybe there was a way to use fuuinjutsu to temperature-regulate her tent… no, that seemed like it needed a lot of testing to make sure she didn’t set it on fire in the night…

Tori’s hands balled into fists as she walked. Why was even finding a warm bed impossible? Or someone to just be nice to her, without suspicion and threats?

****

TORI KILL COUNT: 3

[merakiui]

overblot! Riddle nonconning you in front of Ace and Deuce while going on about how this is the only thing a magicless nobody is good for 👍🏼

Omg yes,,,,,,,,

(cw: yandere, gender neutral, nsfw, non-con, humiliation/degradation, public sex)

Amidst a ruined, debris-ridden rose maze, a monster looms. No one dares stray close, lest they find themselves maimed and sent to the grave, and so they can only watch helplessly from the safety of overturned chairs, tables, and uprooted rose trees. The scene was once serene, an almost-perfect Unbirthday. Now it is desolate and bleak, a nightmarish reality that leaves thick, discomforting silence blanketing the grounds.

Riddle casts a grotesquely bone-chilling shadow, and his appearance mirrors that of a creature torn from the pages of a classic horror; that's the only way to describe him: cruel and cold, all sharp, vicious edges and thorns, dripping blot. He's on the verge of a supernova, toeing the line of life and death, a monstrous mage who has reached the consequences of a culmination of excessive magic, spilled over into bitter negativity. The aura that clings to him is, in a word, utterly terrifying.

And you're right there in his shadow, a fragile, caged thing bent down on your hands and knees. Your fingers curl into the grass, tearing clumps. No one dares to speak up, to demand he release you, to fight for your safety and dignity. Hopelessly collared, Ace and Deuce, your closest companions in all of this mess, look on in horror even though they don't mean to.

It's like a tragedy spun right before their eyes. They want to look away, but they can't. It's morbidly ensorcelling.

"Observe!" Riddle's voice booms, commanding absolute obedience and attention. His pallid hips press against your ass while clawed hands dig into your hips, holding you perfectly still. Blood is drawn; it seeps beneath his sharpened nails, leaving painful indents. You feel filthy and fearful, cut down to something small and insignificant and weak. Droplets of blot speckle your backside each time he shifts. It's warm like candle wax, but it doesn't burn.

The betrayal does, though—stains through to your very soul.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of drifting off elsewhere. Anywhere that isn't here, speared on his cock for all to see, forced into the grass like you're bowing apologetically before the Queen and her card soldiers.

"You lack the key capabilities all mages must possess, and yet you thought it wise to challenge my rules? Here? When my word is law?" He barks out a laugh, sickly amused. Scarlet eyes narrow with disdain. "Perhaps you're as slovenly as you are disobedient. As expected of a disrespectful, magic-less fool who knows nothing! Absolutely nothing of the order I so carefully uphold!"

He pulls back, seething through grit teeth, and snaps his hips forwards. You collapse on shaky arms, gasping in pain.

It hurts more than heartbreak, more than a bruise, more than a slap. Tears spot your lash line, threatening to fall with one more well-aimed, brutal thrust. Spidery fingers dance along your waist, tracing a line towards your neck. He grips your chin and forces you to look upon a crowd of terrified faces, all ogling with bated breath. Ace is watching and so is Deuce, albeit through the cracks in his hands.

"What did you hope to achieve—to prove—by defying me?" he demands, his grip a deadly vise. "That I could be in the wrong? That all I've worked tirelessly for, all that I've done, is wrong?"

"Riddle..." You wince in your futile attempt to pull away. "Riddle, please... I... I'm sorry, but please... You're hurting me..."

He turns your head towards him, eyes ablaze with a furious tempest, and he leans closer, pinning you with startling ease. His cock presses up against your insides, enveloped tightly in your walls, and you shudder through the discomfort and the agony. A single claw traces dangerously close to your jugular.

"Speak up if you have something to say!"

"It hurts!" You gasp again, outright sobbing now. "It hurts! Please..."

"It's a punishment," he sneers, glaring disapprovingly. "It's meant to impart a lesson—one learned through pain. If you understand this, stop sniveling and respond appropriately."

You're not sure which is worse: humiliation at the hands of someone you considered a friendly acquaintance or the fact that, no matter how villainous he may be, you only wish for him to return to himself. You'd never wish this fate on anyone, but maybe it's your too-big heart that makes it impossible to hate him. You don't hate him. You can't.

And perhaps that's the worst part of all this.

You hang your head, defeated and devoid of hope. "Yes, Dorm Leader..."

And so he teaches you and all those who witness the devastating spectacle a lesson neither will ever forget.

Red is passionate and fiery, a reflection of roses and redamancy. But it is not a pleasant color. Not anymore. Not in the aftermath.

Red is the color of Riddle and Heartslabyul and blood and pain and anger. And every time you spy the slowly healing marks from that day, you feel it all over you. Red everywhere, inside and out. Externally, you may heal with all matter of magical cures, but internally it's not an easy fix.

So red is no longer a comfortable color. You wish you could look upon it and admire it for what it is: a color. But that proves impossible, for a color that is so highly revered as pretty does not evoke pretty feelings for you.

[acourtofthought]

Sjm didn't make elucien mates and then change her mind. She knew she's going to make elriel endgame from the get go. Even when she had Lucien say, "you are my mate". If you reread the series, acosf comes of as a filler. It was Nesta's healing journey but it was also used to set some of the vital plot points for Elain's book, with Azriel. And she's not going to change the direction of such a solid overarching plot for gwynriel. GA a mediocre ship with an over done couple dynamic. And sjm doesn't have history of bending to the readers whim. As for Lucien, she's already introduced Vassa and laid the foundation of Lucien and Vassa's story. Pairing Lucien with Elain would be a waste of a great story and a great female character (Vassa). She's not going to do that. If eluciens and gwynriels think the time magazine article was a random mention of Elain and Azriel that has nothing to do with sjm or BB they are sorely mistaken.

You mean SJM thought Nesta would be with Lucien only to change her mind with how toxic they'd be together just to pair him with Elain knowing Az was her endgame? Weird.

I really enjoy how you take a journalists own words over that of the author herself.

Somehow the journalist saying that fans speculate about Az and Elain is a bigger deal to you than SJM being quoted as saying because she has it in her own life, she can write about men who are the females biggest supporter, cheering her on and supporting her growth and we then have the author herself writing it so Az gets SCOLDED for not believing in Elain.

And VASSA is a greater female character than Gwyn who became one of the first Valkryie in how many years? Yes, Vassa's many many pages of dialogue clearly prove your point. I think Vassa says a total of 10 sentences throughout the entire series.

Vassa will still be important, but as a side character in Elucien's journey as their friend who will end up with Jurian.

But you got us, E/riel is up there with the greatest love stories of all time.

ACOMAF

And Mor backed away. Step by step. "What a prize," the kind said, that black gaze devouring her. Azriel's head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full rage and pain as he snarled at the king, "Don't you touch her." Mor loked at Azriel - and there was real fear there. Fear - and something else. She didn't stop moving until she again kneeled beside him and pressed a hand to his wound. Azriel hissed - but covered her bloody fingers with his own. (oh....just so you know, Elain was kidnapped and is currently bound and gagged, with the King preparing to put her into the Cauldron but Az is a little too busy focusing on Mor to care).

ACOWAR

And somehow had to guard Elain, though I certainly wasn't about to tell Lucien that. Cassian, swearing and pissy, got the short stick, and Azriel only clapped him on the shoulder before heading to the house to prepare. (Here we have Elain depressed but Az is happy to leave her).

Throughout it, he was quiet - removed. Even by his standards. I made the mistake of asking if he'd spoken to Mor since he'd left last night. No, he had not. And that was that. Even if he kept flexing his scarred hand at his side. As if recalling the sensation of the hand she'd whipped free of his touch during the meting. Over and over. (I think you might want to rethink that fanart scene that's floating around of Az flexing his hand for Elain a la Mr. Darcy).

"It's worth a try," Mor sniped. "You're needed here," Cassian said. Azriel looked included to agree, even as he kept quiet. (Elain had a vision with her Seer powers, something Az claimed "We need"......yet he did absolutely nothing about it. He did did not fight for what she was seeing, he did not offer to go. How incredibly supportive!).

ACOMAF

"Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?" "No I said, and I meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief".

Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

ACOSF

Nesta said to Feyre, "Did you tell Elain?"

Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, "What about Mor?"

"Where's my beautiful Mor?" Az said tightly, "Away."

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, "There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be expose to." / She threw a nod toward Azriel. "Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to." Don't underestimate her."

Rhysand blinked, "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the sexual fantasies he pleasured himself to.

HOFAS

"We defeated Hybern," Azriel confirmed. A glance toward Truth-Teller at his side. Then at Nesta. "Nesta beheaded the King of Hybern by herself."

There you go. That's your beautiful, romantic, SJM planned from the start love story of Elain and Az.

It doesn't matter how many sweet moments you have for E/riel the fact remains that shortly after each scene, Az was written to still be hung up on Mor (funny how his longing glances only became few and far between in the book where Mor WAS NO LONGER IN THE NIGHT COURT FOR A MAJORITY OF THE TIME), where he still disrespected Elain, where he never once gave her credit for the brave things she did during the war, where he never once addressed her depression or the things she lost like her father, her humanity, her fiance.

And the overarching plot already lends itself to an Elucien and Gwynriel endgame. There's no mental gymnastics or changing the characters personalities to make it fit.

Pairing Elain with Az would be a waste of Elain's character. If you cared for Elain as you say you do you'd ship her with Amren more than Az considering Amren had to reprimand Az for underestimating her.

"But it's what Elain wants!"

Sometimes young girls that just experienced trauma are foolish thinking they know what they want even though the adults in the room can clearly see it's not healthy 🤷. Elain is working through it all but once she comes out on the other side, she'll see things a bit more clearly. I think we got our evidence of that when she returned Az's necklace and I can't wait to see if in the next book she finds out about the bullshit he said about her and Lucien.

I have never heard of a more delusional comment than claiming SJM used SF as filler for an E/riel endgame. SJM is on record of saying how Nesta felt keenly alive to her early on, how she feels emotional rereading SF because of her own journey with mental health issues yet you're turning into E/riel fodder.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[sweetpaintedladie]

i’m scared after these past two days. i’m sad too. i’ve barely stopped crying to be honest.

but i’m sad for 11 year old me, watching hilary lose and having no idea how that would effect the rest of my life. i’m sad for 13 year old me who started to enjoy watching kamala harris debate, saying one day i hope she runs because she would be great. the joy i felt when she was chosen as vp, the joy i felt when she was elected.

i’ve harbored an ill will towards the government for a very long time. i told myself i never wanted to vote because i wanted the electoral college to be abolished and because i felt i would never once feel optimistic about who i was choosing. how at 18, i registered independent and looked in fear of who ran on that number. looked in fear of who ran republican. looked in fear of who was running democrat. it was the day kamala harris announced her candidacy, i felt hopeful. like i could vote in good conscience for someone i felt would protect me, that right, and be someone who i’m glad children get to see as the person in charge. not someone based in hate. a fiercely intelligent, caring, qualified woman who could do amazing things for people here and people elsewhere. i voted with happiness because i was voting for 11 year old me, 13 year old me, and 14 year old me. and i voted for every other 11 year old girl too - so she wouldn’t have to feel the fear i felt.

it’s hard to explain how you feel when you reckon with the fact you failed your 11 year old self. that you were failed by countless people in your own country who proved they don’t care if you live or die, they care about the price of their gas. they don’t care about the kids they let be shot, or miscarried. they don’t care that young men turned out to vote because in 2016 they didn’t see the beginning of their rights vanishing they saw someone who allowed them to spew the hate and bigotry they felt.

i feel lucky enough to have grown up with obama being the first president i remember. that the person i saw lead the country was a young, well spoken politician who cared about all people. who spoke not in hateful rants but eloquent speeches, who spoke highly of his wife and daughters, who despite hate spewed towards him he remained cordial to his opponents. in other words, a leader. how kids now have to grow up with a man child, a rapist, a felon as who they see. someone that shows young men not that there is power in respect, diligence, kindness, but that shows them that you can say you want to grab women by the pussy and be elected. twice.

i wish kamala harris and tim walz won, of course, but i wish they won for the people who have to live in the world and don’t know better. how children can’t look upon their television and see a woman who represents what once felt impossible become possible, who would lead with them in mind. i voted for her not for myself, but for the minorities who will be effected by the other sides regime, for the children who deserve more than this world is ever going to give them now, for the women who now have to live in fear of ever being in charge of their bodies again. i didn’t vote for myself, but clearly the majority did. as a young women will die in a parking lot after being denied medical treatment, a man will be able to buy gas for $2.07. a human life is less important than a luxury in a man’s, and unfortunately an entire new generation of women had to learn that today.

i’m heartbroken. i feel i failed the future of my country when i did the best i could. kamala did more in five months than most could ever dream, shattering glass ceiling after glass ceiling to get where she was last night. i wish it was her. i wish it was her for so many women today, and young girls of tomorrow.

unfortunately, it was proven that backwards and in heels is still an understatement. she had the world against her and got so far. as a first time voter, my fears came true. as a woman, my fears came true. as an american, my fears came true. as someone who had to watch women in my life cry in 2016 and not understand how much that would effect me now, my fears came true.

this isn’t the end. its okay to feel scared and hopeless. but think about how far we came in the past 5 months. kamala harris will go down in history for so many reasons, and this is one of them. she lead where she could with strength, dignity, understanding, and love. when it’s realized that’s missing, we’ll feel it. her impact certainly does not end here.

[anthroposeen]

tmagp 13 relisten notes!!

there are spoilers for episode 13 below the cut!

celia:

- admits to sam that she asked alice for advice and general information about him. this implies she has a pretty friendly relationship with alice (evidenced by alice buying her a mocha) and seems relatively unthreatened by her past with sam so far.

- "no one, im mysterious" -> evidence for her not being from this dimension, if no one can give a lot of information about her

- reveals jack is her baby! (not followed by a glitch)

- says the past couple years "since the move" (between dimensions?) were weird for her

- believes the incidents they work with are real, and im certain shes in the same boat as the audience rn, trying to categorize them with background knowledge that isnt accurate anymore

sam:

- easy to make blush, doesnt know how cute he is, is an overachiever, obsessive, a but repressed, nosy, kind of a recluse, and very easy to wind up

- gifted kid syndrome poster child; he seems to view being turned away by the magnus institute as the beginning of his rejection streak (not admitted to oxford, didnt get first, got fired from his legal firm). i think this will be a major point in his motivations and a fear of rejection and need for validation is going to drive him to receive the greatness he wants (and believes he has earned). i can already see a corruption arc brewing for him, poor thing

- did NOT tell celia about his experiences in the institute or what his "incident" was (referring to lena's interview where she asked him what the worst thing he's seen/experienced was). this isnt super sketchy considering its a first date, but is interesting since he was the one who wanted "all the baggage" out early

- he doesn't want to accept that the incidents are real, but i think he does believe in them. he brought the topic up to celia and has asked alice about it before too, so he may be aware that the incidents are real, but is unwilling to fully conceptualize what that means for himself and his world view

- says that alice doesnt love the idea of him seeing celia, which means he may have picked up on her feelings for him

gwen:

- feels guilty over instigating the mr.bonzo incident -> whats really interesting is that she doesnt threaten to quit or not be involved, she accepts that she gas another email to look through and another external to interact with, but it seems to upset her

- she asks lena why this (externals and mr bonzo murder) is happening, implying that she can stomach the work if its for a reason

lena:

- gives gwen the ABCs of genre-awareness:

- this dimension also has "opposing forces- most of them meaning to be harmful.

- these "forces" need to be "balanced" and controlled in order to maintain order in the world/system -> still working off of a smirke-esque theory that retaining balance will keep the world secure. i dont know if she means balance between forces of good and evil or forces in the supernatural sense

- says the OIAR is managing the bad guys, as in monitoring their actions and directing externals to "balance" things

alice:

- actually offended that sam doesnt want to share information with her and isnt having a good time knowing sam and celia are seeing each other

- tells sam "he cant prove anything" about the cases being real, but doesnt tell him hes wrong

- i would fling myself from a sky scraper for you, miss dyer, but please never say bussin or fire again

- "stop trying to make an impact" -> the more she tells sam to cut the x-files shit out, the more she stops protesting his suspicions. her scolding has gone from "nothing is going on, chill out" to "sure, theres a conspiracy, but we are paid to ignore it"

-

alice/sam's past:

- dated at uni, previously stated they were together for several years. it seems to have been a decent split since they stayed in contact afterward.

- sam was there for her when her parents died, but lost contact after

- she contacted him w the OIAR job details after he made an exceptionally pathetic vague post

incident:

- centered around gambling and self harm to achieve success- this draws ties to episode 2 (self harm) and episode 9 (luck). i expect this is more aligned with ep 9, as the self harm seems to be in the interest of changing his odds/luck, and the incident is primarily about gaining external success, not physical change. though, ep 2 could be a personal experience with ink5oul that is not representative with their "force"

- the narrator of this statement was quick to actively sacrifice his own well being to achieve better luck, which is a pretty stark contrast to other people who looked to harm other people in their own interest (violin guy and dice guy, i forgot their names sorry!!)

- zorro trader may be a reoccurring organization in relation to gambling

- the narrators options for his debt were to either pay it back or have a personal adjustment, once he completes the voicemail he is transferred to the adjustments apartment, which was not an option on the original call log and something he did not request

- he is promptly adjusted :)

- i think this could be related to the theme of keeping balance, since the incident narrator claims it isnt wrong to play with the loophole, and it ends with him getting what he owes, which is a nice connection to lena's explanation of the OIAR's purpose

glitches/lies:

- "im happy you're happy", alice (she is not happy that sam is with celia!!)

extra comments:

- i really didnt expect an explanation of the OIAR and its position in this so early, and im surprised lena was the one to reveal it. this exposes that shes pretty open with the staff she feels are on a need-to-know basis, and it also changes my expectations for how we'll come across a big reveal in this series, since information is being given in a more open way

- i think alice and celia definitely know something but in opposing ways- acting as foils to each other with sam (information seeker) in the middle. celia knows about how the fears work in the tma dimension, and alice knows why and what the OIAR are really doing- together, they solve the puzzle that sam is trying to piece together.

[makethatelevenrings]

congrats on 3k 🫶

how about “you look jealous” and “make me” with jason 🤭

hehehe hope u enjoy bby

There was just something about Red Hood that rubbed you the wrong way. He was cocksure and full of himself. Maybe the red helmet was to symbolize a rooster’s comb with the way he strutted around, chest puffed out and chin raised as if he was looking down on us lower people.

You were glad you didn’t work with him often, but Bruce assigned you to keep an eye on some movement by Scarecrow in the Bowery which meant you were encroaching on Jason Todd’s dominion despite his insistence that anyone working with the big bad Bat needed to stay out. Well, tough. He could write about it on his tear-stained diary pages later.

Creeping to the edge of the roof, you adjusted the scope on your binoculars and tried to gauge what the henchmen inside were moving. It looked like teddy bears, but that would mean Crane was targeting kids.

Everyone in Gotham knew that you didn’t fuck with kids unless you wanted Hood and you to wreak havoc.

“What are you doing here?” The metallic voice cut through the silence of the night. You ignored his initial question and snapped a few photos of the operation. Bruce ordered you to gather intel and not engage, so you settled on getting your proof and then going back to the cave before you went home to Selina. The infamous thief would break down your door if she didn’t see her kitten was safe and sound, but you didn’t mind her hovering. It was nice knowing someone was watching over you.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you finally replied. Hood stood next to you and he crouched down to where you were sitting so he could see what you were looking at. A huff of air pushed out of his frustrated lungs and you knew he noticed it too.

“Fucking bastard,” Jason snarled.

“Careful. People might start to think you care,” you hummed. After taking another photo of someone infusing what appeared to be fear gas into the stuffing of the bears, you started to pack up your equipment when a gloved hand landed on your shoulder.

“How long before Bats moves in on this?”

You shrugged. “He’s got three open cases going right now. Once he sees this, he’ll probably send me to take it down. If that’s the case, I’ll be moving on this tomorrow night. I’m going to keep an eye on where they’re moving those shipments before acting. If I don’t know the destination, then I can’t stop any that have been transported yet.”

His helmet shifted with the nod of his head and then he reached into his pocket and held something out towards you. You hesitantly outstretched your hand and accepted the small device he held. It was an earpiece, one typically used with the Bats communication system.

“Keep me updated,” he ordered.

“And if I don’t?” you shot back.

His shoulders tensed. “Just keep me updated. Don’t do anything stupid or take some risk that’ll get you killed.”

You scoffed, but pocketed the earpiece. “As if you care.”

“And if I did?”

A shiver washed down your spine and curled around your throat at the near-purr in his voice. The two of you were always like this. This little dance, both too tentative to step in and make the first move. Everytime he got like this, it was as if he was daring you to finally snap and do something.

But you were blessed with an immense amount of patience when it came to men that looked like tanks and spoke with sugar.

“Prove it,” you taunted.

He stepped closer, his helmet tilted towards you so you knew he was looking down at you. You glared up at him and raised your brows in question. One of his gloved hands came up to brush along your jaw and then he lowered his head so the edge of the helmet rested on your shoulder.

“Make me,” Jason Todd breathed.

And then he was gone as if the shadows himself swallowed him up. Fucking Bats and their fucking disappearing acts. Fucking Jason Todd and his fucking mouth.

Fuck.

Tag List:

 @mcrmarvelloki @gone-batty-fics @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @cursedandromedablack @alexxavicry @the-wayward-daughter @raging-trash-of-mind @kat-nee @khaylin27

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

*SaB season 2 spoilers! (I think mostly episode 5/6 onwards)*

Let’s talk about the hallucinations that Tolya, Kaz, Jesper, and Inej experienced when they were breathing in the poisonous/toxic gas. It was watching this scene that made me realise I was going to need to take notes if I wanted to convey my thoughts properly to you guys, so rest assured I have a lot to say.

It would seem at first that Jesper and Inej are experiencing things they desire, whilst Kaz and Tolya are being forged through their greatest fears, and I’ve seen a lot of people mentioning this. However, Jesper’s longing for his mother ultimately culminates in more pain for him, both in losing her and in the parts of himself that he’s been burying in her absence. He uses the experience to overcome his repression because he’s in a stable enough position (in terms of his emotional state relating to his mother’s death not his gambling addiction) to start healing, but that doesn’t mean mean that the experience isn’t still deeply painful for him. In a similar way, Inej’s hallucination shows her something that she cannot experience - not just because of Kaz’s pain but because of her own as well. When I fist watched it the hallucination bothered me a little, because although she internally expresses a desire to be with Kaz in the books, it is not something she physically wished for. However, the more I think about it the more I understand that this was necessary because it was absolutely the reason that she was the first of them to ‘wake up’, as it were, and acknowledge that the visions weren’t real. As much as she theoretically wishes for a relationship with Kaz, her desires are not only for him but more so to one day be capable of having a relationship at all. If the hallucination had shown her family or memories of her childhood like Jesper then it would have fooled her far more easily because she is prepared to want them and to want to go home. She is not prepared to want Kaz. When I initially made my notes about this I wrote about the “I will have you without your armour” scene in the books, not knowing that we would get to see it later on. In the books, Inej reflects on this conversation afterwards and wonders how she would have felt if Kaz had responded like she thought she wanted him to. Like him, she has a fear of physical contact - she describes flinching when Nina and Jesper hug her, and closes in on herself when Heleen touches her - but instead of protecting herself from contact like Kaz she forces herself through it in hopes of improving. Her fear of contact is less severe than his, in part because she feared reaching the point that he has where any future of touch seems impossible, and in part because her fear is not of touch alone but the impact that sexual contact will have on her state of mind. She wonders whether, had Kaz ‘taken her’ in that moment, she would have been able to reciprocate any kind of connection or if she would have shut down and become “a doll in his arms” as she was forced to do for survival at the Menagerie. If that happened, she would not only feel fractured and betrayed because of her mental state, but she would also never be able to see Kaz in the same way again; her would become aligned with every horror she experienced and all the pain she went through. Her pain is still to fresh; in the books she was only a year or two out of the Menagerie and I think we can assume it to be less in the show since Heleen still holds her contracts. Until she’s had time to heal she cannot possibly enter a relationship of this nature because it has the power to break her. There’s a tragically beautiful line in the books that I think described this really well when she says “And what was she supposed to do? Find a nice husband, have his children, then sharpen her knives whilst they slept? How would she explain the nightmares she still had?” It’s a heartbreaking line, but it also more than proves that she has not yet reached a place of healing because she cannot imagine being able to explain her experiences to the person she’d spend the rest of her life with. With this context, I think the most important part of her hallucination is that Kaz asks for permission before he touches her, but unfortunately I don’t think there is enough emphasis on her backstory to make this clear in the show.

I think that Inej and Jesper’s hallucinations appearing to be more about longing but ultimately being painful and Tolya and Kaz’s to be more about fear tells us a lot about their characters. If I had to group them as optimists and pessimists, I’d have probably called Jesper and Tolya the optimists and Kaz and Inej the pessimists, but I think this scene is telling me exactly why I was wrong. Starting with the pessimistic visions: Tolya is drip fed im his greatest fear whilst Kaz is forced into it immediately, and I think this is because Tolya is less pessimistic than Kaz but struggling to find his way to optimism. His vision takes place on the Volkvony/Hummingbird, making him feel endangered somewhere that he should feel safe and at home to kill his longing for optimism, and he finds Tamar slowly because he is trying to push away the thought of losing his sister but it just keeps coming back. I also think that arguably his greatest fear is not just her death, but somehow causing it. And then for the optimists: Inej’s vision differs from Jesper’s because she is finding it so difficult to remain the optimistic child she used to be. If she were still who she once was, she would have seen her parents or her brother, but instead she sees Kaz because her life has been narrowed from travelling through Ravka (and I think North Shu Han but I’m not sure?) to the limits and confines of Ketterdam alone, until the city has become her whole world. She is clinging desperately to the edge of this optimistic outlook, a child with no knowledge of how cruel the world can be, but the hallucination almost taunts her by showing her something she could be optimistic about if she wanted to but ultimately knows is unattainable, at least right now. Jesper’s is arguably very similar, which I think highlights how similar they are both on the family-oriented childhoods they both lost very suddenly and the way their personalities were shaped because of it, but his is overall more positive because he is closer to being able to heal from the loss of his mother than Inej is the loss of her innocence.

This is so long I’m so sorry I only just realised, if you read this far thank you very much I hope it was interesting enough for the effort

[clickerflight]

Voltober 19. Captains All - Fallen

Author's note: I realized that I had never even thought about how Kolt got captured by Dr. Leanne, so that;s what this is.

Masterlist - Voltober 18

Content: villain whumpee, henchman whumpee, chased, man hunt, exhaustion, last stand, beaten, bound, unable to help

@voltober

Team Leader | Last Stand | “It’s up to you now”

Gale looked back over his shoulder as he ran just behind Kolt down an alley. Behind them was a squad of people, some of them Powered. They were not the same people who had started chasing them three hours ago.

“New group,” Gale puffed. “They’re taking shifts.”

Kolt looked back to see for himself, and Gale was shocked to see actual fear there.

“Can’t we hide somewhere?” Gale asked, the stitch in his side making itself known. It was a stupid question, one that he shouldn’t have wasted his breath on. They’d already tried hiding in all of their favorite spots, but they’d been sniffed out just as quickly, no matter how good their tactics.

Kolt didn’t answer and Gale desperately asked, “The Dragon Gang?”

Kolt looked back, a familiar sort of pain. He hated asking for help, except for when it came to Gale. He especially hated asking the Dragon Gang and being indebted to Phoenix, no matter how friendly the guy was.

He changed their course subtly and Gale felt relief ease the pain in his side. They’d get somewhere safe. No matter how big the group chasing them was, they wouldn’t dare mess with Phoenix and his gang.

As they turned a corner, the group that had been chasing them earlier came into view, they shouted, pointing at Kolt and Gale.

The two were backed up against a building, no way out and not enough time to climb.

“Go,” Kolt said gruffly as their pursuers closed in. “Climb and get to Phoenix!”

“Kolt, no! I-”

“GO!” Kolt growled, shoving Gale against the wall. He swallowed hard and turned, grabbing onto the brick and looking up to plan his route.

He flinched as he heard a gunshot that ricocheted off of the wall above him, but the following screams proved that Kolt had his back, sending blasts of energy into the groups, holding them back as Gale climbed.

Gale pulled himself up over the wall and pulled out his pistol. He knew he only had three rounds left, but it would have to do.

He leaned over the wall, aiming and shooting the leader of one of the groups in the head.

“Climb!” he called to Kolt, but Kolt ignored him and kept fighting the two groups, backed up against the wall.

“KOLT!” Gale screamed, fear pounding in his chest.

Gale nearly fell off of the building as a something flew over head, catching and tearing the back of his jacket.

He rolled onto his back and shot at the creature. It wasn’t safe here, and he was out of ammo. He was exhausted and didn’t have any powers to his name. He would just have to trust that Kolt would find his way out of this. He was smart and he was one of the strongest Powered in the three cities.

Gale got to his feet and ran, heading in the direction of one of the Dragon Gang’s headquarters.

The flying creature didn’t come back for a round two with him, likely injured from the shots that Gale managed to land.

Gale reached a more spread out part of the city and quickly slid down a pipe to the bottom, turning and sprinting the last bit to the hotel the gang ran.

He pushed past the greeter and ran to the desk, panting as he gasped out, “Phoenix! I need Phoenix.”

The lady behind the desk gave him a wide eyed look, shaking her head in confusion, but the manager looked up sharply and called, “I’ll help you sir, follow me.”

Gale followed the man to a back room, still trying to catch his breath. He was so tired he couldn’t follow the blur of motion as he was pulled into the room, the door slammed closed as the manager put his arms through Gale’s and twisted him into an arm lock. He shouted in pain as someone else approached, patting him down and taking his empty guns from him.

“Who are you?” the manager growled into Gale’s ear.

“Gale. I’m with Kolt,” he gasped. He groaned as the manager twisted his arms further.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please! We don’t have time for this! We were being chased by all of these people and he’s still out there! They’re going to-”

The other person, at some signal from the manager, pistol whipped him with his own gun.

He staggered, falling to his knees and holding his face as the manager let him go.

“We’re not doing anything until we verify who you are. Who can identify you?”

“Phoenix,” Gale said, pulling his hand away to look at the blood smeared on it. “Or his council. Anyone from the council.” It was too late. He was too late. Phoenix wasn’t going to get here soon enough or anyone from his council and Kolt was still out there, probably fighting or…. Or dead.

Gale got back to his feet, fighting a wave of nausea as pain rippled through his head. He tried to walk steadily to the door. “I have to go back,” he said, mostly to himself to keep himself focused through the pain and exhaustion. “He’s gonna get himself hurt.”

The manager made another move that Gale couldn’t keep up with and he was suddenly on his back on the ground, trying to get air back into his startled lungs.

“Tie him up,” the manager said to his assistant. “Don’t let him go anywhere until we figure out who this idiot is. Do you know how much of a breach of operations it is to have someone running around screaming to see Phoenix?”

“Yes sir.”

Gale was rolled over, his hands bound behind his back. He struggled weakly as his legs were tied at the ankles and knees, but it made no different as he was dragged to the corner and left there on his stomach as the assistant stepped out, turning out the lights and locking the door.

Gale lay in the darkness, blood trickling from the cut in his head, fighting the urge to fall asleep as he tried to get himself unbound.

He failed on both accounts.

VTB Part 20

Fallen Masterlist

Fallen taglist: @looptheloup @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @snakebites-and-ink @starsick1979 @galaxyofwhump 

@scatteriskity