#like its an unacceptable line to cross ever

[sodisco]

People on this webbed site will post the most horrible shit and it will get reblogged uncritically and if anyone in the comments says "hey maybe we should cool it on the sui baiting, like I hate these people too but it's sort of harmful to more people than them to be posting this kind of thing and tbh they don't deserve to kill themselves over this." and that person immediately has a call out post written for them

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

routine vibe check: what’s the best starter pokemon and why are you right (pictures and long paragraphs of evidence welcomed and appreciated)

Gonna get a good grade in vibe check, normal to want and inevitable to achieve because I have objectively correct Pokemon opinions and will block naysayers

OKAY LET'S GO

I decided to do, like, a top 5 list or something, because I'm bad at picking a single favourite of stuff. And then even that overwhelmed me, so I found one of those tier ranking list sites and produced this:

It was done in less than a minute, so if I wanted to get really picky, I don't know if I would be fully wedded to it (not sure if maybe Sceptile should be one higher) BUT it did help to highlight the important ones.

So!

5. Bulbasaur

It's. Just. So. Nice.

Like you can find cooler, more beautiful, cuter, fancier... there's a whole bunch of ways for a Pokemon to be great. But you will never ever find a nicer Pokemon than Bulbasaur. It's so lovely. Look at it. Look at its face.

I can't put it higher, because the rest of the line is fairly bland in terms of development. It's good and logical and fun, don't get me wrong, but Ivysaur and Venusaur just look like bigger versions with More Flower and Less Cute rather than creatures in their own right. To be honest, if it weren't a starter requiring a three-stage evolution, you could do away with Ivysaur. Something I don't like about a lot of lazy three-step lines is that the middle step just looks like a transitional mid phase rather than a Proper Creacher, like they were artificially inflating the Pokemon number count. Meanwhile it took us until Paldea to get a Girafarig evo that would actually make the giraffe tall. Madness.

However my first ever Pokemon was a Bulbasaur I called Daffodil, and I have traded him forward onto every single successive generation since. He is, quite literally, my First Ever Pokemon. I love him desperately. I still have him. Not many people still have their First Ever Pokemon. But I do and I love him. So, Bulbasaur gets the fifth spot.

4. Snivy

Again, a victim of the Banal Transitional Middle Evo, but both Snivy and Serperior are incredible, and as Meatloaf took such pains to tell us, two out of three ain't bad.

But Snivy! It's so snooty! I was super lucky with mine, too, because I beat the 12.8% odds and got a female, and I loved her. Normally the initial baby starters are designed to be cute but Snivy has SO MUCH PERSONALITY, she's great. And the design of Serperior is utterly gorgeous. She keeps the expression, but rather than the Animal Crossing-style snooty-cute vibe of Snivy you get this thousand yard withering stare of an empress whose servant (you) has just turned up dripping mud in her throne room and asked her for money. Her green and gold colour scheme is exquisite. Her filigree design, including her high collar, give off the air of wealth and sophistication befitting her immaculate pedigree. And all this! In a simple snake. Incredible design work, 10 out of 10, no notes.

Begone, you miserable peasant. Have him boiled.

3. Torchic

Now I'll be real with you, lads, but Pokemon design hit its stride with Hoenn and then got better.

It's partly a fashion thing, of course - you look at some of the Kanto designs and they are remarkably 90s, because that's when the franchise launched. Others are clearly a product of what the 1990's were capable of producing in pixels on an already over-stretched cartridge medium. Like we like to clown on Red and Green/Blue now, but my god, those game designers performed a miracle with Pokemon. Every single square inch of space was used to make that game, and complex designs weren't going to cut it.

(With that said, there is still no excuse for Dragonite.)

And then Johto came about and its Pokedex sucks ass. It's mostly new evolutions for existing Kanto stars, useless babies to inflate the dex number, or poorly thought out single-evos like the inexplicably short Girafarig and the unacceptably dreary Dunsparce (our greatest thanks to Paldea for fixing both of those).

BUT THEN CAME HOENN (trumpets intensify)

And we get habitats! Biomes! A different regional climate, gifting us a brand new area of Pokecology! And therefore a brand new flush of creativity in Pokemon design across the board; less dated, and more inclined to be unique rather than a rehash of Kantonian stuff.

Which brings me nicely to this lad:

Now, I mean. Just look at him. Fucking hell. Cute starter stage, check. LOOK AT HIM FACE

AND THEN he became, at the time, a brand-new unique typing: Fire/Fighting. I realise that is now the norm for like, half of the Fire starters, but that's because of Torchic, actually. He was super popular. In fact if you ever play Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald and you do what my husband and I like to call a Mynci Dave run (use one Pokemon almost exclusively, meaning it gets all the experience points and therefore over-levels to a terrifying degree, allowing you to sweep the game; so named after the noble Primeape we first did this with, Mynci Dave), Torchic is the PERFECT Pokemon to choose, because almost everything is weak to either Fire or Fighting in that region.

Anyway, Combusken is, again, kind of mid (although props for the inverted colour scheme and the fact that it actually does look like a teenager.) But Blaziken, on the other hand... Blaziken is a six foot ninja chicken with wings for hair whose Pokedex entry describes it as able to leap tall peaks in a single bound, a feat it achieves after strengthening its legs by hoofing Geodudes down mountains like they're fucking footballs

Also an impressive bulge.

My first was called Gilgamesh, and he was fucking great. For a long time, this mad lad was my actual favourite Pokemon, not just starter. Brilliant. Love him. Five stars out of three. King.

2. Fuecoco

It would probably surprise you to know I've not actually used one. I chose Sprigatito, and I do really like Meowscarada, actually. But pretty anthro cat boys have been done in Pokemon quite a bit at this point; cats, dogs and rabbits are over-represented in terms of Poke-taxa. Possibly this is another reason for a toad, a snake and a chicken being 5, 4 and 3 so far (ooh, basilisk ingredients, I've just realised.) They're new and unusual! I like an Eeveelution as much as the next person, but they're a whole family of cat-dog-rabbits, like.

However.

Nintendo has tried its hand at Pokecrocodilians three times (Feraligatr, Krookodile, Skeledirge), and they have gotten so much better at design each time that the three of them are basically a scale proxy for ongoing design improvement. Look, I've made a diagram:

EXCEPT

(Strap in)

This one is that rare thing: a three step line that deserves to be a three step line. Let's talk Fuecoco first:

SO CUTE. It's charming, it's charismatic, it's adorable.

It also has hints of its evolutionary end goal, but not like an undeveloped middle evo. It likes singing. The white face hints at the eventual calavera, and it looks a bit like a lil chilli pepper - a ghost pepper, probably in reference to the eventual Fire/Ghost typing. But the colours and shape right now also look a bit reminiscent of a babygro, because this thing is a cute starter. Lookit them teefs. That tuft. Its lovely smile. Beautiful.

And then, at the point you expect it to turn into just the awkward teenage version of the adult, instead we get Crocator:

Oh boy. Oh there's so much to say. Okay okay:

The region it's from is based on Spain, but this thing is incorporating Hispanic elements from across the board. It's a mariachi in a sombrero, except the sombrero also looks kind of like a ring of Mexican marigolds and kind of like a Catalonian Easter cake called Mona de Pascua that has an egg (or egg-shaped confectionary) in the middle. Body shape and markings look kind of like a piñata. The white face is now on its way to a calavera, with the cheek and nostril markings more defined. And it sings, with its open mouth (also how crocodiles release heat, appropriate for a Fire type) and signified by the mariachi theme.

THAT IS A LOT.

And then it becomes Skeledirge. A Fire/Ghost crocodile.

Now the obvious design here is the calavera and the  Día de Muertos theming, which is part of it. But there are also many examples of crocodile figures in Spanish folkloric ghost stories: the Catalonian Cocollona, the Lizard of Magdalena from Jaén, or the Drac de Na Coca, or even the Cuca - that one is Portuguese, but turns up in both Brasil and the Iberian Peninsula including in parts of Spain. It's got a Gaudi vibe (like Barcelona). It's got an alebrije vibe (like Mexico).

And the bird! Nile crocs have a cleaning symbiosis with Egyptian plovers; it also sits at the tip of the snout where male gharials have a sort of bulbous bit to help them make sounds (the singing thing).

But this is what the bird does when Skeledirge uses Torch Song:

It becomes a microphone, then grows in size and attacks the opponent in Phoenix form. Phoenix: Fire/Ghost. Resurrected from the ashes.

Quite simply, your fave could never.

5. Rowlet

My god. (My god)

gasp

Look at this lovely creacher. He is so round and so soft and so lovely. He looks like that baby Yoda meme. He looks like that cat that someone's landlord said they would make an exception for because he looks very polite. Look!!! At his lil bow tie!!! He is a smartly dressed young man and he is kind and he is... well, a bit vacant behind the eyes. A himbo, if you will. But he is all the better for that. What a lovely owl.

He looks a little like a barn owl, perhaps, and those were imported to Hawai'i, where Rowlet is from. But I think he looks a little like a Pueo owl, and given that he will eventually be a Ghost type, that seems right - pueos are one of the physical forms assumed by ʻaumākua in Hawai'ian culture, as I understand it.

And then, hang onto your tits, lads, because this is another banger - THE MIDDLE EVOLUTION IS ITS OWN DESIGN!!! (confetti cannons)

I said earlier that boring middle evos are like just awkward teenagers of the adults. Here, I present to you, a very deliberate Awkward Teenager, in Dartrix:

IT'S A DANDY

I love him I love him I love him

He plays with his fringe and if you touch it without permission he has a tantrum. God, he's so charismatic. Also, that fringe further suggests the pueo - they have pronounced outer rims around their facial disks like that. Look at his bow tie and tail coat. So smart and handsome

This one is so good that it could be the final evo. This is actually my issue with the Delphox line - Braixen is amazing, and then it becomes the bland boredom of Delphox. Braixen should have been the final stop. Here, Dartrix is much the same - good enough to be a high-quality end goal.

Where they differ is that Decidueye is better again.

IT SHOOTS ARROWS MADE OF ITS OWN QUILLS

Also, fun fact - This line is the only starter to change secondary typing. Dartrix is part Flying; but on evolving a second time into Decidueye, it switches to Grass/Ghost. In this evolution, it's definitely mostly a pueo, so the ʻaumākua reference is IN, but actually barn owls also have their associations with the dead in various cultures.

The crown of feathers around its head are also reminiscent of an ayaigasa - a hat worn by Japanese samurai archers. And yet! AND YET!

It still has its lil bow tie look. Bigger now, more of a cravat; but there it is.

A perfect Pokemon, and a perfect evolutionary line. No notes.

Anyway, thank you for this chance to waste three and a half hours writing this essay

[extasiswings]

Idk what this is but those new stills hurt all three of my feelings so have some angst.

“I don’t understand what happened to us. I don’t understand what changed,” Buck says, and Eddie freezes.

Because he knows. He knows exactly. Every big moment they’ve shared, the beautiful and the terrible, and all of the little ones in between exist in the back of his mind in one giant tapestry of memory. A pulsing, bleeding heart of a thing that he tries not to look at too closely because the fact that it is always there, so close to the surface, never letting him out of its thrall is sometimes more than he can bear.

It’s been years. Eddie’s gotten very used to being in love with Buck. Quietly, achingly in love with Buck, knowing he can’t have him but not being able to stop. Loving Buck doesn’t feel like a choice, it’s just a fact of his existence, rooted so deep and taking up so much space that Eddie can hardly recall being without it, the person he was before—before Buck, before LA and the 118, before tsunamis and shootings and lightning strikes. There are days when loving Buck overwhelms. When he can hardly breathe for the all-consuming nature of it. When the want is so fierce that he can taste it on his tongue. Most of the time though, it’s manageable. Like a radio on in the background, volume low enough that Eddie can ignore it. He can be almost clinical about it: fact—he is in love with Buck, fact—Buck is never going to love him back. It’s been years, so Eddie knows exactly how to handle these inconvenient truths, knows how to handle himself, has gotten used to them. He never expected anything to change, assumed that nothing could surprise him after so long.

But. Buck stood next to him in a cemetery and started talking about a woman he had only just met—a stranger—seeing him, understanding him like no one else, and Eddie—

Something in him broke. Some fragile bit of hope he hadn’t even realized he was harboring shattered, the shards slicing him to bloody ribbons.

And all he could really think was, Enough. Enough now.

Things changed then. He’s changed. Their relationship has changed. And he’s been telling himself that’s a good thing. It’s good, necessary even.

But Eddie doesn’t know how to deal with this. He doesn’t know what to say when Buck is sitting in front of him asking about it point blank while looking like a kicked puppy.

Part of him is angry. He resents being in this position, resents how long it’s taken Buck to say anything, resents knowing he can’t explain himself without revealing things he never wanted to. Mostly though, he resents the fact that after months of work—drawing a line in the sand and dating someone else, pulling away in an effort to establish real boundaries that might let him move on—he is still as much in love with Buck as ever.

Mostly though, he’s just tired.

“We’re still friends, Buck,” Eddie finally manages to say. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But something is different,” Buck insists. “If—you would tell me if I did something, wouldn’t you?”

Eddie drags a hand over his face, resisting the urge to touch his chest where a dull ache has bloomed behind his sternum.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he replies. It’s not an answer, not to the question Buck actually asked, but it’s as much of one as Eddie thinks he can give. And it’s the truth—Buck hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not a crime not to love someone.

“But—”

“Buck.” Eddie’s tone snaps, raw and sharp and jagged. It sounds foreign to his own ears, an unacceptable loss of control, but he is fraying badly at the seams and needs out of this conversation.

A stricken look crosses Buck’s face, and Eddie forces his voice to gentle as he quietly adds, “Please.”

Please drop it. Please don’t push. Please don’t pull this thread.

Please let me go. Just let me go. Please.

Silence stretches between them for a long moment as Buck’s eyes scan Eddie’s face. But finally, as if he heard all the different things packed into that one syllable, Buck nods once.

“Okay.”

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART I

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,176

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: An arrangement is forged between two apposing houses to save your world the cost of war.

Fear is the mind killer.

It snakes inside of you, twisting and strangling until bitter death. It’s an escapable pit of darkness. A place where light fears to tread and all life suffers. You feel it now, the deep ripple of dread as it slows your precious breath.

The laces of your corset are drawn tight, narrowing your passages even further. Your humble servants dress you in silence; their faces veiled in sheer fabric. They don’t dare speak on this occasion. It's ritualistic. The way they prepare you in lavish fabric and accessories the color of gold and deep crimson.

It marks your arrival.

A fiery sun, rising upon a dark and desolate planet; far from the one to which you were born. There is no green on Giedi Prime. There are no vast oceans or scraping mountains. Their world is shrouded in black and white, a monochromatic wasteland.

Metallic toxins ruin this world, while great machines plow the surface; devouring its resources like a hungry beast. You’ve not stepped foot on this sphere, and already you can feel the shift. It's quick to form a haze over your mind.

This is no place for you.

This isn’t the future you envisioned, but rather the one to which has been so cruelly dictated. It’s a strategic alignment that only the Bene Gesserit would dare to conjure. The task has been assigned, and now you must survive. Failure is unthinkable - unacceptable.

There is only the union.

A pact to save your world the cost of war.

Walking the grand gangway of the starship, your father lead at the head of the envoy; a steady hand rested on his sword. Gurney stood guard on your fathers’ side, whilst your servants trailed at yours. The rest of your family – your lady mother and older brother – had remained on Caladan.

It isn’t custom to have them in your company. It’s the father’s duty to relinquish the daughter, as an act of traditional and good faith; but this is merely a transaction. This is a trade of life for peace, and as much as you despise the fact, your opinion has no meaning in the era of entitled men.

Maintaining your line of vision, you try not to allow your gaze to wander too far from the site of your own kin. This place is foreign and cold, and it wreaks of violence. The instant you detected the small huddled committee of Harkonnen officials, all waiting for your arrival, you shivered in realization of your pitiful reality.

“We welcome you to Geidi Prime, Duke Leto.”

A particularly lanky man stood eerily emotionless as he received your house; dressed head to toe in black layers. It’s a stark contrast to his otherwise hairless and pale skin. It didn’t take long at all for you ascertain the being’s true nature. You could sense it. A twisted mentat who serves logic to his master.

“Where is he?” questioned your father, voice absent all formality and kindness. “Why is the Barron not here to greet us?”

“He awaits your arrival in the hall,” gestured the mentat. The way ahead is lined with armored Harkonnen soldiers; far from a warming embrace. “This way, if you will.”

The skeptical glance Gurney gave your father only serves to unease you more than you’d prefer. You know that look. You know the two men hold little to no trust for these people. They’re all savages. A race of violent individuals who’ve somehow thrived in their own wickedness.  

Several lifetimes ago, the two of your bloodlines crossed, but it’s hard to image their sinister race could ever be related to the likes of your own. In truth, the Harkonnen’s are the most alien of all the great houses; with their balding heads and pale flesh.

The archives can only tell you their past, but what you see all around is the present. It’s terrifying and with each step you take, you wonder how someone like you could possibly exist in their world. The back of your throat tightens, yet you shift to stand taller as you proceed to walk the grand hallway.

Pride keeps your strong, for now.

Despite the palace’s mega structure, you feel imprisoned within its steel walls; soon to be shackled by a vow. The mentat before you signaled two of the soldiers, bidding them to open the large doors of the hall. The smell of iron and soot wafted into your lungs; tainting them with every breath.

The room itself is expansive and minimalistic; eerily empty despite those occupying its space. The thick stream of light illuminated the foreboding figure which sat on the heightened, cushioned throne. You can hardly believe the sheer mass of the Barron, and yet it’s no kept secret.

“Duke,” spoke the deep voice of the Barron. The hulking man gestured outwardly with his hand, in what one could only presume to be a greeting of sorts. “Here you are – at last."

“We expected to be greeted on arrival,” replied father; clearly unimpressed with our reception to the planet. “We’ve travelled light years – and yet here you sit.”

“And there you stand, Cousin. Do we not greet each other now?”

The tension is palpable, and the seconds of silence feel more so like eternity. The duke’s bitterness hardly went unnoticed, and whilst others would try to correct themselves in fear of their lives, your father remains headstrong. The man's a pure representative of your family’s values, but he forgets.

This is their planet.

These are their rules.

It’s best you learn fast now, lest you shatter. If your family could offer no comfort here within your new life, then that leaves only yourself left to care. As the daughter of a duke and offspring to the sisterhood, your mind and body is its own protection.

The Bene Gesserit have governed you since you were a babe. They’ve showed you things few ever witness. They’ve taught you their ways, and now they’re to be the pillars of both the survival and success of this alliance. You are your only strength and weakness.

Observing the room, there’s only those of your own envoy and the close confidants of the Barron. Particularly, it’s hard to mistake the broad and brooding man standing to the left of his glutenous uncle. Rabban appears stiff, if not livid as he glares distantly at your father.  

Wide fists clench noticeably at his sides, displaying his obvious displeasure of the situation. Rabban can be described as simple minded, but a brute. He uses sheer force to conquer, and for that reason, he’ll gain nothing of any real value. Power is more than strength.

“Come,” spoke the Barron. “I want to see her.”

“Where is he?”

It drew you to realize your father’s pointed absence of the man in question. You’ve only ever known your suiter by name and reputation. Feyd-Rautha. Ambitious and psychotic. You wouldn’t know his face to pick it from the rest.

“Is it your nephew’s intention to insult my daughter, or was he simply not made aware of our arrival?”

The Barron gave a low groan, his tongue tisking against his grey teeth whilst he leant into his throne. A clear sign of impatience. This is the Barron's most inner dominion and so far, your father has only defied his every will and word without hesitation.

Stepping forward, you moved with steady purpose upon your intention to diffuse the rising hostility. Gurney is the first to stop you with an outstretched hand, only for your father to intervene. Despite his reluctance, the duke knows this is an alliance even he can’t afford to break.

Amusement shone in the Barron's eyes upon your willing approach. Ascending the slabbed staircase, you watch as the silk donned man rose eerily from his seat. The mechanical and unnatural elevation of his large body caused you to stop.

“There you are,” he grinned as he hovered closer. “Bold, just like your father.”

The Barron's thick limbs reached out, slowly lifting the veil that sheltered your face. In all these years of residing within each other’s existence, the two of you had never met until now. Gazing up at him, you saw his pale and wrinkled face morph from intrigue to impassive.

He gave a low hum, “And so we meet.”

The way his eyes roam over your face and body feels more analytical, rather than that of a perverse nature. You aren’t entirely sure if he’s disappointed or curious. The room turns silent, and everyone waits with bated breath for what the Barron will do next.

“You’re prettier than I imagined,” he announced. Hovering away from you, he slowly sat himself back onto the cushioned seat of his throne. “No matter the sort, beauty is a rare site to be had on Geidi Prime. It certainly doesn’t last for long.”

“She's to be unharmed,” interjected your father. The protectiveness in his voice is further stated with the underlying hiss of a threat. “As soon as she’s with child, she’s to be escorted back to Caladan.”

“Nonsense!” boomed the Barron. “If your daughter is to marry my nephew, then she’s to remain on Geidi Prime.”

“If?”

Turning, you faced your father to see his angered expression. Despite the intimidating and strange aura of this planet, the site of your father is still apposing. Standing in full uniform, you know with time and familiarity that the duke won’t accept or backdown.

“My nephew can be stubborn. Youth is so often irrational.” Shifting in his seat, the Barron sighed whilst narrowing his gaze. “As suited as she may be, your daughter isn’t the only hand of worth within House Major.”

“I see,” scoffed your father. “Then you’d willingly allow yourself to break law and dishonor the name Harkonnen? The Benne Gess –.”

“Witches and spies!” cursed the Barron. “I’ll not have them dictate the future of my house!”

“And I’ll not have you shame mine! Feyd-Rautha will take my daughters hand in marriage, as agreed. House Atreides holds not only political power, but the largest arsenal in the whole of the empire,” he boasted with intent. “There is no other of worth.”

Immediately, your gaze lowered with his proclamation. It's difficult to hear your father defend your house, whilst also acting to secure a marriage neither of you desire; but he does it for the people. It's his responsibility and your duty, but even still, you can't help but feel betrayed.

“Then you have my word. Let our houses be united once more," smirked the Barron. The mentat was summoned forward, “Piter will escort your daughter to her chambers. I won’t bore her with the concerns of politics."

As quickly as you arrived within the Barron's presence, you were now dismissed from the huge hall. Daughters aren’t privy to such discussions, but you know to what it will most likely pertain. You know there’s terms and conditions to matches as important as this one.

Lowering your veil once again, you headed down the steps to the awaiting mentat; who’s now no longer nameless. Piter walked steadily in lead, and whilst you couldn’t interact with your father in this moment, the two of you locked eyes in passing.

Despite the tragedy of your new circumstance, he'll always have your best interest at heart. At the very least, he’ll fight for your comfort and safety within the confines of your new home. He’d never travel the galaxy, let alone leave you behind if he didn’t think you would be safe.

“This way.”

Piter turned the corner, and soon you felt as if you were being burrowing into the bowls of the abyss. There's no windows this far into the heart of the palace. You’re cut off from all aspects of nature, and all that’s left is a labyrinth of metal and synthetic light; producing a warm yet sterile glow.

“This one’s for you,” he spoke monotonously as we stopped outside of a doorway. “You’ll be called upon later in the evening.”

Piter went to leave before you decided to speak, “Where is he?”

The man showed reluctance before turning to face you. Clasping his hands, those dull eyes stared into you as he asked, “Whom do you refer?”

“What are you, if not calculative?”

The mentat's face shifted at your taunt. Stepping forward, he appeared serious. “The two of you have yet to meet, but certainly enough you will.” Piter waved a hand over the doorway consol. “Embrace what peaceful moments remain.”

A quick turn, and you stood watching as the mentat traversed back down the lengthy corridor. Piter’s words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. It's a warning. Perhaps even a threat. You've heard too much to think it's not.

Despite the sheer vastness of space, it’s whispers which travel the fastest. Feyd-Rautha is a name that’s passed by your ears on more than one occasion. Stories or truth. You’ve heard the court recount his cunningness and brutality.

You've heard him in your dreams.

It bleeds you with fear, and fear is the mind killer.

[dummiebrat]

𝗢𝗵, 𝗡𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗴𝗶𝗮

Teacher! Mistress!Agatha Harkness x Student! Brat!Rio Vidal

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: In a rare moment of quiet, Rio kneels at Agatha's feet, reflecting on the time that has passed since their first intense interactions.

Notes: Fuffly (I think), Power Play, Brat Taming, Punishment (Not really), Nostalgia, Submission, Control, Provocation, Dominance.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe old university building stood like a sentinel against the fading daylight, its ivy-clad walls whispering of secrets and history. The corridors were quiet, the only sound the soft click of heels echoing as students made their way to their evening classes. But Rio Vidal was not heading to class. No, her destination was far more intimidating: Professor Harkness's office.

Rio paused outside the heavy oak door, her heart thudding in her chest. She'd been summoned here after her latest assignment had been returned with a scathing remark in Agatha's precise handwriting: "Unacceptable. See me immediately." The note had sent a thrill of nervous excitement through her. After weeks of teasing and pushing the boundaries in Agatha's lectures, she wondered if she'd finally succeeded in getting under the woman's skin.

Taking a deep breath, Rio smoothed down her plaid skirt, tugged at her white blouse to reveal just a hint more cleavage, and rapped on the door with a confidence she didn't entirely feel.

— Enter. — came the cool, authoritative voice from within.

The room was just as she remembered it -bathed in the amber glow of antique lamps, walls lined with books that seemed to lean in, listening. The scent of aged paper, leather, and something faintly herbal hung in the air, enveloping her as she stepped inside.

Agatha Harkness sat behind her massive mahogany desk, her posture regal, eyes fixed on a book as if Rio's presence was barely worth acknowledging. Her dark hair was swept back into an elegant twist, and those piercing blue eyes- when they finally lifted to meet Rio's- were as cold and discerning as ever.

— You're late. — Agatha remarked, her voice a blade wrapped in velvet.

— Apologies, Professor. — Rio replied, deliberately choosing the more formal address, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Agatha's gaze sharpened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. — I think you've been in my class long enough to know that I prefer to be called Mistress Harkness in this setting. Or have you forgotten even the most basic rules?

Rio's lips twitched into a smirk. — I must've missed that part of the syllabus, Professor.

Agatha's expression didn't change, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes now. — Come here. — she commanded, her tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Rio hesitated only for a second before crossing the room, her steps deliberately unhurried, her chin tilted in defiance. She stopped just shy of the desk, close enough to feel the magnetic pull of Agatha's presence but not so close as to be within reach. She liked this game they played, the way Agatha's eyes would flicker with annoyance whenever Rio pushed the boundaries. But today, something told her the rules had changed.

— Closer. — Agatha instructed, a single elegant finger beckoning.

Rio complied, stepping forward until her knees brushed the edge of the desk. She could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of Agatha's perfume-something dark and spicy that sent a shiver down her spine.

Agatha leaned back in her chair, surveying Rio with a slow, predatory gaze. — Tell me, Miss Vidal, do you think you're clever?

Rio arched a brow, a teasing smile playing at her lips. — I'd like to think so. After all, isn't that what you want in your... students? A bit of spirit?

Agatha's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. — There's a fine line between spirit and insubordination. And you, my dear, have been skating dangerously close to it.

She rose from her chair in one fluid motion, moving around the desk to stand directly in front of Rio. The difference in their heights was negligible, but there was something about Agatha's presence that made her seem towering. She reached out, tilting Rio's chin up with a single finger. The touch was deceptively gentle, but the power behind it was unmistakable.

— Is this how you think to impress me? By turning in half-hearted work and flaunting your insolence? — Agatha's voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thunderstorm.

Rio swallowed hard, her bravado faltering under the intensity of that gaze. — I thought you'd appreciate a bit of... challenge. — she managed to say, her voice just a bit breathless.

Agatha's eyes narrowed. — A challenge, is it? I see. Then let's test your mettle, shall we?

Without warning, Agatha's grip tightened, forcing Rio to her knees. It wasn't rough, but it was firm, leaving no doubt as to who held the power here. Rio gasped, her pulse racing, her mind spinning between fear and exhilaration.

— Kneeling suits you. — Agatha observed, her voice a purr. — Perhaps if you spent more time in this position, you'd learn a thing or two about discipline.

Rio's heart hammered in her chest. This was new territory. She had expected a lecture, perhaps a scolding. But this... this was something else entirely. And yet, there was a part of her-a dark, hidden part-that thrilled at the thought of being put in her place.

Agatha circled her like a predator assessing its prey, her heels clicking softly on the wooden floor. — You want to play games, Miss Vidal? Very well. But let me make one thing clear. — She paused, bending down to whisper in Rio's ear, her breath hot against her skin. — I always win.

Rio shivered, biting her lip to stifle a gasp as Agatha's fingers threaded through her hair, pulling just enough to force her head back. The pain was sharp, electric, but it was the look in Agatha's eyes that sent a thrill down her spine-a promise of control, of power, of something Rio wasn't sure she was ready for but couldn't deny wanting.

— Now, — Agatha continued, her voice dripping with authority, — you will address me properly, or you'll find yourself repeating this lesson until it sinks into that pretty little head of yours. Do you understand?

Rio's defiance flared briefly, but it was swiftly extinguished by the firm tug on her hair. — Yes... Mistress Harkness. — she managed, her voice a breathy whisper.

— Good girl. — Agatha cooed, releasing her with a satisfied smile. — Now, about that assignment...

For the next several minutes, Agatha detailed exactly how Rio had failed to meet expectations, her tone alternating between scathing critique and teasing condescension. Each word was a barb, designed to cut through Rio's defenses, to strip away her bravado until there was nothing left but raw, exposed nerve.

By the time Agatha finished, Rio was trembling, a mix of frustration, arousal, and something dangerously close to submission swirling in her chest. She wanted to hate this woman, to defy her, but all she could think about was the way Agatha's eyes darkened with satisfaction every time she made Rio squirm.

— Now, be nice, and stand up. — Agatha instructed, her tone softer but no less commanding.

Rio obeyed, her legs unsteady as she rose. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected. But before she could gather her thoughts, Agatha's lips brushed against hers-a fleeting, barely-there kiss that sent shockwaves through her system.

— Consider that a taste of what's to come if you ever truly impress me. — Agatha whispered, pulling away with a wicked smile. — Now, run along, Miss Vidal. You wouldn't want to be late for your next class, would you?

Rio stood there, breathless and bewildered, her heart still racing as Agatha turned her back and returned to her desk, dismissing her as though nothing had happened.

For a moment, Rio was frozen in place, torn between the desire to stay and the need to flee. But ultimately, she turned and fled the room, her mind spinning with confusion, desire, and the promise of more to come.

As the door closed behind her, Agatha allowed herself a satisfied smile. The game had only just begun, and she had every intention of seeing it through to the end.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAgatha Harkness reclined in her leather armchair, the amber light from the fireplace casting warm shadows over her face. A thick, leather-bound tome rested open on her lap, and she was utterly engrossed in its pages, her sharp blue eyes scanning line after line with the kind of intensity that left no room for interruptions.

But then, there was Rio Vidal.

Rio knelt at Agatha’s feet on a plush purple cushion, her usual posture of lazy sprawl replaced by an unusual stillness. She shifted now and then, her fingers absently tracing the embroidery of the cushion. It was rare to see Rio like this—kneeling without command, voluntarily silent and thoughtful. It was almost reverent, a testament to the years that had refined their once-tense power dynamics into something deeper, more nuanced.

Agatha’s eyes flicked up from her book, sharp and discerning. She watched Rio in that penetrating way of hers, a slow smile tugging at the corner of her lips. — I can hear your thoughts from here, pet. — she drawled, her voice low and teasing. — Would you like to share them, or must I drag them out of you?

Rio looked up, blinking as if pulled from a reverie. Her dark eyes glittered with mischief and something softer beneath. — Oh, just reminiscing. — she replied, her tone deliberately casual, as though she wasn’t kneeling at her professor’s feet like a supplicant. — Thinking about how I ended up here, at your mercy, again.

Agatha arched an elegant brow, snapping her book shut with a quiet thump. — Is that so? Reflecting on your many transgressions, perhaps? — she mused, leaning forward slightly, her interest piqued. — Do tell, my little brat. I’m positively riveted.

Rio let out a low chuckle, shifting on her knees to face Agatha more fully. — You know, it’s funny. she began, her voice taking on a lilting, almost sing-song quality. — I never imagined I’d find myself so... comfortable in this role. Not that I ever make it easy for you, of course. — She flashed a grin, that old defiance dancing in her eyes.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile. — Oh, you never make it easy, indeed. But you do make it entertaining. — Her tone was rich with amusement, but there was a softness to it as well—a fondness that had grown over time, even if it was rarely expressed directly.

Rio’s gaze grew distant for a moment, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. — Do you remember that first time you... really put me in my place? — she asked, her voice dropping to a near whisper. — The first punishment?

Agatha leaned back, crossing her legs as she considered. — How could I forget? You were insufferable, daring me to lose my patience. I believe it involved a rather thorough lesson in respect. — Her eyes glinted with the memory, but there was no malice in her tone, only nostalgia.

Rio let out a breathy laugh. — Yes, yes, it did. And I hated it. — she admitted, though the way her voice softened suggested otherwise. — Hated it... and loved it. I suppose it’s what kept me coming back, pushing you, testing the limits.

Agatha nodded slowly, her fingers idly tracing the spine of her book. — And look where that got you, — she remarked, her voice a velvet purr. — At my feet, where you belong.

— Only because I choose to be, — Rio shot back, though her words lacked their usual sting. — I could be sprawled across that sofa, you know. — She gestured to the plush chaise lounge by the fireplace. — But, I suppose I felt... nostalgic.

Agatha’s eyes softened just a fraction, a rare show of something almost akin to affection. — Nostalgic, hmm? I’ll take that as a compliment, my dear. — She leaned down, her fingers gently tilting Rio’s chin up. — You’ve grown quite attached to this life, haven’t you?

Rio shrugged, a coy smile dancing on her lips. — Maybe. Or maybe I just like the way you look when you think you’ve won.

Agatha let out a rich, throaty laugh, a sound that sent a shiver down Rio’s spine. — Oh, I always win, Rio. You’re the one who keeps losing, only to come crawling back for more.

Rio’s laughter joined hers, light and genuine, a rare harmony between them. For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of their shared amusement, the crackle of the fire, and the soft whisper of old books bearing witness to this moment of tranquility.

As their laughter faded, Agatha reached out to run her fingers through Rio’s hair, a surprisingly gentle gesture. — You’ve changed, — she said, almost as if to herself. — You’ve come a long way from that insolent student who challenged me at every turn.

Rio leaned into the touch, surprising them both. — Well, maybe I found something worth submitting to. — she replied, her voice softer than usual.

Agatha tilted her head, studying Rio with that same piercing gaze that had always left her feeling exposed. — And maybe I found something worth taming. — she murmured, her tone so soft that Rio almost missed it.

For a moment, there was silence, an unspoken understanding passing between them. It was a rare thing, this peace, this quiet surrender of wills.

Then, with a playful tug on Rio’s hair, Agatha broke the spell. — Enough of this sentimentality, pet. Fetch me a drink, and perhaps I’ll let you choose where to lay yourself next.

Rio smirked, rising gracefully from her knees, already feeling the return of her usual defiance. — Careful, Mistress, I might just take up your entire sofa.

— Then I suppose I’ll have to teach you another lesson in sharing. — Agatha replied, her smile as sharp as ever.

And with that, the dance resumed, a comfortable rhythm of power and play that had become their own peculiar form of affection.

[elena-mayfair]

Questionable choices

Paring: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, with elements of slow-burn romance Warnings: rating T+/M, disturbing images, strong language, violence, depictions of mental illness, depictions of mental and physical abuse Summary: Staring at the red dot pulsating against the background of a map of Gotham displayed on one of the huge screens, he couldn't chase away doubts and that growing, persistent feeling that this time his assessment of the situation had failed him. The icon had been pulsing in one place for six hours, pointing to the location of a house in the Upper West Side of Gotham, and with each successive pulse his conviction grew that although he thought otherwise, he didn't have all the information. He made a horrible mistake. Word count: 17.8K Note: Some gifs are not mine, credit to the authors. Series masterlist

Questionable choices. Consequences of the events and experiences that guided your actions. Based on conflicting emotions and doubtful instincts. Reckless and rushed. Driven by impulses and this uncontrollable desire to find only a trace of logic in this crazy world that seemed to surround you. The desire to find a path and a purpose. To find answers. The compulsive need to maintain control and the simultaneous yearning to lose it completely. Too many questionable choices you have made in far too short of a time. Too many times you have allowed yourself to be driven by your emotions with no thought of the consequences. Too often you let anger, fear and desires cloud your logical thinking. You balanced on the thin line between lies and truth, between what was virtuous and what was vile. Consumed by emotions, you bent your own moral principles, crossing the boundaries of what not long ago would have seemed unacceptable to you. To justify your behavior, to justify your lies, you found ever new explanations. In the process, you pushed the boundaries of what you considered acceptable and morally justified, hiding behind the concerns for others. No one else could lie to you as well as you could. So you lied. You had to.

Staring at the nightfall looming outside the window, you couldn't chase away the fear and that growing persistent feeling that this time you had made a terrible mistake. Jonathan's hand wandered over your naked body, and with each touch, a feeling grew within you, a feeling that warned you that soon you were about to see how far from normal you had strayed. You observed in silence the moon that was rising in the sky, your body barely moving under your calm breath. The shapes on the walls flickered in a macabre phantom dance, the lights seemed to cut through the darkness like a scalpel, scattering the night, chasing away the bat-shaped clouds against the blackening sky. You could only watch. There was no fear, no dread only a deeply hidden determination that seemed to form from in the darkest corners of your mind. You could feel and see everything and nothing at the same time. His warm breath on your sweat-slick skin, his greedy kisses that seemed to sip sweet adrenaline from your body, his restless desire pressing against you as he clutched you in his arms, his wandering touch relishing in your perdition. All so vivid and yet disappearing in the darkness growing thicker within you. You allowed him. Closing your eyes to the glaring lights, ignoring nightmarish shapes dancing on the walls, closing your ears to his whispers, you drowned in the sweet, safe, endless darkness. The sensations intensified, overwhelming you with their weight, yet you did not feel them. The darkness surrounded you, cradled you in its arms, protected you from the horrific reality. In the darkness you were safe. It was undoing and escape. The shadow gave strength and determination. In the darkness resided anger. The dark shadow had a shape. It reached out to you invitingly, and even though your body felt crushed by the weight of reality, you moved toward it. Bright flashes of sensation fought against him, the shapes stopped their eerie dance to watch and taunt you with curious prying eyes, their mocking laughter shattered your silence, the light struck once again seeking to dispel your darkness, to chase away your shadow, but it did not vanish. He waited.

His smoky voice came as if from afar drawing you back to reality. But you did not listen. Facing your shadow, you took his extended hand and let the darkness envelop you in a cloak of the night. Hidden in his arms, safe, calm, you tried to ignore the touch on your face, the whispers in your ear. The shadow embraced you tighter, concealing you whole, cradling you to his chest, with a non-existent touch brushing away the tears that began to flow down your cheeks, soothing your anger. The blaze of sensation once again illuminated the dark but you only closed your eyes, seeking to disappear into his arms. The shadow was safety. The shadow was strength. The shadow was watching.

"Don't let go," he whispered.

"I won't," you whispered back.

You opened your eyes. Gone were the dancing creatures on the wall. Gone were the flashes of light and deafening sounds. Only the pale moon in the blackening sky remained and against it, the shadow of a cloud took the shape of a bat.

"You drifted away," Jonathan whispered nuzzling his face into your neck, "where have you been?"

"In the darkness," still staring at the cloud against the silver moon you whispered. Jonathan only laughed deeply.

"And how did that make you feel?" he asked teasingly.

"Strong…" you and climbed over him to demand, "show me more!"

"Greedy…"

"So far you haven't shown me anything, well almost anything, that I haven't experienced before," you sassed, "I want it all."

"Why the rush, we have time…" he placed his hands on your back trying to pull you closer. You didn't let him.

"Not a rush, curiosity," you rested your straightened hand against his chest preventing him from moving, "now that I've experienced, truly experienced your wonderful concoctions, I want more! You promised to show me your world!"

"Oh dear, you haven't experienced anything yet," he smirked, "it was just a taste, a sample, of what you can experience. Barely a tiny brain teaser."

"But the things I saw! The sensations I felt!"

"Just a foretaste…" he repeated while his green eyes shone venomously. Unsure if your mind was still playing a trick on you, you resisted the urge to jump away from him. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him passionately.

"I'm hungry for more," you whispered biting his lower lip.

"Alright," he smiled then grabbed your hips forcing you to get up. He slipped on sweatpants and a creased shirt then, while handing you a robe, he added, "let me show you."

You desperately wanted to get dressed in your own clothes but he wasn't going to wait. Clearly excited by your interest, he didn't even wait for you to wrap yourself thoroughly. He grabbed your hand and led you towards the exit of the apartment.

"Jonathan!" you stopped him as soon as he touched the door handle, "where are we going?"

"Relax…" he smirked, "you could be completely naked, and I'll admit I'd prefer that a lot more."

He opened the door to the hallway and pulled you down the stairs with him.

"Jonathan," you whispered, "what if someone sees us?"

"No one will see us."

"What about the neighbors?"

"Neighbors?!" danger flashed in his eyes again, "oh my dear… they are long gone!"

He stopped in front of the brown door on the second floor and without a moment's hesitation pushed the handle and pulled you inside. The foul smell of mustiness and stuffiness hit you immediately. The dark dusty apartment had not seen the light of day for a long time, thick brown curtains blocked its access. Something sticky lingered in the air, sweet and rotten, like autumn apples that had lain too long on the damp grass. You looked around, quickly scanning your surroundings which lacked any sign of everyday life. Everything everywhere was in perfect order which contrasted so much with the nauseating stench. You hesitated alarmed by someone's heavy breathing, but Jonathan pulled you deeper, ignoring your silent objections.

"Meet Miss Reed!" he introduced loudly, approaching a woman who was sitting hunched in an armchair in the corner of the room, "she's not exactly here…" he waved his hand in front of her eyes without evoking any reaction.

"Jonathan, what's wrong with her?" you whispered distressed.

"Depression, anxiety, insomnia, persecutory dellusion, and recently psychosis and schizophrenia have also kicked in," he listed with as much lightness as if he were describing the weather, "she started hallucinating. Supposedly a horrifying Scarecrow haunts her and torments her. Poor woman."

A jolt of adrenaline surged like a lightning bolt through your spine. The tingling in your feet and hands urged an immediate retreat, blood pulsed through your veins accelerating your heartbeat, but your mind, your mind remained clear and composed. You took a deep breath quietly taking control of your nerves.

"Is she one of your…" you hesitated, "patients?"

"She was, she still is in some way," he pressed his hands on her wrist and, while glancing at his watch, measured her pulse, "probably not for much longer."

"She needs medical attention…" the words seemed stuck in your throat.

"Oh dear, she has one," he smiled eerily, "the best she can have."

Your legs seemed to grow heavier as you took steps forward despite the overwhelming fear. He was offering you what you wanted, you couldn't hesitate now. The stench of unwashed body reached your senses, bringing momentary nausea which was only suppressed by the adrenaline electrifying your muscles. He watched you closely. You prayed for your body not to betray you.

"How can this be?" you squatted beside the chair looking at the woman closely. Her empty eyes stared dully into space. You carefully touched her hand, it was damp with sweat. You looked into her eyes but they did not respond to your presence. "It's like she's not here."

"Because she's not here," he looked at you with undisguised satisfaction, "she's where you've been just a few moments ago. She has been there for a very long time."

"Why?" you asked breathlessly, studying her with fascination.

"Not everyone's psyche is strong enough to process through fears," Jonathan replied, "some just fall apart."

"You did this…"

"In her life, she was a sorry excuse of a human being anyway," he dismissed as if that would explain everything, "constantly on drugs, constantly unemployed, living on welfare. She came to me for help but didn't want it at all. She was looking for an opportunity to lose herself in her weaknesses."

"Why are you keeping her here?"

"I'm a scientist dear," he smirked, "she is just one of many research subjects. I'm testing how far I can send her into a world of her own psychosis before her mind compliantly stops functioning."

"One of many?"

"Oh yes. Outstanding scientific achievements require many trials and failures!" he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, "come on, Mister Dawkins and his son surely require my consultation."

Mister Dawkins and his son Tyler turned out to be the residents of the apartment on the first floor. As you stepped into their apartment you prepared yourself for another shock but the sight that appeared to your eyes was much more normal. Mister Dawkins turned out to be a man in his fifties, short and stocky, so different from his young, 20-year-old, tall and skinny son. He was sitting in front of the TV watching GCNN's afternoon newscasts while his son sat on the couch with his legs curled up drawing something pensively. They took no notice of your presence until Jonathan stepped in front of him and turned off the TV.

"Doctor Crane! Where have you been! You've been gone so long! You left us! You left us!" Dawkins cried out at the sight of him.

"Calm down, I didn't leave you,'" Jonathan answered in a gentle voice, "it was part of your therapy. Time only for you to renew the bonds that have been burned between you."

The son flinched at his words and curled up more on the couch. He did not look at you. They both seemed to ignore you completely.

"Burned out yes, burned out…" Dawkins raised his hand to Jonathan's eye level. In the faint light of the lamp you saw the red-black flesh burned to the bone, "we worked on it."

"Good, very good," Jonathan praised, "Tyler come over please," he turned to the boy without even looking in his direction.

"Do I have to?"

"Come here immediately."

"But if I get off the couch the Scarecrow will come and set the house on fire," his voice trembled.

"The Scarecrow comes when you don't want to work on your relation," Jonathan countered, "we've talked about this. It's a product of your imagination. A manifestation of your primal fears. He doesn't exist."

"But I am afraid," he wept.

You swallowed the tears that rushed to your eyes clenching your throat.

"Was it Scarecrow who burned your father's hand?" Jonathan asked.

"No," Tyler whispered back.

"Then who?"

"I did it."

"Why?"

"Because the fire burned down our house…. because the fire burned our mother…. because it burned our family…" tears run down his cheeks.

"Would you have wanted him to burn then instead of your mother?"

"I wish he would burn now!" Tyler yelled then, snatching a torch from behind his pillow, he launched himself toward his father.

You gasped covering your mouth.

Tyler stopped.

With the torch in his hand, he looked at you finally noticing your presence.

"Who are you?" he asked staring at you with sunken eyes.

You did not answer. Every part of your body was raring to run upstairs and call the police. To grab the bat-shaped transmitter out of your jacket pocket and call him here. But instinct, piercing through your terrified mind like a pale blue light, ordered you to stay calm. It ordered you to wait.

"Ah my lovely assistant," Jonathan extended his hand to you calling for you to come up. You didn't want to. Yet what you wanted at that moment didn't matter. Stepping with bare feet on the rough scorched carpet, you walked up to him and let him put his arm around your waist and pull you closer.

"She's pretty," Tyler whispered sweeping his eyes over you.

"Oh she is," Jonathan murmured trailing his hand down your neck towards the breasts hidden under your robe, "have you ever seen a woman boy?" you stiffened under his touch.

"I'd like to…" the boy's eyes widened.

"She reminds me of Ruth…" Dawkins looked at you with the eyes of a wild animal, "she has such beautiful hair just like Ruth had. Before it burned on her head."

You slipped out of Jonathan's grip and, against your instincts, squatted in front of the man, exposing your knees and the roundness of your breasts.

"Go on, touch it," you began gently, "they are soft and silky."

He extended a shaking hand to you. Like a hyena he looked at you, swallowing loudly, clenching his teeth so hard they seemed to crack under the pressure.

Jonathan observed with fascination.

"You're afraid…" you whispered when his hand stopped barely an inch from your head. The faint smell of burned skin turned your stomach.

"I can't…" tears flowed from wide-open eyes.

"You can," you squatted closer to him fighting the disgust within you as his hand moved lower, "there's nothing to be afraid of."

His hand was trembling. His lip quivered. A tooth cracked and a shard fell to the floor.

"You can control your fear," you lowered your voice observing his dilating pupils and accelerated breathing, "I won't burn."

"You will burn!" he cried suddenly, "you will burn! You'll burn! Witch! You will burn like Ruth!" you jumped away from him instinctively.

"You will burn!" Tyler shouted, "father will burn you!"

Jonathan only followed their reactions as the flash of excitement lit up his eyes. Like wild animals locked in a cage of their fears with faces twisted in the agony of a desire they could not satisfy they retreated into the depths of the room screaming shrilly.

"Enough," he said calmly hiding you behind his body, "silence," he repeated gently even though there was nothing gentle in his gaze, "I SAID SILENCE!" he shouted and everything suddenly froze.

Horror paralyzed your movements yet your mind commanded you to act. You slid out from behind him and, grasping his hand, forced him to look at you.

"Well that was insightful, " you concluded smoothly, "Doctor, don't we have other patients to see?"

"Indeed," he replied, "we still have so much work to do," he added measuring them both with his eyes. You entwined your hand in his and this time you were the one to pull him toward the exit. Disgust with yourself, shock, and an overwhelming desire to escape fought for control of your body and mind as you opened the door to head toward another nightmare.

"Don't leave us," Tyler wept grabbing your hand and stopping you from leaving, "The Scarecrow will come. Don't leave me."

You wanted to say something but the words got trapped in your throat again. You wanted to grab his hand and run out into the streets, scream for help, run to the police station, find Commissioner Gordon, but would he believe you? Would anyone but him believe you? You said nothing back. You only watched as, in a furious motion, Jonathan ripped his hand off your arm and turned on the air conditioner, closing the door behind you. Half a floor below, your blood turned to ice by the terrified screams.

"What's going on up there?" you asked, "aren't we going to check?"

"There's no need, they're both are currently facing their own fears," Jonathan countered, "I suppose they're in their own old house and everything around them is on fire."

"Wait a second," you stopped abruptly turning to him, "did you do the same to me? During, as you called it, therapy?"

"Yes, but on a much smaller scale and under controlled conditions," he replied truthfully.

"Today? Before…" you hesitated, squinting angrily, "was there anything in the air conditioning?"

"Of course not," he intertwined his fingers between yours and brushed his free hand over your cheek, "do you really think I would do such a thing to you? Tricked you into altering your behavior?"

You remained silent, measuring him with your eyes. He only gently grabbed your shoulders and leaned you against the wall once again closing the distance between you.

"After all, you weren't afraid," he murmured kissing you gently, "we both wanted this didn't we?" he deepened the kiss invading your mouth with his tongue. You felt sick. Electrifying energy surged through your body trying to bend you to its will but you tamed it. Wrapping your leg around him, you allowed him to run his hand up your naked thigh. "There…" he purred with satisfaction, "much better." You put your arms around his neck pulling him closer while his hand tightened again on your hip. "So eager, so impatient," he broke the kiss searching your eyes, "and you kept me waiting so long."

"I told you that maybe if you hadn't played mind games with me it would have been different," you smiled, forcing up the most flirtatious smile you could muster.

"If it weren't for our meetings I wouldn't have achieved what I have achieved," he replied.

"Drawing me to your side?"

"No…" his eyes once again brightened ominously, "all of that. You helped me. You led me to a scientific breakthrough! Thanks to you, I was able to conduct my research! Thanks to you I was able to compose the perfect formula!"

"I think you meant to say 'on me,'" you corrected pulling away from him.

"Thanks to you," he repeated, "if you won't interrupt, I will show you," he smirked.

"I'll be good," you replied flirtatiously, sliding your leg back to the ground.

"And who's playing mind games with whom," he scoffed grasping your hand once again and directing you toward the basement.

The dim, cold space opened before you as soon as he punched the code into the electronic lock and opened the heavy metal door. Chill shivered through your entire body as your bare feet stepped into the darkness. You expected to feel the earthy ground beneath your feet but instead, you felt smooth, clean tiles. There was no anticipated mustiness of the basement, no smell of earth, or dust, only the sterile scent of cleanliness and chemicals immediately evoking images of a hospital, which as soon as the light brightened the space proved to be not far from the truth. A sterile laboratory, deceptively reminiscent of the one in your nightmares, brightened before your eyes. You swept your eyes around your surroundings, trying to remember every little detail, every single one that could prove useful later. Useful to him. Medical and laboratory equipment blended together. Against the walls stood EKG and EEG machines, a bed with safety belts, a gas dispenser with an inhalation mask, and a pump with cables and tubes hanging loosely, so similar to the one he hooked you up to a few weeks ago. You walked closer to the tables, examining the equipment with fascination. On a long meticulously organized countertop numerous stills lined up, filters, mixers, bottles, flasks, beakers, test tubes, everything he could need to create chemical compounds. A little farther away, syringes, scalpels, forceps, scissors formed a sort of pathway to a small cooler where he kept perfectly aligned vials of blood. On many labels, you could clearly read your own name.

"That's a lot of my blood…" you commented, fighting the urge to smash them all.

"Ah yes, your precious blood," he said as he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you, "my key to success," he added kissing your neck.

"This is where you made it…" you whispered hoping your fear would sound like admiration, "the gas."

"This is where I made a lot of things," he brushed your hair away kissing the nape of your neck, "the first versions of my toxin, pills, subsequent versions, and finally the gas. Much more practical than liquid."

"And my blood?" you pushed against the image of your hand piercing his artery with a scalpel.

"Full of norepinephrine and cortisol," he slid his cold hands under your robe, "I don't know if it's thanks to your strong mind or your meta-abilities, but because of you I was able to develop and synthesize the perfect formula."

"Did you know about my abilities?"

"No," he murmured kissing your shoulders, "but that explains a lot. Your blood, your endurance and my genius combined together produced something extraordinary. And now, with your help, I will be able to continue my research. We will achieve remarkable and horrific things."

"No one will stand in your way…" you breathed out, "everyone will cower in fear. Unbelievable. All this…" you hesitated as his hands wandered lower, "actually, why? Why are you doing this?"

"Wouldn't you like to know…" he muttered in your ear.

"Of course, I would like to know! You've already dispelled the fairy tale of helping people," you turned in his arms looking deep into his eyes, "why then?"

"Questions, questions, questions," he laughed, "as always, you would like everything here and now. Maybe I'll ask for a change, how long have you known about your abilities?"

"Not long," you replied without hesitation, "I wanted to tell you but honestly…I didn't know how. Too much has happened in too short a time."

"It's okay," he slipped a strand of your hair behind your ear, "we'll have time to explore, and I even know someone who will be able to help," he kissed you gently. "You are handling all this much better than I expected," he changed the subject fixing his eyes in yours, "you didn't even flinch when young Dawkins almost devoured you with his eyes. You stood unmoved."

"I know what you did back then. You hit his basic instincts to observe his reactions. And mine," surprise tinged his focused gaze, "don't look at me like that, so surprised! It's insulting. Yes I am hasty, stubborn and impulsive but not stupid! I learned a few things from you. It's basic psychology. You tested me more than you tested him. You're still doing it."

"Am I?"

"I don't mind, I understand," you continued taking advantage of his complete focus on you, "just because we fucked doesn't mean you trust me. This whole operation must have taken you months or even years to organize," you ran your hand over his exposed chest. He liked it. "I get it. I wasn't exactly trustworthy. I know I have to earn your trust. You show me all this, you let me into your world but I'm not delusional, even right now in this moment I am completely bound to your will."

"And you are okay with that…" he stopped your wandering hand.

"Honestly?" you smirked, "it's kinda turning me on," you grabbed the elastic of his sweatpants and pulled him in for a kiss. You closed your eyes imagining your dark shadow enveloping you hiding you from danger while his lips once again collided with yours while his hands once again began wandering over your body. You had to get out of here. You had to get away from here as quickly as possible and, at the same time, not cause suspicion.

"Let's go upstairs," you whispered against his lips.

"Here we have a bed, too," he replied without breaking the kiss, "and belts that I could make use of."

"I'm cold…" you insisted as his hands loosened the belt around your waist.

"I'll warm you up…"

"Seriously Jonathan," you stopped him, "I wanna go upstairs…" You looked over his shoulder to the other end of the lab. You hadn't noticed before but there was a second door on the other side of the room. "What's behind that door?" you moved away from him.

"An ongoing experiment."

"Can I see?"

"Not this one," he refused.

"Is it dangarouse?"

"For them, probably."

"Is it scary?"

"Don't know, they can't tell me."

"Show me," you clung to him playing on his feelings. It worked but not the way you wanted. Not waiting any longer, he grabbed you by the shoulders again and pulled you to him kissing you brutally, "as you wish," he smiled deviously and led you back to the apartment upstairs.

You barely had minutes. Minutes to think of an excuse that would allow you to leave his apartment, the hell you found yourself trapped in by your own recklessness. Minutes to take action. Minutes to do anything that would get you as far away from him as possible. You knew he wouldn't let you reach for the phone. You knew that as soon as you entered the apartment his lips and hands would be on your body again, after all you were so eager, so impatient. "Think!" First floor. The screams died down. You didn't want to know what happened behind closed doors. "I gotta do something!" If only you knew how to use your skills consciously, you would do it. You would have attacked him and run away. Fled to where? In a robe? He kept you in a robe for a reason. Run out into the street? Pleading to strangers for help? Run to the police station? Would Gordon believe you after all the things you've gotten yourself into? "Think!" Second floor. Although you knew it was impossible, the stench seemed to escape from behind the closed door. "I need to help these people!" The transmitter was in your jacket pocket. If only you could activate it. If only Jonathan would leave you alone for a moment. "Think for fuck sake!" Third floor. The door to the apartment closed with a slam but he didn't let go of your hand. His eyes demanded. "A knife in the kitchen." Did you have any chance to run for it? His hands claimed. The phone in the jacket. "Phone in the jacket! Cigarettes!"

"Hey, wait a minute," you stopped him, "all this…" you moved away from him, "I'm taking this well but it is a lot," you smiled innocently letting go of his hand and heading for the jacket. "I hope you won't mind but I'd really use a cigarette," you reached into one pocket, then the other. "Where the fuck is it?"

"You smoke?"

"Yes, guilty," you chuckled dismissively, "some time ago I started smoking a little. My life hasn't been particularly peaceful lately." You reached into your inner pocket fiddling with your phone but not the transmitter. "Fuck! No… no… phone! THINK!!!" You grabbed your phone and glanced at the screen. "Fucking hell! Jonathan, I have to go! It's so late! I was supposed to go back to work today! I didn't realize how much time had passed!"

It must work. You rushed to grab your bra and blouse from the floor then ran to the bedroom to get your underwear and skirt slipping them on in a hurry. Zipping up your skirt you ran out of the bedroom clashing against Jonathan. His face turned to stone, his eyes full of anger. In his hand he held a smashed bat-shaped transmitter.

"Is this what you were looking for?" he asked in an icy tone.

"Jonathan, I don't … I don't know what it is," you lied instinctively.

"Liar," resounded threateningly, "don't look at me like that, it's insulting," he quipped.

"Seriously….I'm not lying…" you tried to control your voice but fear quickly took control of your body.

"I was warned that you have a bat on your shoulder," he grabbed your arm painfully and shoved the broken transmitter into your hand hurting it until it bled, "but as it turns out not only do you have, but you can summon him whenever you want."

"It's not like that, I would never do that to you!" you clung to him again.

"You spied on me for him?!"

"No!!!"

"He suspects me?!"

"How would I know!?"

"He knows that I'm the one who murdered those people!!!?" he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders. You stopped fighting the fear, instead you allowed it to fill your mind and body, to spark a bright ray of adrenaline, to illuminate your thoughts and give you direction.

"I don't know!!!" you shouted, "I'm not talking to him! It's not what you think! Like I have a hotline or something!! After all of this, you seriously think I would do something like that to you! Who do you think I am! Fine! I lied! Sue me! Batman gave me a transmitter after the situation on the bridge," you lied, "in case the Joker…."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not lying! I didn't tell you because I didn't want to cause your suspicions! We slept together! You trusted me! How would it look like if I suddenly told you about him!" clinging to him with your whole body, with one hand resting on his chest, in the other you discreetly separated the electronics from the casing with your fingers. "Why would I tell you? I thought it wasn't important! Why would I mention something that wasn't important?" the metal kept slipping in your bloodstained fingers, "I would never do that to you."

For a brief moment, you allowed satisfaction to creep in, allowed the deluded feeling that you had managed to manipulate such a brilliant mind. You let the false hope flicker faintly within you only to disappear instantly when Jonathan, with a quick movement, grabbed you by the throat and pushed you violently against the wall. Your eyes went black as the back of your head hit the wall painfully. The remains of the transmitter scattered to the floor but your thumb held the most important part. You slipped it discreetly behind the waistband of your skirt, faking an attempt to push against the wall.

"You're hurting me," you groaned in pain.

"I thought you liked this, danger, pain and pleasure," a menacing voice sounded low, "my dear I don't want to hurt you. I need you. And you need me. I want to trust you, I want to believe you, but I would be a fool if I did."

"Jonathan, you can trust me," you assured looking deep into his venomously green eyes.

"Perhaps, but you said yourself, I have too much to lose," he replied gruffly, "so let's make one thing clear. If you go to the police, try to notify the authorities in any way I will kill them. I will kill all my patients," he leaned closer to you clasping his hand tighter, "if you run away to Wayne, I swear to you, I'll gas him, all his sons, his butler, the whole fucking tower and everyone who works there. Do you understand?"

Pressure restricted your movements but you nodded.

"Say you understand," he demanded.

"I understand…" you gasped through a clenched throat.

"Good,' he smiled wryly, "and most importantly. If you go to him. If you run to seek help from fucking Batman, I will hurt you. I'll hurt you in ways you can't imagine being hurt. We still have a lot of work to do, Batman won't screw up my plans."

"I would never…"

"Then you have nothing to worry about!" he grinned and let go of you, "put yourself together and gather your things."

"What?"

"Gather your stuff. You wanted to go to work, didn't you?"

"Yes, I have an important thing to do. If I don't show up Bruce will ask questions."

"I understand," he took a soft tone again, "this is not how you planned today."

"Not exactly."

"I'll go with you," he decided.

"They won't let you in," panic lighted your mind again, "it's WayneTech. Security works all day and all night."

"I'm aware," he huffed, "you do what you have to do and I'll wait for you."

"I don't know how long it'll take me."

"It doesn't matter. I'll wait."

"I'll come back after work. Or we can meet at my place."

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard and understood…"

"It won't take you long," his eyes grew dark, "I have something else to show you today."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Maybe, but I thought you might like to see Harley," he smiled gently, "and at the same time meet my friend."

***

Questionable choices. Made as an outcome of the information he had and the conclusions he could derive from them. Grounded on experience and intuition. Coldly calculated yet so seemingly rushed. Guided by his own morality and judgment, always in pursuit of the greater good, but still remaining questionable. He has made too many questionable choices during his crusade. Too many times he had to compromise trusting that in the end, the good would outweigh the bad. Too many times he has allowed his own hubris to create completely opposite results. He worked outside the rules, balancing on the thin line between what was lawful and what was not. He bent the rules of the law to his will to achieve goals he could not achieve within its confines, crossing boundaries more often than he would have liked. His methods sometimes too brutal, his decisions sometimes morally gray, his actions often questionable, still brought results. He pushed the boundaries of what he himself considered rational and acceptable, morally justifiable, as long as he could find that reasoning within himself. The end justified the means, he told himself sometimes, bending yet another moral boundary. No one else could do it. He could. He had to.

Staring at the red dot pulsating against the background of a map of Gotham displayed on one of the huge screens, he couldn't chase away doubts and that growing, persistent feeling that this time his assessment of the situation had failed him. The icon had been pulsing in one place for six hours, pointing to the location of a house in the Upper West Side of Gotham, and with each successive pulse his conviction grew that although he thought otherwise, he didn't have all the information. He watched in concentration, his body barely moving under his controlled breathing, only his eyes kept wandering between the pulsing icon and the interrogation recording that Batgirl uploaded to the system. He played it back minute by minute, frame by frame, memorizing every little detail as the icon blinked with a steady pulse. He put the puzzle pieces together and every smallest nerve in his body, every free thought urged him to take action. Yet he waited. He had to.

The sound of growling motorcycle engines reached him from afar, announcing the return of Nightwing and Red Hood. The early autumn evenings were conducive to their activities, so much more work could be done through the short days. They kept coming but he continued to monitor. In a moment they will stand in front of him, Jason further away as usual, Dick just behind his back, ready to report to him, ready to inform him of what they found or not. Ready to confront him with his morally gray actions. He needed this. He waited.

The metal sound of the elevator heading downstairs informed him that Alfred, too, was aware of their return. Always watchful, always supportive, he appeared ever on time to care for them, no matter if they required a stitch, a warm meal, or just a kind smile and an open mind ready to listen. Alfred did what he was supposed to do. The painful realization of the many ways he had failed struck him. He needed this. He watched.

The sounds of raised conversation, the sound of crockery resounding on a silver tray heralded the inevitable loss of silence, the beginning of a very restless night. It heralded a hail of questions, conclusions, requests, criticisms, ambiguous quips, and stern looks. He needed these. They were his voice of conscience, one he could not drown out. His moral compass which he could not bend to his own will. A voice challenging his decisions, confronting his questionable morals, a guide on a path hidden in the shadows. He needed them. Without them, he would have long since lost himself in his own pride, without them, he would have long since lost sight of the greater cause.

"Safety deposit box on 8th Avenue checked," Dick informed as he threw his Escrima Sticks, gauntlets, and leg holster on the table, "we collected some fingerprints, five hairs, and a cigarette butt. Who would have thought the subway staff would be so concerned with cleanliness!"

"Good job," Bruce muttered staring stubbornly at the pulsating icon.

"I'll put this into the computer for analysis right away," Dick continued, "we can check the docks. There wasn't much action on the 8th."

"I want to check the docks myself."

"Got it," he accepted an energizing green drink from Alfred downing it in almost one sip then continued, "Falcone's people won't talk. They sit locked up in the GCPD. The two of the Joker's men are also sitting quietly, the third is in intensive care at Gotham General."

"Have Gordon's people squeeze them."

"If they won't say anything Falcone will probably pull them out in a few days and then we'll squeeze them!"

"Do you have names?"

"Duh!" Dick grinned standing behind his back and focusing his attention on the computer screen, "Who are we watching?"

"The fact that Falcone made a move against the Joker doesn't foreshadow anything good," he ignored the question, "he's probably trying to get the same information as we do. Find out who used his containers at the docks to store the chemical bombs."

"Hey that's not our tracking signal, the frequency is off," Dick studied the pulsating icon carefully.

"Falcone didn't authorize it. That's not his MO," he continued, patiently waiting for the moment when they wouldn't let him dodge the question, "whoever used his storage at the docks did so without his knowledge or consent creating a new enemy for himself in the process."

"Bruce! What's that signal?" Dick finally looked at him pointing at the computer screen.

"A low-frequency tracking signal emitted by our transmitter," avoiding an answer was acceptable, lying was not.

"Our transmitters emit on a different frequency," Dick measured him with a suspicious glance. As befits a detective, he was not content with a partial truth.

"There is a back door built into the transmitters that allows me to enable tracking without manual activation," the tension hung in the air. In a moment, his voice of conscience will echo through the cave and he will have to confront it.

"Without the knowledge of the person who has it," Dick emphasized.

"Without knowledge."

"Man, that's low…" Jason snorted, observing everything from afar, "even for you."

"Bruce, who are you watching?" Dick repeated the question.

"That's Crane's apartment," Jason replied as he walked closer, "Upper West Side near Robinson Park. But you're not watching Crane are you?" throwing his red helmet on the table next to Dick's equipment he looked at him pensively.

"Man…really!? You turned on the tracking in the transmitter you gave her? Bruce! So not cool!"

"I had no other choice," even in his mind that didn't sound convincing.

"You had no other choice but to start playing stalker?" Jason sneered.

"She's our best lead."

"Then maybe instead of stalking her you should, well, I don't know, talk to her!" Dick huffed with resignation.

"We did talk. Last night. She only confirmed my assumptions about Crane," he replied in a calm voice but anger gnawed at him.

"If she confirmed your assumptions why are you watching her instead of doing something?" Dick questioned his logic further.

"Because he's not sure if his assumptions are actually justified or if he's only seeing them because he wants to see them," Jason noted.

"Which is totally understandable! Bruce, we have absolutely no, no evidence that Crane has anything to do with this, other than the fact that the victims had access to the same drugs that Y/N had access to! Crane is clean as far as we know. The respected head of the psychiatric ward. They might have gotten them from another source. Buy on the black market or on the streets. And even if Crane is connected to it he could be another victim!" Dick's logic was flawless. Indeed, they had no solid trail leading to Crane.

"You're right Dick," Bruce admitted, "I've thought about it myself many times. Still, my gut tells me that he's behind it. Or at least he's partly connected to all this."

"Hasn't it crossed your mind that maybe she's not as much into you as you think?" Jason quipped harshly.

"My feelings toward Y/N have nothing to do with it," he mastered his voice even though the blood in his veins was boiling.

Jason, Dick and Alfred merely exchanged communicative glances acknowledging his words. They knew him well, perhaps better than he knew himself. All three were treading on thin ice.

"Bruce, I know you don't want to hear this, but have you thought that maybe she's playing you?" Dick began cautiously, "think about it. She showed up in town moments after the first attack. Completely accidentally, she met you. You hired her in the company. She got close to you. On top of that the whole situation with Quinzel, the Joker breakout, and the fact that she is somehow always in the middle of things. Maybe you were right to suspect her in the first place? Maybe she's the one you should be investigating, not Crane."

"No."

"What do you really know about her?" Dick continued.

"Enough."

"You still haven't done a background check on her."

"I have no need to."

"Bruce, you're acting ridiculous!"

"That's enough!" Bruce cast an angry glance, "I understand your concerns and doubts but I know what I'm doing. Sometimes a hunch is the only thing…"

"...a detective has to go by," Dick finished for him, "I know, I know. But you have to admit that even for you these hunches are far-fetched."

"Nevertheless, I know I'm not wrong," Bruce countered stubbornly.

"Why don't you investigate her?" Dick asked, risking his anger, " at least you'd be sure she isn't playing you."

"I'm sure."

"Bruce!"

"I said enough!"

"Unbelievable! You are so stubborn! How can you be sure! "

"I am."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Bruce is right to be sure," Jason cut in. Without a word of explanation, he reached into the inner jacket pocket and pulled out a flash drive. "If you want," he said, handing him the flash drive and measuring himself with his burning gaze, "don't look at me like that! Someone had to do it if you stubbornly refused!"

"I had my reasons," he growled through clenched teeth.

"You always have reasons! We don't have to agree with them. Besides, someone has to have your back," Jason smirked and Bruce's gaze softened, "don't you worry. She's clean, more or less. But, not gonna lie, there's a lot of stuff in there raising a whole lot of questions."

"Let's solve one problem before we approach another," Bruce reluctantly accepted the flash drive. Despite his anger, warmth spread inside him at Jason's words.

"Oh, and one more thing. The rest of us didn't know so if you want to lash out, lash out at me."

"I have no such intention," he assured him as his voice softened, "I appreciate that."

"Yeah, whatever," Jason huffed, "you gonna get all teary eyed later. Your red dot is moving."

For the first time in six hours, the pulsating icon began to move. Quite fast relative to the map even though the satellite connection was delayed.

"She's in the car,"" Bruce said more to himself, "she was told to call me when she would be ready. I was supposed to send a driver for her. She was supposed to go back to the office."

"It looks like she's heading toward Wayne Tower," Jason stated.

"I have to go," Bruce snapped to his feet grabbing his cape and cawl from the back of the seat rushing toward the Batmobile.

"Are you going after her?!" Dick called out after him.

"I'm going after Crane," he jumped into the car and before he slammed the door added, "you, both of you, you stay put!"

They didn't get a chance to ask anything more. Bruce started the engine and with a squeal of tires sped through the driveway, disappearing behind a passage hidden under a waterfall.

"Nice work," Dick smirked to his brother as they both watched lights disappearing in the distance.

"No better than your acting," Jason chuckled.

"Out of the two of us, you played your part better,'" he glanced at his brother. Although a smirk of satisfaction crossed Jason's face, his expression betrayed the sincerity of his feelings, "you weren't exactly acting."

"Don't push it, Wing," he snarled but the smile did not disappear from his face.

"Oh my gosh! Now I'm getting all teary eyed!"

"You are an asshole."

"Look who's talking!"

"Whatever, it worked."

"We are so going to hell for this," Dick sighed, "perfect manipulation."

"Someone must have…inspired him. Besides, better hell than his wrath."

Quiet footsteps approached and stopped just behind them. A focused stern gaze shifted from one to the other but there was no anger in it.

"Confronting morally questionable behavior, challenging actions, artificial fostering of doubt in order to enforce and validate decisions," Alfred listed calmly, "and on top of that solidifying the decision by accepting information whose acceptance was previously denied."

"Don't forget about playing on emotions," Dick smirked.

"And about indicting clouded judgment," Jason added.

"Well played gentlemen, well played," Alfred smiled proudly, "how long were you in possession of the files?"

"About a month," Jason admitted.

"You're planning to follow Miss Y/N?"" Alfred continued.

"Noooo, absolutely not!" Dick denied.

"Alfred! How can you accuse us of such a thing!" Jason sassed.

"There are some steaks left in the kitchen from dinner. Prepared with roasted potatoes and asparagus," he informed them before heading away toward the elevator, "in case you'd be interested in a substantial meal before you head back into town."

"So are we going after her or not?" Jason smirked as soon as the elevator started moving up.

"Gee, I'd eat a steak," Dick grimaced, "I suddenly feel hungry."

"We'll grab a burger on the way."

"You buying?"

"Fine."

"Motors?"

"Duh!"

"He'll murder us if he finds out," Dick's typical reasonable attitude returned.

"With emphasis on the 'if."

"If he does, I'll use you as a human shield!" Dick grinned.

"I'll call him father and that'll do it," Jason quipped, "besides, maybe the power of love will heal him and we won't have to worry about him finding out. Let's go!"

*

Gotham belonged to them. They loved it and it loved them. They learned to love this city years ago, when as young boys they donned green and red for the first time, each in their own time, to stand with the Dark Knight against the evil that consumed the city from within. Batman made them see Gotham as it was. Full of violence, poverty, injustice, suffering and yet filled with good people, people they were meant to protect. Now, years later, they saw most the impact they had on the people of Gotham. They saw kids not much older than them when they started, painting their symbols on walls and sidewalks, proudly wearing T-shirts with their symbols printed on their chests, saw smiling faces and sighs of admiration, they saw gratitude and warmth, inspiration, the wish to be like them, hope. Batman was a symbol of unyielding will and strength, a Dark Protector emerging from the shadows bringing relief and fear in equal measure. Robin was hope, a ray of optimism illuminating the darkness that seemed to cover the hearts of Gotham's citizens. The years passed and although none of them wore the Robin symbol on their chests anymore as they used to, they saw the change they brought. The citizens of Gotham idealized them. They idealized the heroes who protected them. But they knew better. They knew that their lives were far from ideal. They knew that none of them would entrust such a fate to anyone. They knew that just as they had brought hope into the hearts of Gotham's people, they had lightened the darkness in their own. A perfect symbiosis.

Love. To the city, to its people, to the mission, to the man who raised them, brought with it much joy but even more suffering. Death seemed to follow them, every step they took, waiting for an opportunity to take one of them or someone close to them. Take away again. They both bore on their hearts and bodies the countless scars that love had given them. And although some of them seemed to never heal they kept going. They never stopped fighting.

Sometimes, when the nights were unusually calm, they wandered around the city laughing at their own traumas. They stopped at alleys where they had overestimated their abilities earning painful injuries. They pointed out roofs that failed them resulting in broken limbs. They mocked the sewers in which they had to dive. They searched the buildings' walls for holes left by bullets that nearly took their lives. They recalled all the wounds, the stabbings, the blows, the broken ribs, the brain concussions as if bidding which one received more for his love. But the answer always remained the same. For on particularly quiet nights, they would sometimes sit on the roof, side by side, as they opened bottles of cool beer they allowed themselves to be silent. To be silent and feel the weight of their own experiences that rested on their shoulders. To feel the pain and anger they didn't want to feel. Sometimes the anger surfaced. Sometimes the silent Gotham took in the stillness of their cries, their anger, their angst as the wind took away the curses they had cast. Sometimes Gotham reached out its invisible hand to wipe away the tears that began to flow when words failed to provide solace. Sometimes it watched in reflection as despite their mutual love they exchanged blows, as if that would soothe their suffering. But the pain didn't go away. They merely learned to live with it. They had to.

Rushing through the city streets, they felt unusually good. The brothers they should have been all along, but whom death had not allowed to be. Partners who trusted each other with their lives despite the layers of grief each held. Understanding, brotherly love and a sense of mission drove them. Dick sometimes looked at his brother covertly, thinking Jason couldn't see. But Jason always saw. He saw the uncertainty and concern in his gaze, saw how even though Dick seemed to always smile, there was always worry lurking in his eyes. He saw the burden he carried on his back. Responsibility for him, for Tim, for Damian, for Bruce, for Alfred, for his beloved Barbara, for the whole city, and for each citizen individually. So much like Bruce and yet so different from him. While Bruce masked his worries with stoicism Dick masked them with humor. Always ready to be there for Jason when he needed it. Always ready to take his worries and embrace them. Always ready to be for him who Bruce couldn't or didn't want to be. Although Jason never told him he believed Dick knew how lost he would have been without him.

Gotham watched them silently as they rushed after the pulsing red light on their radars. It seemed to hear their thoughts. Bruce had given them everything he had but left nothing for himself. In his own way, he had given them love, care, and nurturing but had not allowed himself to receive it back. One of them and yet so distant. He taught them but refused to accept the teachings they wanted to offer back. Despite the passage of years, he continued to be locked in his pain and his trauma. He had so much compassion for others but none for himself. The thought simmered in both of them that perhaps the time had come to change this. That perhaps this time he would allow himself to put down the walls he had built around him and finally truly live. They had to help him. Even though he had let them down more than once they loved him like a father, like a brother. They shared a unique bond that could not be destroyed by anger, grief, hatred, and even death. They both knew that Bruce's life lacked the love they could not give him. It lacked a ray of optimism and the warmth of kindness to dispel the darkness of his soul. They wanted to change that. They had to.

"Slow down and get into stealth drive," Dick ordered Jason as he monitored the approaching dot. Leaving Bristol and entering Grand Avenue they were getting close to Wayne Tower. He pulled a little ahead to scan the cars and license plates with his eyes. "Sweetie, I could use your direction," he said into the intercom knowing full well that across town Barbara was running all the numbers through the computer.

"GTH S682," Oracle spoke in his earpiece, "a black BMW registered to none other than Jonathan Crane."

Jason only changed lanes passing several unsuspecting drivers to scan the vehicle with cameras hidden in his helmet.

"Two people inside," he informed, "Crane is driving. What the hell is she up to?"

"Or what the hell is he up to?" Dick added.

"I'm pulling over to the aisles by Wayne Tower, I'll see you on the roof!" Jason reported before taking a sharp right turn to disappear between buildings.

"You be careful alright?"

"Always," Dick smiled and followed his brother.

*

Your mind seemed to rush through each successive thought trying to decide the best course of action as the huge Wayne Tower blurred in the distance. Your body tensed and relaxed at the same time, ready to run, ready for it to take charge. Mind full of thoughts and empty at the same time presenting you with endless scenarios and possible outcomes. You could get out of the car and rush towards the GCPD building. It wasn't that far away. You could rush into the police station and tell them everything. Crane wouldn't have followed you. But what if he would follow? What if he had declared you insane? How far would you actually be able to run before he caught you? What would he do to you if he found out that you had been lying all along? Would you end up like Miss Reed? Locked in an endless spiral of your own nightmares until your mind collapses under their weight. Powerless.

You could enter the building, go to your office, as you normally would, and call the police. But again, would they believe you? And if they would, would they manage to stop him before he escaped? And if he escaped would he follow you? Would he take revenge for your betrayal, for your lies? Kidnap you and make you his perfect patient? Would you be able to defend yourself? Would he be able to protect you? Would the police investigate him? Would they investigate his apartment building, find the people he was holding? What was behind the locked door? Would you lead them into a trap? Into death?

You could go to your office but what if Bruce was there? What if he was working late? What if he saw you and, with concerned eyes, demanded an explanation? You could lie, but could you lie that well? Would he believe you? Or would you break into a million pieces while telling him the truth simultaneously putting him in danger? Him, his sons, and everyone at Wayne Enterprises. He would probably want to help you, that's who he was. Would you push him away or, by accepting his help, would you lead him into a trap? Was Jonathan really capable of doing that? The risk you couldn't take.

"I made a horrible mistake…" a single thought broke through the chaos in your head. You had to do something. "What if…" a thrill ran through your body again at the thought of Arkham. At the thought of a mysterious friend who was able to help you, maybe answer your questions. Who was he? Did he know the truth? Was the unquenchable need to find answers worth risking your own life? How much was your life really worth? Surely less than the lives of innocent people, of police officers, of Gotham's protectors. It was unimportant. It was worth the risk.

Jonathan's car stopped in the driveway and his gaze returned to you. Intense, piercing, analyzing your every reflex, your every breath, distrustful.

"I'll do my best to wrap things up as quickly as possible," you smiled at him, reaching for the door handle. You hesitated. He had to believe you. Before you pulled the handle, you turned back to him again, and kissed him deeply. "I'll be back soon."

*

"Shifting weight, clenched fists, hunched head…. she's ready to run, hurt, and angry" Jason watched Y/N as she calmly walked towards the entrance of the building, "tension in the jaw, tensed shoulders, distracted look…."

"Looks like a hostage situation," Dick assessed as if hearing his thoughts.

"Yup!"

"She's hurt…" he added zooming in on her.

"Dude, I can see that!"

"Sorry sorry, habit," he continued his observation as Y/N disappeared behind a closed door.

"Crane doesn't seem to be leaving," Jason noted, "maybe we could…squeeze him..."

"Hey doc, aren't you the one attacking people, messing with their heads and causing their deaths?" Dick sneered.

"Yeah yeah, I know…we have no proof. Damn, you are just like him! He too is all about proof!"

"We gotta wait," Dick decided as he turned on the radar on the small screen built into his gauntlets.

"What you got?

"This tracking signal doesn't allow for spatial localization but given the placement, it looks like she's in the western part of WayneTech."

"Yeah good fucking job detective!"

"I'm working with what I've got!"

"Are we going in?" Jason asked clearly impatient.

"Under what pretext?"

"We'll figure something out."

"No," Dick decided, "we wait and follow."

"Booooring."

*

"Miss Y/L/N! What brings you here at such a late hour?!" the security guard stood up from behind his desk greeting you surprised. The first obstacle in your way.

"No rest for the weary, Cliff," you smiled brightly, "I have one thing to check and I won't sleep until I do. I won't be long."

You didn't wait for his acknowledgment. Throwing him another beautiful smile, you pressed the elevator call button and disappeared behind the door. Thoughts kept racing forcing you to make quick decisions. "I need to know…" without hesitating any longer you pressed the -4 button instead of the 76 on which the WayneTech department was located praying that the refreshed clearance would allow you to access the R&D.

It worked. A feeling of relief instantly spread through your body as the red LED of the electronic lock turned green upon reading your palm scan. You were in. "Gotta work fast…" you pulled the barely holding transmitter from behind your waistband and ran toward the workbench. Light. A magnifying glass. "Where the fuck are the screwdrivers!" Multimeter. Soldering iron. Isopropyl alcohol. Searching through countless cabinets and drawers, you found the necessary tools. You had never been here before and the huge space did not make it easy for you to work quickly. "Damn, hope no one catches me…" you threw off your jacket and sat down in full concentration to work.

You quickly cleaned the electronics of particles and sweat by spraying it with alcohol and gently wiping the lint-free swab. You took a closer look at the connections on the small board, carefully separating the remnants of the plastic from the actual chip then, carefully picking it up with a tweezers, lifted it under the magnifying glass. "It's WayneTech…" surprise triggered further questions that you didn't have time to ponder. You looked at the miniature circuit board, at the spot where the switch had previously been soldered, "Okay…this should be easy…" You traced the connections which like tiny threads stretched across the green board, assessed the damage, determined the power supply component, the antenna, and the transmitter, all so small that the whole thing was no bigger than a fingernail. One wrong move could have damaged it irreparably. "I need a way to turn it on…" You quickly looked around for anything you could solder to the board. There was nothing in reach of sight or hand and R&D was huge. Minutes were passing. "Gotta work around this…". With a few skilled moves, and a bit of wire, you bypassed the turn-on system, creating a short circuit directly between the antenna and the power source. You reached for a multimeter and, to your relief, read a steady pulsing signal. "It's working!" you smiled satisfied, "okay, what now?" Pockets were not a good solution. Hiding behind the waistband of the skirt was too risky. Sewing under the blouse? "Where the fuck am I going to find threads!" you frantically searched through the drawers. "Swallow?" you squirmed at the thought, "I need to make sure that no matter what happens I'll have the transmitter on me…" You opened one of the drawers and pulled out the heat-sealing foil. "Ooookkaaaayyyyy…" another thought lit up brightly in your head. You cut out a bit of foil and sealed it around the transmitter with a lighter. You rolled up the sleeve of your blouse, unwrapped the bloody bandage, and looked at the fractured wound on your arm. "That's gonna hurt…" Gritting your teeth, you slipped the transmitter deep into the wound then wrapped the bandage again. "That's gotta work…"

You quickly washed your bloody hands, cleaned up erasing all traces of your presence and, throwing your jacket over your shoulders again, you moved towards the exit, convinced that whatever happened, he would find you.

***

Eight minutes and thirty-two seconds. That's how long it took Bruce to assess the situation before he fired a grappling hook toward the roof to lower himself onto the balcony of Crane's third-floor apartment. One high-frequency emitter scrambled the cameras. The temporary disruption of the streetlights darkened the surroundings. People in the building across the street were slowly winding down their day. In the darkness, they wouldn't be able to see him anyway. He won't have to worry about the Crane's building tenants either. The tenant on the second floor was asleep in an armchair, the residents on the first floor were too busy with television to pay attention to what was happening outside the window. He scanned his surroundings one last time making sure Crane wasn't home, then slid down on the line from the roof to the balcony and, loosening the hinge of the balloon door, stepped inside.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. The normal apartment of a normal person. But his eyes saw more, they saw things that no one else saw, all it took was to look closely. He pulled out a tiny spotlight from the pocket of his utility belt and began to investigate. "She was here, she must have left recently," he determined, smelling the still lingering scent of her perfume in the air. And something else. He quickly reached into his belt for a filtering mask.

"Batman!" Oracle's voice rang out in his earpiece, "your scanners are detecting increased concentrations of chemicals."

"I am aware."

"Trimethyl, dopamine, yohimine, carbogen, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, L-34-dihydroxyphenylalanine, nitrous oxide, in barely detectable doses."

"Sufficient," he directed the light toward the ceiling, the air vents, toward the air conditioning unit on the wall, "Batman out." He disconnected the link as he entered the kitchen. Scattered cups, knocked down cutlery, coffee spilled on the countertop, "they were scuffling…" He switched the flashlight to ultraviolet, "fingerprints, his and hers…" he took a close look at the countertop, "saliva…" he trailed the substance smeared on the tabletop, "no…it's not saliva." His heart pounded harder but he merely took a deep breath to calm his feelings. This was an investigation. Just like any other. He had to treat it like any other case.

He ran his eyes further down the countertop, towards the floor, in the darkness the shiny plastic of scattered buttons glinted and between them something else, "blood…" he assessed as he touched the dried sustenance. "Someone was bleeding…" he ran his eyes over the floor, "a little bit, small wound…. a cut? maybe…" he pushed away another thought as he followed the single drops of blood. One pointed deeper into the apartment, while the other toward the exit. He examined both. The one by the door was fresher, "still red, still liquid…the recent one," he assessed and moved deeper into the apartment. Still staring at the floor, with the light carefully scanning every bit of it, he tried to control the guilt that was building up inside him. "Someone fell," he stopped at a fingerprint on the polished floor, "or stumbled…" He ran his eyes over the floor, reading the footprints in a wide pattern moving away from the kitchen. "She pushed him away…" he deduced, "but he came back to her…and then…" he stopped at the returning footprints. There was only one but a drop of blood revealed to him the sequence of events. "He carried her..." he analyzed, heading for the bedroom. Furniture moved aside, a button that must have fallen off later, he stopped and crouched down lifting "her hair…" from the floor. The traces were clear and led in one direction. He hesitated, feeling a tightness in his heart and awakening anger. He didn't want to step closer but had no choice. He tried to stop the invading images, unsuccessfully. It was personal. It was painful. The picture of his poor decisions based on a misjudgment of the situation spread out before him in all the folds of the creased bed sheets, in the smell of sweaty bodies, in the scent of her perfume still wafting in the air, in the color of her hair buried in the folds, in the traces of bodily fluids still reflecting on the bed. He had made a horrible mistake.

He was about to move away when his attention caught a small gas container hidden by the folds of the quilt. "You fool! You stupid sorry arrogant fuck!" he scolded himself, bringing the canister to eye level and releasing the remaining gas that was still trapped inside. "I should have told her…I should have done something…" he clenched his hand crushing the metal under his fingers. His cowl immediately displayed the chemical composition. "I should have stayed away…" Trimethyl, dopamine, yohimine, carbogen, 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate, L-34-dihydroxyphenylalanine, nitrous oxide in a much stronger dose. "Enough to induce a state of psychosis…" he assessed and shoved the container into his belt pocket for evidence.

He knew all he needed to know and more. Gritting his teeth angrily, he headed for the door but a glint of shiny plastic caught his attention just before he left. He stopped and crouched down picking up the pieces of the transmitter he had given her. "Just the plastic…no chip…" he ran his eyes over the floor and the wall next to it, "blood…" barely discernible, smeared as if by a hand on dark paint. He straightened up tracing the wall, "he hurt her…" he ran his fingers over a barely defined circular indentation on the wall. "At some point, he discovered a transmitter…. probably after … he got violent…. he hurt her…hurt her hand with the sharp edges of the plastic…. he slammed her against the wall…" his eyes read the events as clearly as if he had witnessed them. "I should have stayed away. People around me only get hurt…"

"Where are you?" he returned to the main room to pick up the last trace, "did he take a tracker with him to lead me away from here? Where are you Y/N?" with a keen eye he noticed a single drop of blood closer to the entrance door. The simple lock posed no problem for him. He took out tools from his belt and before another painful thought entered his mind he opened the door to follow a trail further.

Footprints invisible to the bare eye glowed brightly in the ultraviolet light on the dark floor. They headed downstairs. They stopped at a door on the second floor, then at a door on the first. "Why?" he stopped to listen, "why did you stop here?" The traces led further down toward the basement, and he followed to stand a moment later in front of the metal door behind which they disappeared. "An electronic combination lock… you think this will hide your secrets…" he scoffed under his breath directing an ultraviolet light at the keypad. Bright glowing fingerprints revealed the code to him. The door gave way with a quiet creak as he stepped inside.

The clear laboratory space was all the evidence that he needed to move against him. Medical and chemical equipment, a bed with safety straps, a pressurized gas tank "you sick fuck…" he cursed in his mind, sweeping his gaze around his surroundings and stopping it at a small cooler filled with blood samples. "Willson, Brown, Allen, Walters, Scott, Phillips, Cambell, Carter…" he turned each one with his fingers to read the labels, "Y/L/N." A cold shiver ran down his spine, "the names of all his victims…" He snatched Y/N's blood vials and tucked them safely in his belt. The police couldn't find them here.

He was about to call Gordon when another door on the opposite side stopped him. Heavy like the previous one, also secured with an electronic lock. "Please don't be there…" he pointed the blue light at the keypad and followed the fingerprints. The door gave way, revealing to him the sight of a complete nightmare.

Four human-sized cages constructed of transparent plexiglas hooked up to air circulators, each of them connected to gas tanks. Four cages and four more victims in various stages of decline. The first one recoiled in fear and huddled in a corner at the sight of him hiding his head in his knees. The man, in his forties, sat on the transparent floor in his own feces sobbing like a child. From his cries, he could understand one word, "Scarecrow." The other, a woman in a catatonic state, with her hair torn out and her nails broken, laid on the floor with her eyes wide open, the walls of her cage covered with blood. She didn't even react to the sight of him. "Please don't be here…" he repeated in his mind as he approached the third cage. The man hidden in the corner of the cage upon seeing him sprang to his feet and ran closer.

"Batman!!! Oh god, Batman!!! Get me out of here!!! Get me out!!!" he slammed his fists against the plexiglass.

"Calm down and stay quiet," he ordered, "what's your name?"

"Matt Bower," the man answered.

"Drug dealer working for Maroni."

"Yeah, fuck that," he admitted then began pounding again, "get me out!!!"

"Quiet!" Batman ordered in a grave tone.

"Is he here?" panicked eyes began to look around, "do you hear him?"

"Who is he?"

"Scarecrow…." he replied cowering in terror, "Scarecrow…."

A high-pitched scream of terror tore the silence from the cage next door at the sound of his words. A short scream that pierced and died down into a stifled gasp.

"I'll get you out," Batman repeated once more before heading to the last cage.

Child. A girl no older than twelve. Sitting on the floor covered with crayons. She looked towards him with empty eyes. The drawings in colors of brown, red, and green depicted the nightmarish image of the Scarecrow.

"Did you see my brother and my dad?" she asked.

He knelt by the cage and, suppressing his anger and sadness, asked.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know…" she replied, still staring dully at him, "I heard them scream."

Ignoring the man's pleading calls, ignoring the child's cries and screams, ignoring the sobs and wails, he stormed out of the room heading for the apartments above. More evidence of his own misjudgments opened up before him as he rushed into the apartment on the first floor and then the second. He knelt by the woman, cursed silently, and called Gordon.

"Gordon. 183 Harlow Avenue," he informed upon hearing the signal, "get your squad and send paramedics. Chemical hazard. Wear a gas mask," he instructed while measuring her pulse.

"What is it, Batman?"

"I've found him," he directed the light into her eyes in an attempt to elicit pupil reactions, "it's Crane. "

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Fuck! You were right to suspect him."

"Gordon, we have seven more victims."

"Seven! Sick bastard! I'm on my way!"

A quiet beeping in the earpiece informed him of the attempted call. He hung up Gordon only to hear Dick's voice in his intercom.

"Hey B. Sorry to cut into your brooding time but your little red dot just left Wayne Tower and she's heading toward Arkham."

"I've told you…"

"Yeah, you told us, we did what was right. Get over it and let's move on," Jason cut in, "they are together."

"Crane is with her. Look's like a hostage situation," Dick explained.

"Stay on them and do not engage!" he ordered sternly, "Crane is the killer. I've found seven more victims in his building."

"Fucking hell…" Jason's cursing almost drowned in the sound of the starting engine.

"DO NOT ENGAGE!" he repeated storming out of the apartment, "I am on my way."

*

The last time you walked through the eerie corridors of Arkham Asylum you hid your face under the hood observing everything stealthily. Disturbed even though you claimed not to, frightened even though you insisted otherwise, you absorbed the gothic surroundings of the psychiatric hospital around you. Now walking through the same corridors with your face uncovered and your head held high, you couldn't help but recall how safe you felt back then. The safety that the dark figure filling the space next to you brought. The gray and green illuminated time and again by pale flickering lights seemed less threatening than now. The creaking bars and metal doors didn't bring shivers to your skin like they did now. The echo of heavy boots seemed to muffle the screams, thumps, and strange growls coming from afar. The darkness that protected you, shielded you from the nightmares hidden in the walls, was now nowhere to be found and you could only pray that he was following your signal.

"Who is this friend you mentioned?" you asked Jonathan matching your step with his and taking control of your nerves.

"Friend is perhaps too big of a word," he replied, "more of a collaborator. A professor and scientist just like me."

"Like you?"

"Not in the literal sense of the word," he corrected himself, "our respective specialties are quite different." The sign Holding Cells blurred at the end of the corridor but Jonathan only took a right turn heading to another wing. "The professor specializes in the study of meta-genes," he continued, "I'm sure he'll be able to help you more than I can."

"So I am a meta-human…" you whispered quietly.

"Looks like it," he confirmed, "I admit it surprises me as much as it surprises you but it surely explains your unnatural resistance to my toxins."

"I'd like to see Harleen," you turned with him into the right corridor toward a large metal door. The sign above them read Intensive Treatment Center, "if possible of course."

"All in time."

*

"Stay on them and do not engage," Jason huffed as he parked the motorcycle next to Dick in the shade between the trees, "who the fuck does he think he is?!"

"Chill, you gotta trust him a bit."

"I know B is fucked in the head when it comes to endangering anyone but for fuck sake! Maybe he could trust us a bit for a change! How long have we been doing this?"

"He probably knows something we don't," Dick held out his hand toward the cell tower and fired a small scrambler, "they're heading toward the Intensive Treatment Center," he added while glancing at the GPS then with a nimble flip he jumped over the fence landing softly on the ground.

"My point exactly! He doesn't tell us everything and expects us to blindly follow orders!" Jason shot a hook toward the tower, soared over the fence, and landed next to him with a heavy thud, "I get that he doesn't fully trust me, but what's his problem with you!"

"The same as always Jay, the same as always," Dick sighed heavily, "in his head he probably thinks he's doing everything to protect us and is making the best possible decisions."

"Fucking hypocrite," Jason crouched near the ground avoiding the spotlight then fired another disruptor cutting off the power source darkening the surroundings, "Intensive treatment has a back entrance."

"I know it does!"

"Then let's go!"

*

Batman could not wait for Gordon. The situation was becoming tense, and time was working against him. Still, he had to. Every muscle, every thought of his tore toward Arkham, rushing after the distinct high-frequency signal he started receiving. The pieces of the transmitter he found on the floor told him it had been destroyed and yet she had repaired it. She was a hostage and she knew it. She wanted to guide him. "Why didn't she go to the police? Why didn't she lock herself in her office and wait for me? Why didn't she call the cops?" The questions came one after another but they had to wait.

He didn't free the people. He was alone, there were seven of them, and he didn't know what chemicals Crane had drugged their minds with or how they would react. All he did was cut the power to the air conditioning in all the rooms and block all the vents with glue bombs. He had to go. Now! But red and blue lights and an incoming distant sound of sirens stopped him.

Police cars and two ambulances came to an abrupt halt outside the building illuminating the darkness of the dim street as he slid on a line from the balcony landing right in front of the officers charging toward the door. Gordon was among them. He stopped abruptly and cursed quietly as he blocked his way.

"Batman! I've almost shot you!" he threw out angrily lowering his gun.

"You won't need a gun. Crane is not here."

"Then where the hell is he!"

"Nightwing and Red Hood are following him. He has a hostage," he informed him.

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter," he cut short, "in the apartment on the second floor you'll find a woman in a catatonic state, in the apartment on the first floor two men. In the basement, a chemistry lab and four victims in various states of psychosis."

"The sick bastard has turned the whole building into a fucked-up version of a clinic!"

"Gordon," Batma drew his attention with a brief pause, "there is a child down there," he emphasized.

"My god…"

"I've cut off the supply of toxins but the building is still contaminated. Proceed with caution."

"What about you?"

"I'm going after Crane."

*

"Doctor Crane! What an unexpected visit!" a bald short professor in a perfectly smooth lab coat looked at you from behind the round frames and, rising from his desk, greeting you. "I do hope that everything is in order with the latest delivery I provided."

"Yes, everything is in the perfect order. The delivery is performing outstandingly," he shook his hand, "that's not why I'm here." He extended his hand to you, bringing you to his side. You stepped up confidently even though your instincts screamed to run away. "Professor, please meet my friend and assistant Y/N, Y/L/N," he introduced you, "Y/N, Professor Hugo Strange."

You shook the hand he extended to you and a cold current of energy coursed through your entire body as he slid his glasses down to the tip of his nose and looked at you closely. Images flashed before your open eyes, the stark cold white, the painfully blinding light, the excruciating pain of a paralyzed body. You swallowed your fear and smiled kindly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you."

"I assure you that the pleasure is mine," the professor smiled slyly.

"Professor, if I remember correctly you have the ability to examine the genetic code to determine the meta-gene in a potential carrier," Jonathan inserted, situating himself discreetly in front of you, "I was hoping you could help us. As part of a mutually beneficial collaboration."

"Of course Doctor," he did not take his eyes off you, "follow me my dear. There is nothing to fear," he assured, directing you to leave the office.

*

Jason and Dick kept sneaking toward the back entrance of Intensive Treatment. Avoiding the light, they jammed another camera, crossing deftly the expanses of land surrounding the Arkham compound. They passed the Visitors Center and Medical Center with ease, incapacitated the two security guards overseeing the entrance to the Penitentiary, and, disabling more cameras, made their way toward the passage between the buildings to the Intensive Treatment Center. Leaping over the walls surrounding the building, they kept low to the ground, knowing well that on the low rooftops, they would be easily spotted. They found a hidden passageway leading to the back of the island that Batman had created years ago and, disappearing into the shadows, proceeded to the back of the building. Two ambulances stood in an open driveway hidden in the naturally forming rocks. They both shot their hooks upward to take position on the ledge above.

"Okay, six guards," Jason immediately proceeded to scan their surroundings, "two each at the ambulances and two at the entrance."

"Remind me, since when do paramedics carry guns?"

"Something smells fishy here…"

"Yeah, your breath…" a quiet sneer reached them from behind followed by a short figure nimbly hopping onto the ledge beside them.

"What the hell are you doing here!" Jason growled as soon as Robin crouched down next to him.

"Our job," Damian replied gruffly, "apparently you two cannot. We've been following you since you left the Batcave."

"We?" Dick's eyebrow arched questioningly. He didn't have to wait long for an answer. With a gentle whiff of air, Tim landed next to him and smiled apologetically.

"You should cover your six better," he chuckled.

"How did you?"

"Really, Nightwing, that shouldn't even be a question," Damian huffed, "it really wasn't difficult to track your signal, her signal, add two to two and deduce what you were up to."

"You should not get involved," even though Jason's face was hidden under a red helmet Tim could imagine all too easily his furious look.

"Cos why exactly?" Tim questioned, "what gives you the right to decide what we can and can't do?"

"We're older and more experienced!" Jason growled.

"And that's why following you was so easy…" Damian taunted.

"You little shit!"

"Whoa, guys! Chill the fuck down!" Dick jumped in between the brothers.

"Yes Hood, chill the fuck down."

"Robin! Language!"

"Guys? Since when are paramedics allowed to carry guns?" Tim drew their attention back to the task at hand.

"I don't think they're paramedics," Dick countered, "B is on his way. You better scram before he gets here."

"And let his wrath fall on you two dumbasses?" Tim smirked, "no way!"

"There is no need for you two to get involved."

"I'm gonna blame this on Damian," he grinned, "what excuse do you two have?"

"She's moving!" Damian cut in observing the dot displayed on his GPS, "are we going in or not? There are six of them and four of us."

"I'm not even gonna break a sweat."

"No. Not yet," Dick decided.

"Wait. Why?"

"Think about it," Tim began to explain, "she went to Wayne Tower for a reason, she turned on the transmitter at Wayne Tower. "

"She wanted us to follow her…"

"I'm pretty sure she wanted B to follow her," Jason quipped, "but Red is right."

"You guys are so boring," Damian threw his hood over his head and perched on the edge.

"Let her do her thing," Dick squatted next to him, "she's got good insticts."

"I'm pretty sure you're just doing what Father told you to do."

"Shut up."

"Of course, you are following orders like a good little soldier."

"Robin, stop."

"Maybe you could learn something for a change?" Jason snapped, "what is it with you kid! Always arguing, always tauting. Either you're part of the team or you're not."

"That is reach coming from you Hood."

"Hey, not cool!" Tim snapped.

"Zip it, Red! I don't need you defending me!"

"All of you zip it!" Dick fumed, "fuck! It's always like that! That's why I didn't tell you! We always fight!"

"Cos you are keeping us in the dark!" Tim frowned, "you're just like him!"

"Maybe he has a reason to keep you in the dark!" Jason growled, "maybe he preferred to keep you guys out of it. Away from his anger."

"Bullshit! Don't give me that sorry excuse that it's to protect us," Damian snarled.

"Like I said, just like B."

"Can we for fuck sake focus on a job and argue later!"? Dick threw his hands dramatically in the air, "if you keep yapping like that we'll have to get into confrontation! You gonna blow it all!"

"I'm fine with that," Tim shrugged.

"So am I," Damian stretched his shoulder muscles.

"I hope they send reinforcements, I could use some workout," Jason slammed his fist into his palm.

"Not yet."

*

You were walking toward the trap. You felt it. Overconfident, overly naive, you thought you had everything under control but you were terribly mistaken. The gray corridor walls seemed to close in around you as you followed them deeper into the Intensive Treatment Ward. Your heart quickened with each step you took, with each dark room you passed hiding the unknown. Guards passed you without paying any attention. Some with guns at their belts, others with holsters under their arms. With each passing minute, Arkham began to resemble increasingly more a prison than a hospital. The lights grew dimmer and more sparsely placed. There were no doctors, no nurses, just you and the two psychopaths at your side. Every smallest part of your body was raring to run. An energy that was beginning to feel familiar seemed to fill your every muscle, energize your every nerve, ready to attack them and throw yourself into flight. Would the guards open fire? Were they perhaps working for them? Where was Batman? Had the transmitter stopped working? You were alone. On your own. Way over your head. No one was coming to help you.

"Doctor," you began, turning to Strange.

"Professor," he corrected you.

"I'm sorry, professor. What exactly is it that you do?"

"The discovering and researching of meta-genes," he replied in a low voice.

"And more precisely?" you pouted, "please forgive my curiosity, but this is all completely new to me. And I'll admit that Doctor Crane surprised me by bringing me here," you prayed that your voice sounded most natural.

"Y/N, it's amusing how you feign sweet ignorance," a devious smile twisted his lips, "but false naiveté doesn't suit you. We both know what you're capable of."

Your heart leapt to your throat as your legs weakened beneath you.

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

Two stocky guards suddenly emerged from the room beside you. Standing behind, they blocked your escape route.

"Strange? What is this?" Jonathan frowned.

"Doctor Crane, I understand that you are completely unaware of who you have brought me here," without looking at him he reduced the distance between you, "but believe me, you have my gratitude. Mine and my associates."

Blue sparks danced across your arms as the air around you picked up and began to swirl. Panic surged in an uncontrollable wave, adrenaline filled your body, lighted your mind. The energy inside you demanded to be released. It demanded a fight. The game was over. You were ready. You had to act now. There was no way back. You had to fight. You quickly extended your hands in front of you and everything died down. The metal collar clenched tightly around your neck.

"Amusing…" Strange smirked.

"What is this! What are you doing!" Jonathan jumped between the two of you meeting Strange's angry gaze.

"I warn you, Crane, if you know what's good for you, you'll get out of my way," strong hands brutally grabbed your shoulders and forced you to walk. You yanked. To no avail.

"Where are you taking her? Strange! Release her!"

Strange only stopped abruptly and looked at Jonathan furiously.

"You've had your chance, Crane," he started sternly, "we offered you a part in the project. You refused."

"Cadmus…" Jonathan whispered, "you are working for Cadmus?"

"Not for, with."

"The project was never initiated. I would know."

"That's what we wanted you to think."

"Jonathan! What is going on!" you struggled but the guard's hands clenched tightly on your shoulders, "let me go you stupid fuck!" They ignored you. "Let go of me!!!" you shouted.

"The lab… memory lapses, buried trauma," Jonathan looked at you as if suddenly everything made sense, "you did this."

"Congratulations on your genius," Strange snarled, "Miss Y/L/N escaped us," his gaze returned to you again, "she escaped leaving carnage behind her. I assure you my dear, a second time will not happen."

"I will kill you you son of a bitch!" you shouted yanking fiercely, "I will kill you!!!"

"I won't let you take her away."

"You will," Strange stated, "unless you want to say goodbye to the constant supply of test subjects."

"Jonathan you can't!!!" the guard grabbed you around the waist and lifted you from the ground. You kicked and wrestled your legs trying to break free.

"So?" Strange asked.

Jonathan answered nothing. Held tightly in the waist, you could only watch as he moved aside letting them pass. You shouted but he didn't respond. You cursed him but he remained unmoved. His emotionless face and cool eyes betrayed not a shadow of regret.

"I will kill you sick pathetic son of a bitch!!!!!" you shouted into the darkness as Jonathan disappeared into the depths of the halls, "I will kill you!!!"

*

The exit door opened with a slam filling the space with vicious curses. Y/N squirmed and yanked herself out of the grip of the guard who headed unfazed toward the ambulance.

"What the hell!" Tim rose to his feet.

"It's Strange!" Damian added.

"When did he get into Arkham?" Jason asked.

"And how did we miss that!" Dick stood up and instantly assessed the situation, "Red, Hood you take the right side. Robin, you are with me."

They didn't need anything else. Batarangs flew with a swish cutting through the air as they jumped from hiding and attacked. Perfectly in tune with each other, they didn't need words, they didn't need instructions, they just acted. Red Robin attacked the guards at the ambulance, with a quick two kicks stripped them of their weapons as Red Hood rendered them unconscious. Nightwing attacked from the roof of the second car, snatching the weapons from the guards' hands and disarming them as Robin slipped from under the vehicle, undercutting them and incapacitating them with two quick punches.

"Take your fucking hands of me!!!" she shouted but her voice drowned in a series of gunshots. They dodged them swiftly. Nightwing flipped and jumped off the car hiding behind the hood from the flying death. Robin with a glide hid on the side as Red Hood, throwing out several smoke bombs, fired a grappling hook into the air disappearing into the shadows. Red Robin attacked, using the smoke screen he threw two Birdarangs straight into the barrels of the rifles. They exploded with a blast breaking the hail of bullets only for a moment.

"MOVE YOU FOOLS!" Strange commanded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nightwing spotted reinforcements emerging from the building. Ten more rushed outside and began unloading magazines in their direction.

"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED HOOD?!" Nightwing shouted into space.

"NOW IT'S A PARTY!"

"LET'S DANCE BITCHES!"

The air shrieked. The smoke thickened as smoke bombs flew from four different directions. Projectiles in various shapes emerged from the shadows. A sword shone. Bō Staff sounded. Two Jericho 941s guns flashed. Eskrima Sticks whirred. They danced amongst the bullets knocking out one attacker after another. Smoke protected them, provided cover while sharp steel sliced through metal, while hollow thuds undercut and struck unsuspecting goons.

"GO! GO! GO!"

Strange was not backing down. Surrounded on all sides by machine gun fire, he tore through the smoke.

"GIVE IT UP STRANGE!" Jason shouted, firing a series of incapacitating bullets toward his guards.

"LET THE HOSTAGE GO!" Tim dropped from the air attacking another with precise blows knocking out their weapons and rendering them unconscious.

Damian only screamed as he drove his blade into the back of the goon who was holding her.

"ROBIN NO!" Nightwing shouted but it was too late.

The blade slashed his back. He screamed and fell down letting her out of his arms. She was not going to wait. She dashed forward, ignoring the rain of bullets, ignoring the confusion and chaos. Bullets flew in her direction but Red blocked them with his shield. Reload and another series got stopped by Nightwing's attack.

"AFTER HER!" Strange's voice broke through the mayhem.

Another series came from the side this time aimed at them. Nightwing jumped aside dodging the bullets still watching her. She ran and Strange's men rushed after her. She was fleeing and a hail of bullets prevented them from moving. He tracked Red Hood with his eyes.

"HOOD! CAR!"

It was too late. One of the thugs grabbed her around the waist and pushed her into the back of the ambulance. Two more jumped in behind him. Strange pointed one to the driver's side and jumped into the passenger seat himself. One breath. One moment's hesitation and the car took off with a squeal of tires. A grappling gun fired. Jason flew after him.

The swish of bullets and the sound of gunfire subsided. Everyone lay knocked to the ground and those who managed escaped inside the building.

"Red, Robin!" Nightwing called them back, "Red head on the other side. Crane must still be here."

"Got it!" Tim nodded and with a launch of his grappling gun took to the air.

"Robin! Go after them," Damian nodded in agreement, "and do not kill anyone."

"If I meant to kill him I would kill him," he growled.

"Dami please…"

"I know, I'm sorry…"

"I know."

"It's just…"

"I know…" Nightwing placed a hand on his brother's shoulder assuringly, "go!"

"Be careful Wing."

*

Batman sped through the streets of Gotham. Having previously abandoned his car in one of the hideouts under Wayne Tower, he cut through the streets as his cape blew in the wind. He needed speed and the ability to maneuver quickly, he needed to be there fifteen minutes ago when the red dot on his GPS pulsed steadily against Arkham Asylum. Now it was moving fast toward Metropolis.

"I've got eyes on the target!" he heard Nigtwing's voice on his communicator followed by gunshots in the background.

"Dude do something! I'm barely hanging here!"

"I'm working on it!"

He pushed the engine to the limits. Ignoring traffic lights, ignoring traffic directions, he cut through the city by the fastest possible route emerging on the Metro-Narrows Bridge straight into a hail of bullets.

"Nightwing," he called out, tracking him with his eyes, "take the left side I'll take the right. Aim for the tires."

"Y/N is inside! At this speed a collision could be fatal!"

"Red Hood!" he called out to Jason, who was hooked on the roof.

"Yeah, yeah I got it."

Jason pulled a sword from behind his back and slashed the metal on the roof with ease.

"What's up assholes?!"

"I will shoot her!" one of the men grabbed Y/N and put the gun to her head, "I will!"

"No, you won't," he dived inside with his feet first, kicking him in the face, grabbing her tightly as the explosive bang of the tires shook the car. Holding her closely to his chest, he softened the impact. The back door opened but he quickly launched a grappling gun catching the goons before they fell out to certain death.

The car rolled over as the world spun. On its side, on its roof, on its side again, it rolled on the asphalt bouncing like a toy. He held her firmly, with his other hand belaying himself and keeping them steady. The scrape of metal against asphalt and everything came to a halt.

"Heh, that escalated quickly huh?" he chuckled, "you okay?" with her eyes closed she didn't let go of his jacket, "okay, let's agree that you will be." He stood up, lifted her off her feet walked out of the car dealing a kick to the head to the still-conscious goon on the way out.

"You guys okay?" Nightwing jumped off the motorcycle and ran over to them.

"She's fine, just in shock."

"Hey, Y/N..." he touched her shoulder gently attempting to draw her attention, "it's over now."

"Yeah, I'm fine too. Thanks for asking," he sneered, "where is Batman?"

Batman was nearby. With a heavy slow step heading toward the driver, he watched as the man rolled out of the cab and dreaded to see the dark menacing figure approaching him. He wanted to run but was unable to do so. Batman merely walked up to him, picked him up, and while slamming him against the side of the overturned car, asked.

"Where were you taking her?"

"Let me go!"

"Where were you taking her?"

"I need a doctor! I'm not telling you shit!"

"You will need a morgue if you won't talk," he threatened, "where were you taking her!!!" he shouted in his face.

"To Metropolis! I don't know where! Strange had the coordinates!"

"Hey, where is Strange?" Nightwing asked as he walked around the car to the other side.

"He bailed out before we left Arkham!"

"What did Strange want from her?"

"I don't know! Strange is doing a bunch of different experiments! Something to do with metas! That's what he said to that other guy! I don't know anything! I'm just a gun!"

Y/N opened her eyes and moved in Jason's arms.

"Cadmus," she said quietly.

"What?"

"Cadmus," she repeated.

"Batman!" Jason called out, "guys come here!"

With one strong punch, Batman incapacitated the driver while Nightwing tied up the others.

"You can put me down," she smiled more confidently, "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

He lowered her legs carefully to the ground belaying before she found her stability.

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, "thanks for saving me. All of you."

"No biggie! You owe us burgers."

"You got it," she laughed, regaining her confidence for a moment. But it didn't last long.

"What were you thinking!" Batman raised his voice as he walked up to them and grabbed her by the arm, "what the hell were you thinking!"

"Batman, I wasn't…" she cowered under his demeanor.

"Do you really want to get yourself killed!"

"I'm not…" she didn't finish. Both Jason and Dick watched in disbelief as Batman pulled her close hugging her tightly. They watched as his hand tucked her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist relieved to disappear into his cape. They stood like this for a moment in complete silence. Surrounded by the wreckage and empty shells. They breathed steadily while ignoring amused glances and delighted smiles. "I knew you would follow me," she whispered into his chest.

"The transmitter, it was destroyed. How did you…"

"You were in Jonathan's apartment!" she pulled away from him, "it's Jonathan! It's Crane! He has a whole laboratory in the basement! He is holding and torturing people!"

"I know," he calmed her, "I saw. The police are already there."

"Batman, it's my fault! Mine!"

"Calm down."

"He used my blood! He used my blood to create toxins! To torture people!"

"Calm down, one thing at a time."

"You used the word Cadmus," Jason spoke up.

"Yes," she confirmed, "that's all I picked up. Jonathan seemed to know it too but didn't know that Strange was involved. Whatever it is."

Jason and Dick merely exchanged communicative glances. They knew the meaning of the word Cadmus. Batman knew it, too.

"Where is Crane?" Batman asked.

"I sent Red after him," Nightwing informed him, "Robin also stayed in the Arkham grounds."

"Red Robin and Robin are in Arkham?" he clenched his teeth.

"They are following Crane," Nightwing emphasized.

"I was thinking that Crane is doing experiments there too! I thought maybe he was holding more people!" Y/N began to explain, "he promised me answers to questions about…" she hesitated, "my abilities. I thought if I went with him I'd lead you to him and catch him in the act!"

"Sneaky," Jason smirked.

"Brave," Nightwing admitted simultaneously.

"And stupid," Batman scolded as he watched Y/N slide off her jacket sleeve to unwrap the bandage and pull out the remnants of his transmitter from her wound.

"He found it earlier and I was afraid he would find it again," she looked at Batman embarrassed, "I managed to salvage and repair the electronics. I bypassed the switching element by connecting the antenna directly to the power supply. Simple design," she placed the transmitter in his open hand, "does Bruce Wayne know you're using his technology?" she added with a smile.

"You put yourself in danger, again," he ignored her question.

"It was the right thing to do."

"We'll talk about it later," he finally let her go and turned to his boys, "Nightwing, call the police and wait for them to give a report," Nightwing nodded, "Red Hood, take care of her."

"You got it B."

"I'm going back to Arkham."

"I'll go with you!" Y/N grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Absolutely not."

"If Crane is there…"

"If Crane is there then we'll detain him and bring him to the custody," he interrupted her, "if he's not there, you'll be the first person he goes after. Go home, lock the door and don't let anyone in. Red Hood?"

"Don't you worry, I got her."

Before she could raise an argument once again Batman jumped on his motorcycle and drove off, disappearing into the night.

"Oh you are trouble girl! Trouble!" Jason laughed, "he's gonna absolutely hate that!"

"I'm trying to help!" she huffed.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you do! You want me to get this off you?" he asked, stepping closer and pointing to the collar around her neck.

"Please."

"Trust me sis, he knows that to," he brushed her hair away from her neck, "stay still," he instructed and grabbing the collar with one hand he stuck a Shuriken between the snaps then yanked hard snapping the collar, "but just cos he knows doesn't mean he isn't annoyed by it. Damn! I can already see him clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth!"

"Does it amuse you?"

"Totally! Shit's gonna be hilarious and I can't wait to see that!" he laughed heartily, "you okay riding a bike?"

"Totally!" she grinned, "but no hospitals."

"You should definitely get checked."

"Don't even try!" Nightwing chuckled as he disconnected the call with the police, "I tried, we both tried, she's stubborn like that."

"I like you even more," she couldn't see but Jason was smiling under his helmet, "alright then! Let me get you home."

"Can I drive?" she smirked.

"Absolutely fucking not!"

"But I know how!"

"I don't care!"

"It's an awesome bike!"

"Still no."

"Come on!"

"Foget about it!"

"I'll be careful."

"Maybe one day."

***

Chapter fourteen: Fighting fear

~~***~~ Author note: Funny thing. As I finished the previous chapter I immediately imagined the beginning of this one. It was Bats investigating Crane's apartment scene. Well...that didn't happen. Then I wrote the beginning, Bruce monitoring the GPS scene, which also moved way further into the story. As I was adding other bits and pieces the chapter grew, and evolved, and got quite complicated. Multiple plots got pulled into it, and new threads were created (at least in my mind). I hope it worked for you. It surely works for me. And I think I can tell you all that we are finally, finally approaching the "I am Batman" scene which already exists :) Thank you all for your comments and interactions and for spending your time with this story :) Till the next time Dear Reader!

~~***~~ Tag list: @mrsgrahamsdesign @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @batgirlspain @hangmanscoming @julesjewelss36 @cherryflavoredcoke @grandstrangerphantom @maripositanoctruna @pluckastarfromthesky @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @pirate-with-internet-connection @ooldcardigan

[fox-sama97]

Ignore at Your Own Risk Chapter 2 is out!

Here's a snippet!

---------

The Justice League was silent after the boy left. Tense seconds passed as they cycled through powers and technology to scan for an intruder. 

They found nothing. No sign that he was there, no sign that he'd ever been there. No sign how he'd got there.

He'd breached a space station, defended by magical wards, technological scanners, and the most powerful people on the planet, and they had no idea how he'd done it. It was unacceptable.

It was terrifying.

Zatanna, the tail coats of her stage magician outfit swaying, carefully walked over to Constantine. Wary, and with a spell on her tongue, she examined him.

The man was still slumped over, barely staying in his seat, trench coat nearly falling off his shoulders. His eyes, while more alert than before, were still unfocused. His aura was constrained. 

Normally a vibrant gold roiling around him, tinged in red as it reached out towards the demons who held parts of his soul. But now, it was pressed against his skin so tightly she could barely see where his flesh ended and his aura began, toxic green chains criss crossing his body from the bright red handprint on his face.

The red mark was shifting. Skin twisting and writhing, lines rising and carving themselves into his flesh as the Soul Contract wrote itself onto his being, displaying who owned him for all as the chains sprouted more chains in an infinite fractal pattern, digging deeper and deeper, binding him ever more.

Zatanna hovered her hand over it, not daring to actually touch it, "Mih laeh," she muttered, trying to heal him. It was the most she could do right now. If they were to have any hope of breaking the contract, her and the rest of Justice League Dark would have to examine it in more detail later.

But the moment her magic reached out, the mark flared a darker red, Constantine letting out a brief cry of pain, before Zatanna felt her magic backfire, a sting of pain running up her fingers and making them go numb. She quickly snatched her hand back, eyes wide as the chains writhed like serpents.

"This will be even harder than I thought," she breathed, slowly massaging the feeling back into her fingers as she watched the mark lighten and continue its stomach turning work.

"Will it be possible to break it," she heard, nearly jumping as she turned around. She hadn't heard Batman approaching, Superman right behind him.

They both looked tense, more tense than the rest of the Justice League. Though the rest hadn't had their secrets identities so blatantly called out for everyone to hear.

"Doubtful, especially with the protections already in place. Soul contracts, Soul Magic in general, are a tricky subject, more Constantine's specialty than mine. He might have been able to weasel someone out of one, but, we all see how well that worked out for him," she paused, the three of them looking back towards him, the writhing of the mark seeming to move faster, almost overlapping itself in reality, like five separate images, all different but distinct in ways their mind desperately struggled to understand. They quickly turned away, unable to watch for long.

"Maybe, once it's settled, and with the entire Justice League Dark working on it, we could figure out enough of the contract to find a loophole for him to squeeze through. It would probably take weeks though, and I can't make any guarantees how much of him will be left in the end," Zatanna said, seeing the impotent anger building in Batman and Superman. Neither of them were magically inclined, so she could empathize with how useless much of the League probably felt now. 

"But," she paused, hating suggesting it with how strong she'd felt, she'd seen, the boy was, but needing to anyway, "there is another way. We can bargain with the contract holder. I doubt they'll want to, but defeating them might work. It's how they said they earned at least some of Constatine's contracts, so it's possible we could win it off him."

The entire Justice League went into an uproar, shouting and talking over each other, many clamoring to fight the boy who'd so easily breached their headquarters and hurt one of their own.

A single, incredibly loud clap rang out, silencing everyone as Superman slowly lowered his hands. 

"Do you think we can win?" He asked calmly, belying the fire she could see in his eyes and the downturn of his mouth. 

She hesitated. This wasn't her specialty, but any information that they might be able to get out of Constantine right now would be worse than useless, actively harmful even. 

"We have to try."

"We can," Batman said, determination clear in his voice and the hard line of his mouth. "The…boy came when the two strongest members of the Justice League Dark weren't here. Wonder Woman is in Themyscira and Captain Marvel is currently dealing with a villain in Fawcett City. With how easily he was able to enter, and his display of power claiming Constantine during a meeting, I don't imagine that was a coincidence."

Zatanna could see hope and determination burning through everyone's auras, catching like fire as it leaped between them. 

"We will need to update them on the situation as soon as possible. In the meantime, I'll start searching for any information there is about him. If he's made an appearance before, I'll find him." Batman said, turning to exit the room, cloak flaring behind him, as Superman brought up his League Communicator.

The Justice League had a plan, they had hope, and that's all they needed. They'd saved the world under worse circumstances, they could save a teammate in these.

Zatanna wasn't so sure. Most of them weren't magical like her, they couldn't feel his power or see his aura like her.

She'd seen him appear, the same as everyone else, but unlike them she'd been nearly blinded by the flash of power. 

When her senses had recovered she'd seen the boy there, snuffing out the magic in Constantine like a candle. His aura had looked like magic in its rawest, purest form but contained somehow. Tightly leashed in a way that she wasn't sure she'd ever have the willpower for. She wasn't sure anyone could. It was like looking through a blizzard to see him, white aura given depth with the occasional flashes of more colors than she had a name for. It felt like the bone shaking vibration of standing beside a calving glacier.

It felt inevitable.

And for a brief moment, as he'd made the mark on Constantine's face, she'd seen his aura look back at her, thorns of green branching out over his head, eyes forming like the void between stars, mouth a hungry abyss ready to swallow her whole.

She didn't think the Justice League could win this. But she would try, it's what they always did. Right?

[miyazakit]

Name: Tetsuya Miyazaki Goes by: Miyazaki, Tetsuya, Suya, Sensei, Virus, The Dragon  Occupation: Instructor @ Goju Dojo Age / D.O.B: 7th August, 1476. (36) [584 yo] Sexuality: Bi. Species: Witch; Air. Coven: None; formerly exiled. Hometown: Yokohama, Japan. Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits:  Patient, Meticulous, Educated, Perceptive, Methodical. Detached, Condemnatory, Withdrawn, Selfish, Over-Critical.

BIOGRAPHY

Everything’s about structure in the Miyazaki household; organised, meticulous and never a fault in sight. As was the way of a powerful family who could survive by mention of name alone.  Any slip that might quake the status quo of survivability was squashed with the same magic often deemed glorious. It often had such rigorous edifices that it could seem bizarre to outsiders how easily foundations can be derailed if enough pressure is applied. In Tetsuya’s case, fingers were as deadly as the first fist formed as a toddler in childhood karate classes; his father was a hunter of sorts (he hadn’t quite understood then). His mother was responsible for keeping him fed, clothed and clean. It was a time of expectation and conformity. There had never been a change of course in the way of things. But not all realities should meet expectations, a social and economic norm that the Miyazaki’s had worked hard to find a place within and Tetsuya – despite excelling past the educational standards in the large city once known as Yokohama (before its collapse). The witch pleased parents to most degrees – yet he had somewhere else he wanted to direct his particular interest in the economic rise; not exactly a natural form for a magic practitioner, and certainly not to be fascinated with new technology as machines took the positions of hard-workers.

But that’s where he enjoyed being, in between the cogs and the roaring; rather hermit-like, finding scraps of leftover pieces in old wreckages just so he could see what else it could be; find a use that nobody else seemed to understand. Wooden pylons, and shipwrecks on shores. It led to something darker and a little more troubling; he saw the decline of the people, the violence that lack of purpose presented them. (A shake to the status quo nobody could have anticipated)

In the passing of his parents; his real first early brush with the idea of death for a family toeing the line of it, he wasn't finished in a world still so underdeveloped. Miyazaki did not cry; it was unseemly, but he did leave behind the legacy the elements had begun to leave for him. Tetsuya found purpose overseas, in seeing what else there was, in learning that the Feng dynasty; a legacy in China that were formidable for their elemental magic. Unaccepting of too many outsiders, he was first welcomed for his particular complex control of air, but equally untrained in the art of civility and another coven's lifestyle. He could grip the other elements, but he always fell back on air. Miyazaki found his machinations in the development of new technology, and with it, the idea that things that be made anew. So then, could the soul; the air that he breathes every day. To draw on nature at its core, to provide for the masses. Miyazaki was obsessive, finding a loophole in his abilities to steal the new life of what nature might present to him, to offer himself a new lease of it. It's never been branded for the dark arts, but the power of elements, is a matter of renewal; they benefit one another. Miyazaki figured that out, early on. But the Feng's were not ever going to accept a man testing the boundaries of control, it almost crossed lines into necromancy - Miyazaki would argue it's nothing close to that; it's recycling, drawing the air from one lungs, to keep another's alive.

Cast out, Miyazaki learned he was not orthodox in his use; in his power that the Feng's continued to make notorious, over the centuries.

Magic was never enough. Because the modern centuries offered oil, and engines - they presented the complexities of what technological advances his magic barely touched. In the modern day, it is a little more commonly known worldwide now, technology can be dangerous.

What is even more dangerous still; is someone who knows how to abuse it.

And with how scarce it was in some places, in the early days, those who did know what to do with the leftovers, the most dangerous of all. The world of magic, displaced in the shadows, where the mundane sciences took precedence.

Shut off, Miyazaki closes himself to the world that sits directly in front of him, Tetsuya lives through the screen in the days he is not beating a weightbag. Private jobs that had him hijacking rovers of bandits; funnelling information from one faction to another paid so well, it seemed foolish to ignore the opportunity. It seemed more stupid still, to be bound to the idea that magic had it limits. 

Because he knows that his systematics are not simple anymore – that with the hacking he’s become very good at and quantum computing fitted the kind of accidental line of work he fell into and never left. A setup for a witch that kept him out of the wars; and the fights, but left him with such skills in a world degrading for the use of technology, his need started to dull. And the world’s urge to fight only seemed to grow. 

When some off-beat cult offers Miyazaki a job that technology cannot touch. He sees it as a challenge. So, watch the same man who thinks he’s so fucking clever find a break in the system; he intentionally leaves traces to get himself caught by those who might hunt him. (To get inside, he has to be in cuffs) Technological viruses are as deadly as the biological kind that Suya faces when he feels a knife against his throat and a devilishly put-together plan to get him at his target – failsafe after failsafe in place that stretches further than just capture. And just as he’s often the smartest man on the playing field, the opponents change, and the quiet recluse who could wear death and despair like a coat of arms in the later years. It's only later, that he knows the same cult named the Voiceless have a mission of witch eradication; they operate just as well as any virus – just a stream of them; supernatural vigilantes that could coil around another parasite – a real fight of numbers against mass.

And so is the target Tetsuya is after, just another number. 

There’s calculation to every move he makes. A once soloist in the game of hacking becomes a prisoner with attachments to a notorious organisation and an even greater playing board – zeroes seem more domineering that morals in those kind of moments. Because it’s easy to destroy a life from behind a screen if there’s no direct witness to it; never see the colour drain from a face, the tears spilled when ultimate ruination comes for a person that a few lines of coding brought on. It's different than actively taking the air from the lungs; or crushing the body with grievous powers of gravity. It's different to the burn of flames, or the viciousness of the ocean's grasp. It’s different if it’s never seen – but the consequences, despite that, remain exactly the same and within the Voiceless. Tetsuya sees a glimmer of what he does first-hand. Hears about the lives ruined whilst he sits with an annoyance over his shoulder with orders being given to him to derail war plans from those he’s told are terrible people.

Are they ever as awful as the man prepared to commit such an act – or does one take the position themselves in their absence? No more.

Atrocities happen everyday; the world is a monster, it’s said to him by allies on numerous occasions and not once does Tetsuya care to speak differently; grown cold and relatively detached; never had a reason not to be. A computer monitor and a dark room… it’s a preferred. And the founding of Goju Dojo is his rival in closed-off behaviour because he knows his time is finally limited; an integration of what he’s always known against an outside world he prefers not to. He's stretched the constraints of the body, from every element to every manufactured science. He's on his last lifetime, because he notices the blackened parts of his soul, peering through the edges of his hips, and shoulder; staining his skin an ugly shade; threatening him with the endless life he dared to try and capture. He doesn't have another lifetime to play, or see the developments; he's seen enough. It's someone else's turn, now.

Both something that is a passion never forgotten – links him back to his family; his home whilst also offering a front to his purpose in the quieter city of Port Leiry; something better for the world that isn’t endless combinations on a black screen. A balance; yin and yang for the private hacker and an opening to engage with the new world that isn’t robotised. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the whispers of an ancient family that have taken some roots there because he doesn't expect to be welcomed twice. But he is, in the back of his mind, hoping for a successor; to see a master teach the next generation, no matter how late he is to recognise that.

Though, as he knows, his people skills – the ones that aren’t him breaking bones -require a little more work.

CONNECTIONS

DAI MIYAZAKI | Mother, Yokohama, Japan. ARAKAN MIYAZAKI| Father, Yokohama, Japan.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

AKINA LI [0/1] His most trusted consort and sensei at the dojo, acts as manager and probably closest/bestest friend and ally in Port Leiry. Would probably be oblivious to the witch hunt on his ass beyond martial arts. A very casual, professional relationship (most of the time) but she has probably seen more sides of him in the city than anyone. Likely met not long after he escaped The Voiceless’ captivity. He would share most of his views of martial arts , witchcraft and is possibly the only one in the world he’ll accept as an equal explicitly.

AKEMI TANAKA [0/1] The notorious leader of the Voiceless witch hunter group that pursued Tetsuya throughout the ages since his appearance with crafting technology before his time. A witch causing a stir is a viable excuse for eradication and he headed the hunt the first time they caught Tetsu, and remains to be the target that Tetsuya one day plans to take out to get the Voiceless off his back. 

THE VOICELESS Creatures and fanatics that are part of the witch hunting clan; first formed in the eastern hemisphere it grew from a small group intending to remove all witches from existence; terrified of power; envious of it; blamed it for the way the war and the world crumbled. Powerful, stealthy and skilled at becoming part of the background to blend into their surroundings. Earning the trust of witches, to later snuff them out. They can be anyone, anything and have any reason to wear the voiceless scar; a marking that translates to the end. 

LIKE SENSEI, LIKE KARATEGA Students at the Goju Karate Dojo; all ages; unrestricted, new sign ups/long term ones. All creatures and species are accepted. He had a very strict mindset that under his dojo roof, everyone is a student of the art, and the antagonistic behaviour is kept outside the walls. Ones he’s friends with, employed? Training etc. Anyone that would and could be linked to his dojo.

IMPRISON ME, DRAGON Approximately just under a century ago, he was captured and imprisoned by a witch-hunting group. He was probably not the only one - but probably the only one who purposely got captured. Incarceration allies, enemies, acquaintances; they would have known him there as The Dragon by nickname. Perhaps vendettas since he got out and didn’t take anyone with him? Reunions of those who later escaped too, or died - came back, you know, all those bitter things. 

BROKEN BONES HEAL FASTER [0/1] Someone he was seeing before his capture. This would have been around a hundred years ago and this person would have been unaware of all his backdoor witch shit. Very likely hasn’t been in contact with them/her/him since he got out, and probably doesn’t want to because of how it would now be a complication since the Voiceless gang/group still exists and is in would still be in pursuit of him. Maybe there’s still something there or not? or there’s held grudges on the other side because you know went away and didn’t tell them. Tetsuya would not have forgotten them, but likely closed off and didn’t reach out to presume it was too long ago and whilst he doesn’t admit it, he probably misses them a little.

VIBES

A microwave-like device beeps through the shadowy expanse of Tetsuya’s apartment, lit only by under cupboard illuminations and two monitors that emanate a glow in front of the tech maestro himself. Blue light vibrates behind the black and green print of one screen; a cliché if there ever was one. Digits that flicker a little questionably, decrease number by number with every calculated movement of the hacker’s hands. On the mobile beside the keyboard, Miyazaki’s fingers grace along with such practiced motions, its reflective of how powerful they are – delicate on the keys, violent in the arts. Both create a crack; plastic and bone can often sound the same, when done right. Only interrupted when Tetsuya slides back on his chair, stands – hits a key on the board and finds himself moving to stir some thrown together noodles. They’re hot and twirled between the metal prongs of a fork. (He’s out of chopsticks.) In peripheries, besides the computer setup and the kitchen lowlights, a stream of red flickers through the cracks in eggshell curtains. Tetsu’s eyes don’t move from the bowl between hands, near sears the skin as he swallows down mouthfuls – not rushed by any means, can hear and feel a quiet thumping under his shoes; a ruckus of sorts. He’s fully dressed, despite the lateness of the hour. There’s simply a peacefulness when another mouthful of rice noodles bypasses Miyazaki’s lips. Still like a statue he remains even when the wooden door bursts open, wood splintering off hinges – suddenly there’s panicked shouting of members of the Voiceless, heavily protected in bandit gear and it’s truly, cinema. The way half a dozen gang patrollers disperse through every room of the apartment, one taps at the computers in the centre of the living space, another barrels into the kitchen to point blank aim the end of a rifle with Tetsuya. (Like the fork he’s holding is a deadly weapon – could be, but not necessary in that moment.) The bowl is slowly placed down on the sideboard, hues finally bother to meet up with the his nemesis; Akemi Tanaka, behind the fabric obscuring his face and complacent hands are raised – immediately grabbed, bent roughly behind his own back and a tic of a smirk finds its way to the hacker’s face.What took you so long?

Belt tightens around a black karategi just before Tetsuya steps out onto the floor of Goju Karate Dojo, students bow as onegaishimasu echoes around the space; a gesture of respect when the array of mixed skillsets stare back at the witch. But here, he is sensei. Instructs classes at his own dojo – his peace; teaches his skills in martial arts as learned over centuries to others and creates something more than a front for unpleasant business. Something good that fights the against the unjust monsters in the state; the ones that come with the shadier – unprovoked attacks on lone walkers in the night. The phrase of ‘the streets aren’t safe’has never been truer, but Tetsuya conduits his own misdeeds and crafts a business that doesn’t end with red hands, sticky fingers and another smear on his stained past. A select set of skills that rely on an able mind and precise fingers. The students back hits the thing mats, a common sound – unforgiving is the teacher; as he was once taught, merciless in performances and footwork always the first downfall before strength ever plays into it. Not the toughest built, but instability and pressure in the right spots, down goes even the brutes. Iconic is the half smile, always threatens to blossom something more, but never usually quite gets there. To impress him, takes something more than skill, something more than most possess in their lifetimes.

[chop-zulyzulyyy]

Throne and Sickle Ch.1

Chapter 1: Tell Me You Caught That

----------

Turtle bros x fem!parkour!reader

Summary: In which the turtles record their training one fateful night, and find the rooftops hold stories with a beginning....and an end.

Author Note: Helloo Hii! This is my very first fanfic that I’ve chosen to post publicly! I’ve written before, long ago in the time of dinosaurs 🦖 lol and over time I felt I lost my touch. I sincerely hope you enjoy this, and I’m welcome to constructive criticism! Please be as honest as you can, within reason of course. Thanks for being here on the start of my journey to becoming a better writer and fellow fan :)

Disclaimer: I don’t own ROTTMNT, sigh.

Genre(s): A bunch of stuff, really. You'll figure it out ;)

WARNINGS: Heavy topics NOT for the lighthearted; like seriously it’ll get dark in some parts. Mentions of s*xual assault, bl**d, sh*rp objects, and more. I will do my best to organize in a way that readers can identify the warning sign!

City lights, when viewed with naked eyes, seem to get a new life.. -Aishini.

Ah, New York. What a town. If its combination of musty gas, hot dogs, and mutants were on Us Weekly the headline would be ‘Mama Just Killed a Man’ with the sub-headline of the possibility of contracting an identity crisis being free.99. But alas, who knows. The fine art of bullshit was such a wide range that it left room for all kinds of adventures. For a group of four turtle brothers, this one was for the books.

The night was bustling with pedestrians, and the twinkling lights left little to the imagination of what Christmas was like even though it was February. Faint honking horns of angry Boomers could be heard, paired with the occasional loud radio stations blasting from stereo speakers. It seemed like everyone was outside of their homes tonight, and thus would be one of the riskiest patrol slash training sessions they’ve ever done.

“Aaaaand there! Hold still hold still~.” Donnie muttered. Nimble reptilian fingers only scientists and artists could applaud set up the inner workings of wiring miniature video cameras to multiple buildings, and somewhere in the back of his head was a small whispering voice claiming this was a dangerous idea as he reached up to the small device. It was, but the four of them agreed it would probably help in seeing their training mistakes via camera footage. Shiny, purple cubes were discretely attached to all buildings that were on their designated path tonight, and everything in between had been so easily hacked. He couldn’t be more positive that there was nothing short of a fruitful night out.

Sharpie eyebrows rose in smug satisfaction.

His dear brother on the other hand, wasn’t convinced. Donnie could tell by the way his hands continuously cradled his chin or crossed over each other in contemplation. Behind Leo were his other two brothers: Raph sitting down Mikey for a brief pep talk. As expected, really, for their youngest would attempt to showcase a new fighting move tonight. Each of them had one training session to present which was a pretty decent piece of advice given by Splinter. He mentioned along the lines of adapting to any kind of situation thrown at them- the need to be creative in order to defeat crime. (Or about pineapples and lime- couldn’t really understand with the disgusting mush that was ratatouille in their dad’s mouth). Anyway, at least one special move would suffice for now. They can regroup and share pointers but moving forward it would be commonplace to improve because staying at their current level of skill was just utterly unacceptable.

Raph was the first to come up with something and wasn’t afraid to show it off last month. Leo followed shortly after, but the blue-clad turtle scheduled his move during a rainstorm. Most would say it’s brave, others would say it’s stupid. But in the spirit of enlightenment; a kind elderly civilian had forgotten their laundry hanging outside in between an alley. Leo had plenty of time to rectify his maneuvering, the twat, there’s no way he did not have it coming. Donnie himself wouldn’t do his yet, but tonight was Mikey’s night.

Leo huffed, “I seriously doubt these little rubix cubes are going to help us stay on the downlow. If none of you remembered, we just had Meat Sweats get spotted by the cops-like have you seen the theories people are coming up with on the internet? Aliens. Cosmetic surgery gone wrong. Gwyneth Paltrow! I can’t afford being thrown outta town before basking in their praise. Donnie-bro-Donnie look at me does this look like a face that needs to be blacklisted?”

“Are you saying my tech isn’t enough as security, you little shit?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

A vein popped on Donnie’s forehead, fist trembling, “Well if you ran like your mouth, you’d be safe from being spotted.”

Leo’s eyes blew open, “Swing hermano-!”

Raph stumbled in between the brothers, “Don’t make me send your spiffy little butts on home! Let’s do what we came here to do, fellas. Leo, you’re right to be worried but Donnie wouldn’t give the green light if there was too much risk for us tonight. We’re here to help Mikey. Capiche?”

Leo sighed and waved a hand. Mikey turned to Donnie, “How are your cameras going to help us?”

“I’m so glad you asked, little Angelo!” Donnie posed, flowers and stars flowing behind him as he stuck a tongue out at Leo, “These babies have been modified to detect thermal energy- heat emitted by humans and mutants would be caught on surveillance. If their trajectory path interferes with ours, S.H.E.L.D.O.N will capture it live and send me the real time feed. All of the other cameras I’ve hacked have been wired to follow along and save to file- there isn’t anything that we won’t see.  Not to worry.” He placated as he quickly typed into his arm brace.

“And we are…set up to begin. Ready on your mark, Angelo.” Donnie perked, finger guns out.

A pat on the shoulder from Raph, and a thumbs up from Leo did nothing for Mikey’s nerves as his three brothers readied themselves on the building ledge in camera view. The orange clad box turtle took the biggest breath possible. They’re right, he thought. Things would be a-okay if they said so. Time to blow them all away!

Within a snap of a finger, four wisps of rising dust were left to be seen.

•.*.•

Things were not okay! He nearly killed three innocent pigeons- aww what kind of monster hurts little birdies they ain’t hurt nobody! Mikey panicked, dodging cable antennas as he sprinted across rooftops. It was only ten minutes since they started, and he’s tripped over cable cords and trash bins. Raph had a short two-minute melee with a gang of pigeon miscreants. How was he supposed to pull this off with things bumbling and tumbling like this?

“Mikey! Take a deep breath buddy you can do it!” Leo’s voice echoed on a building beside him.

“O-okay!” He called back. Cold sweat made him clammy all over now. What if the sweat made him slip on something?

Raph crouched down on the building before him, causing all brothers to halt in their place on different buildings. With a worried frown, his eyes bore into Mikey’s.

“It’s alright if you need to restart, little man. Take a second to get yourself together and then we can focus on simply getting from Point A to Point B.”

“Technically we’ll be facing inevitable discrepancies of the plan if we stop for even 5 minut- shutting up now.”

Mikey stood upright so stiff his muscles began to clench painfully. He didn’t understand what was getting to him. Maybe it’s because he didn’t get enough rest, or maybe it’s because he misplaced his favorite can of spray paint. He shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. Glancing to each of his brothers he noticed urgency growing in their voices. Their looks. Their postures. It’s been frustrating nearly losing most of their battles now that the Foot was searching for the armor. But no, it wasn’t that either, as much as it made sense.

Well…there is that one thing; Mikey thought back to yesterday when April texted them an article. A group of civilian ruffians skilled in parkour were making quite a bit of unrest on the police scanners. People talk, and if their kids are around, those chatterboxes would catch the entire human population’s attention. Rumor had it this group was the modern Robin Hood- stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, and as fast as they appeared, those guys were gone in seconds. Some pretty powerful organizations have been outed in result of these ‘Robin Hoods’ meddling into their affairs and a few riots too many have taken place. Ironically, authorities have been ordered by higher-ups to stop these Robin Hoods. Mikey could see the problem when their numbers coincide with the brothers. What’s worse, him and the others could easily be mistaken as those criminals if they were caught… but training was a time-sensitive priority now.

Add to the fact that the problem did not only affect the brothers but all mutants; villains and allies alike. The cards dealt were:

On one hand, remain in the sewers and halt training- leading to repeated losses in their war at their level of strength. But. They would be safe from risk of arrest and human police authorities can do their job without spotting them. On the other hand, get ahead in their skills while the enemies remain low- but play with the high chance of being mistaken as the Robin Hoods and take the fall.

Glancing down at his hands, Mikey studied his mystic chain whip in hand and thought back to when they first got the weapons. Mystic mumbo jumbo didn’t play a critical role in their upbringing, but it felt like destiny called the four brothers to come across Mayhem nearly a year ago for important reasons: to be the greatest ninjas out there. To be heroes. To keep the city of New York safe.

Mikey sighed; he wasn’t making things better by standing here. The orange terrapin tightened his grip. He had to do his best. Mikey was in no position to downplay his skill just because he was nervous that he won’t do it right before even trying. No matter what his family and him could handle anything. He could do this.

He took a deep breath once more, eyes welled up in renewed confidence as Mikey whirled to Raph, “Nothing to it! I’m ready to get this party started!”

A large grin spread across Leo’s face, pleased. “Alright, there ya go!”

As Raph sighed in relief Donnie huffed, unable to fight the lift of his lips. He tapped away at his brace.

“Alright, restarting the session in 3…2..1!”

Mikey took the lead once more, darting rooftop to rooftop as they were marked with cameras as feather-like footsteps followed him immediately. A flick of his wrist resulted in the chain whip unfolding, length exponentially increasing in its glowing glory until the chains made a large circle around him. Lights of buildings and lamp posts all around became blurs, and ahead was the infamous Grand Central Station: his chosen starting marker. It was time to get down to business.

“Donnie! I need you to send multiple shots at me from every direction while we run, think you can help me out?”

Battle shell expanded; Donnie bowed in mock politeness “But of course! Any range in particular?”

“Stick with mid to long range, thanks!”

“As you wish.” Donnie flew a few meters ahead and hid from view while Mikey turned to Leo, who perked up in attention with a smirk as they ran.

“I’m ready for a speed-off, Leo. How about you?”

“Oooooh count me in. What do you need?”

Mikey bounced off a passing apartment balcony and gave a toothy grin, “While Donnie sends attacks at me, focus on attacking my chains. I wanna try to use tempo and defense for my ultimate move.”

His brother gave a wink and disappeared into a portal to who knew where, but he’d be waiting for Mikey. Last but definitely not least, Mikey faced Raph. The red clad brother excitedly beaming down at him from the higher buildings he was jumping over.

“Big Red, I need you to do something really important. From here to the end, do your best to catch me or get me off balance.”

“You got it!”

Raph nodded and pulled back, positioning himself a few meters behind Mikey. Said turtle nodded to himself, apprehension causing sweat to roll down his scaly green cheek as he neared Central Station. About 300 meters left. The second he got there would mean his best chance of accomplishing his special move was to use his senses and by no means slow down.

200 meters. If he failed this, it wouldn’t really be failing. His brothers were crazy smart to understand his motive and still work together to come up with a similar battle strategy. Either way this was gonna be epic.

100 meters.

50.

10.

0.

All at once purple, blue and red streams of mystic energy swarmed him much like a colony of bees. Donnie weaved around all brothers, neon laser beams whizzing out and Mikey wasn’t going to lie, those things hurt.  A few stung his arms as Mikey maneuvered his hands waving high, swooping low, faking left, reversing right, gyrating around- all motion available to bend the chains to his will. Most of the beams were caught by his chain, the neon light merging into the golden glow before disappearing. Mikey wished he could see the flabbergasted look on Donnie’s face. Then he remembered this was all being recorded.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have laughed out loud at that because Donnie’s expression morphed from shock to annoyance in a snap. The purple turtles’ jet pack with guns grew even more guns- bro whAT-!

Now that Donnie kicked it up a notch, Mikey felt the rising energy in his chains orbiting around him begin to resonate a whirring sound when a blue crescent light sliced centimeters from his face.

“Eye focused, Mikey!” Leo’s shout echoed somewhere from the side, dashing into multiple open portals for his convenience. Uh-oh. Mike forgot about those. Swinging in between cellular towers, Mikey feigned directions just out of Raph’s mystic hands as he was too big to fit into those spaces like Mikey could. But it was working. His chains were intact around him at the speed of light but now he had to move them fluidly to his advantage. Donnie furrowed his brows in the distance, dodging laundry lines mid flight and began using the power of everything in his arsenal at his baby brother- only for the chains to keep absorbing his shots. Leo, Mikey could tell, was running out of options in keeping up with the chains. Instead of Leo’s attacks disrupting the circular movement as before, every time he tried slashing them from any direction the speed of the chains was knocking him in momentum of the weapon. Leo and Donnie were growing restless, dedicating further to their task and thus quadrupling their efforts. Not to say Mikey wasn’t breaking a sweat, everything was burning, but he couldn’t tell them that this was his plan.

However.

The chains gave a loud clang when Raph swat at the weapon in order to duck under and grab him.

“G-ah!” Mikey gasped, immediately dropping down along the length of a building and allowing gravity to swoop him through an alley. This was dangerously getting too low for them where civilians can see them. On the other side of the alley, luckily, was a drop off to a construction zone, miles wide where no lamp posts reached. Mikey could use that space for his move, though Raph would also have a better means to catch him without anything in his path. Passing the last of laundry lines and apartment bricks, the group dashed into the open in pursuit of the orange terrapin now basically floating with bright orange chains as his wings when he felt a large hand grip onto his ankle. Caught in a panic Mikey sent energy to coat his leg and swung it down to slice through Raph’s red mystic energy. Hearing a hiss of pain he dashed away, but his chains wobbled off balance. Leo took this second to strike slashing waves of blue energy to dent into the chains range of motion as Donnie shot more lasers from above. Gritting his teeth Mikey gulped.

He had to get this back in control.

Mikey stopped atop a dirt hill and swirled around to face them, catching them off guard for a moment before closing his hands into fists and slowly moving them towards the center of his chest. The chain orbit spun faster, and faster, and faster until all they could see was a white halo shrinking into layers that enveloped Mikey in a cocoon-like state. But it burned. It burned so much so close to his skin that it felt like he was being roasted alive. Sweat stung his eyes: he shut them too tight he began to see stars behind his eyelids.

“Mikey, what are you doing?! If it’s hurting you then stop!” He could hear Raph and the others shout at him.

Just a bit more.

“Mikey!”

Bringing his fisted hands together, Mikey felt the trembling of the chains coiled so impossibly tight that the energy soaked in them was beginning to overwhelm them. Like a tire being pumped with too much air.

Like the stars colliding to create-

“SUPERNOVA!”

Leaping up sky high with his limbs spread wide, Mikey grinned in the millisecond it took for the chain to explode into tiny little beams of light, flickering between blue, orange, and purple variations of energy. Metal once welded together became individual sources of his mystic weapon shooting out all around. To them, Mikey resembled a firework. Bright, striking in his display of light. They watched in awe as Mikey let out a breathless exhilarated laugh, an “it worked!” reaching their ears. Raph, Leo, and Donnie noticed the disbanded chain remained still in the air around him until Mikey slowly shifted a hand, a dozen pieces of metal shifting in tandem and each straightening out into miniature needle points.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Leo cheered, followed by Donnie's whistles. The three turtles joyously cheered, celebrating this display of talent and execution Mikey put in so much effort on his own to showcase.

“O-okay, somebody please catch me!” Mikey sputtered, causing Leo to dart over and up as Mikey fell from the sky in exhaustion. Landing in Leo’s arms, the group of brothers circled around him, gasps of breath being the only thing he was capable of mustering. Donnie typed a million codes per second as Leo and Raph both spoke over each other- but Mikey barely registered most of it. He shakily lifted a thumbs-up. His mystic chain, now devoid of mystic power, swiftly returned to its original form, jingling to a drop on the dirt hill with a thump.

“I-I need a lot more kinks to work out *gasp* but this is good for us, r-right? It’s good?”

Raph gently shook Mikey’s shoulder, “It’s more than good. You did amazing tonight, big man. We can do a lot with this! But right now, we’re gonna get you to tip-top shape to be able to handle this strain on your energy. That’s first. Did you get all that, Donnie?”

Typing met his ears, “Yeperoos. Cameras remain functional, no damages, no alerts” Donnie mused, lifting his eyes from his screen with a smirk, “I say this was an exceptional showcase. Brava, Angelo. A well-thought-out plan of action.”

“Those baddies won’t know what hit ‘em.” Leo praised, then he grimaced, “But seriously, those chains sting like a mother-man my arms are gonna be sore for weeks.”

Mikey’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from his constant smiling and rested his head on Leo’s plastron.

“That’s great, guys. I’m just gonna…*yawn*I-Ima just… take a break...” He mumbled off, exhaustion quietly sending him off to dreamland.

“Poor champ’s all tuckered out.” Leo snickered.

Raph opened his arms to Leo, “Give him here, you open us a portal home.”

Gently handing Mikey over to Raph’s arms, Leo whipped out his odachi when Donnie’s wrist beeped. Donnie scowled, the light of his screen illuminating the tense frown lines on his face and causing Leo and Raph share a serious look. The camera cubes Donnie constructed were labeled along the path by numbers beginning with 0-1 and spaced out gradually by quarter mile, then to half-mile, and quickly to full mile on the account of the increasing speed they rallied throughout the path. The last camera cube designated to follow them was 5-0; about sixty meters from their position on the hill.

Camera 4-9 pinged.

“Get down.” Donnie muttered. In sync the three brothers crouch down and slowly, ever so quiet, shifted to the other side of the hill for cover. Donnie cupped a hand over his brace, dimming most of the light as Leo discreetly peered over the field in the direction of the apartment building they passed right before reaching the construction zone. Leo’s gaze hardened; with their mutated bodies, enhanced senses were part of the package. Although, it was easier to find the camera with no light sources obstructing his view. Immediately Leo spotted the smallest circle of red light from a camera lens on the roof, where a figure was still but… he couldn’t tell what they were doing. This wasn’t good. He crouched down beside Raph and leaned over him to meet Donnie’s eyes.

“We got a bogey on the roof.” The blue terrapin whispered. Donnie furrowed his brows in concentration, flickering between Leo’s eyes and the camera feed on his brace. A frame popped up, switching from thermal imaging to night vision. Raph, Leo, and Donnie found the figure to be female; petit in stature, and maybe around their age give or take a few years. Her figure was donned in simple athletic gear. Form what they could tell no weapons could be seen, no knives. No guns. She was angled to where they couldn’t see her face clearly, and from the way one leg was on the roof and the other on the ledge it appeared as though she had no qualms being on such a high altitude.

And how many times have they heard about humans being ‘comfortable’ around on rooftops? Thousands. On police scanners.

“…She’s gotta be one of them.” Raph whispered. Questions whirred up a mile a minute within each of them. What did she want? How long has she been watching them? Was this an ambush? The turtle brothers watched with bated breath when she slowly, not a sound made, turned her head over her shoulder straight at the camera cube.

Her face was concealed, a cloth type of material covering the lower half of the face and the breeze of the night shifted her hair over her eyes. But they felt her eyes stare into the camera. Into them. If they hadn’t gotten enough surprises, the next moment stunned them all into stillness.

A card was shown.

S.O.S

...

——————————————————

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

Aaaaand that's a wrap! Please let me know what you think! Stay tuned for Chapter 2! Thanks for reading :)

Fun fact: An appendage on the alligator snapping turtle's tongue resembles a worm, helping this ambush predator lure prey 👀

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Chris Evans

full name: Thomas Elijah Browning

nickname(s) / goes by: Tommy, T

pronouns & gender: he/him/his cis man

sexuality: pansexual

birth date: june, 13, 1981

birth place: merrock, maine

arrival to merrock: since birth (previously left for months at a time for work)

housing: converted warehouse downtown

occupation: overseas seasonal miner, currently unemployed (seeking employment)

work place: TBA

family: cordelia browning (sister) and rosalyn browning (niece), ex-wife (tba)

relationship status: single

filling connection: cordelia’s older brother connection

PERSONALITY

+ Loyal, creative, reliable, immovable - Closeted, private, hot headed, escapist

Tommy finds he is most himself alone, or when things are slowed down, the expectations are low, and it's more about being genuine with a person than putting on a show. Joking is easier than therapy, keeping things light with people is easier than being honest. He isn't one for drama, has seen plenty of his own in the past, so he often sits back whenever he can. Don't mistaken this escapism as passiveness - he is not afraid to place himself between those he cares for and the cruelty of the world. Contridicting his well trained charisma, Tommy has lived most of his life with fear as his best friend. Being himself openly, sharing the passions he has, had always been shamed growing up. It is hard for him even now to open those doors to people. On his darker days he can bubble into something full of pain and anger, many of his decades old wounds still too tender to claim they were healed. Often he thinks he's lost his heart, that his chest is empty after all this time, but he fails to notice how it's pinned to his sleeve, touching everyone he holds on to.

WRITTEN BY: Jen (she/her), acst.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content: tw: alcoholism, abandonment, depression, homophobia

The eldest sibling of the Browning ensemble, Tommy now fights for the crown of greatest disappointment to his parents. Much like his baby sister he finds himself on the outside of a ‘family’ home, looking at its foundation full of cracks. Raised in Merrock, he had once been considered somebody but now he’s just happy to be himself. 

See, being the first born of a family who wanted the world to think they lived a perfect life came with a whole lot of expectations. He didn’t realise them as a child but by the time he was a teenager they were laid out before him, with the end goal to keep the family image in play. He was a Browning after all. Their name was supposed to mean something, come with a list of benefits. Yet, where they claimed they had money they were dodging bills, where they had connections they were crossing their fingers and wishing on stars. 

Tommy's relationship with his father seems like it had been straining ever since his voice deepened and he realised he could think for himself. Maybe some of it was being a teenager - acting out, rebelling - but it became more obvious with time his father expected more than what Tommy could give. Perfect grades, perfect girlfriends, perfect social circles and interests. The world nearly burned down when Tommy was caught with a boy he’d been curious over followed by the cold chill of denial, of unacceptance. They were to never speak of the forbidden; Tommy had a path to stay on and he would be forced along it whether he was happy about it or not.

College came at a cost, both financially and mentally. Whilst he’d developed an interest in art his parents had cut that out of him and demanded he follow a line of success they strived for: law. It would reward him with status, with money, with respect. Three things they clung to but never really owned. Tommy felt as if he had no choice, so in the end he did as he was told. 

During his twenties he had a steady career in law, moving up through the fields as he would. He fell in love with a woman who made his parents happy; they married too soon after his parents insisted it was tradition in their family line. He hears so often that twenties are supposed to be where you discover yourself, make mistakes, but instead he lost himself entirely. To a marriage taken on too soon to have a good foundation, to a career that stole his time and his passion, to a family who expected more and more when he had already given his everything. In the end he found his solitude in a bottle or two, using it to numb the growing pain of despair and regret inside of him. 

His marriage came to an end by the time he was 30, his parents disgusted he’d ever allow such a stain on their image. It felt like a breaking point to not even have support from his family when his own has ceased to exist. He was so very tired of playing the role of son and husband, having no idea who he was on his own. Eventually he snapped: he ended his law career, fought day and night with disgust over his parents views of the world, and started doing things differently. He didn’t care how he looked when he took a job as a carpenter, or when he trained to do electrical work. He picked up night shifts at bars or helped out businesses around town with deliveries. Whatever paid his bills. He found the jobs where he got to use his hands the most rewarding, and he enjoyed the socialising he found in others. 

By 35 he was divorced, removed from his family unit (though still talking with his siblings) and fluttering from one job to another whenever change felt necessary. He came across an opportunity to see a new part of the world - a remote mining job contract where he would be fully trained and supported overseas. It would pay him more than his odd jobs and only take up three months of the year. He decided to give it a go, running away for a little while. It was hard work - messier than anything he’d ever done, long hours, the living conditions were horrible, and yet he kept coming back each year. It was an escape of sorts - from the man he was told to be, from everyone’s thoughts of who he is now. For three months of the year he could be a wild animal, messy and crude. He would drink and play cards with the boys, swear like he was born a sailor, and no one would look twice at him. When he got home he had money to live off but would go back to his odd jobs to find money to play with. He invested some of it into a warehouse he was converting into his home, and some went into his old hobbies he’d left behind because someone else decided he didn’t need them. It allowed him to live, so he happily sweated through the hard work.

When his baby sister Cordelia fell pregnant to a married man he was disappointed in choices of men but not in who she was. It was bewildering to find his parents and siblings discarding her over it, reminding him all too much of the way they cut him off any time he strayed from their path. To them this was a wild scandal - and for others around town too. For Tommy this was his little sister needing help and he wasn’t going to turn his back on her, he never would. Tommy grew furious at his family for the way they treated her - he had accepted it for so long being targeted at him but to watch Cordelia have the same treatment left him losing all hope in the remaining Brownings. In the end it was them against the world - Tommy stayed home the year Cordelia was pregnant and the following when baby Roselyn was given as a gift to the world. He adores his niece and sister, and is very protective more now than ever after what she had been through. 

Tommy has just returned from Australia, tired and tan. He hasn’t told anyone yet but this was his last time in the mining field, feeling as if the last two years has shown him there is more to life here in Merrock and that maybe, just maybe, he was getting a little old for running away.

[shelbbswrites]

Why do you think some people try to make sense of Kate and Derek or like Kate as a character?

Those are two very different questions with multiple answers.

As I approach the story, making sense of Kate and Derek doesn't mean condoning Kate's behavior or endorsing their inappropriate relationship. Instead, it means understanding why Kate would want to abuse Derek — for money, power, etc.

More importantly, it means understanding what this pattern of abuse and toxicity means for Derek Hale. This character is caught in a relentless cycle of trauma, and Kate's role is nearly ever-present.

Her abuse, manipulation, and violence cause ripple effects on his character and how he moves through the world as a man and a werewolf, and sometimes, they're not always good effects.

As for Kate as an individual, villains are interesting characters to write and watch. They push boundaries and cross lines. They say and do the things that other, more heroic characters hesitate to do.

Her presence on the show solidifies that. There's also the (previously deemed a tie-in novel, but now I believe it's no longer considered canon) book by Nancy Holder — On Fire: A Teen Wolf Novel. I read that on its publishing day in 2012 and haven't forgotten it since. It further details Kate's abhorrent, unacceptable behavior towards Derek and the Hales.

Ultimately, Kate Argent is one of the scariest villains Teen Wolf has in its arsenal.

[connectingchaos]

🥉HARD SLAP

Our relationship may be unconventional but we BOTH stayed amidst it ALL.

She FEELS for me that much, hence she STAYED.

If its NOT LOVE, I don't know what it is. But if it's really NOT LOVE yet, what more if it already is?

There's really no pressure here.

I don't pretend. There's no illusion.

Force her? Regardless of what I want, ask or do, if she really doesn't want me, love me, or like me even, You know for a fact that she won't do any of these things, make an effort, or do whatever or anything for me.

She can only change if she wants to. And she can only change for herself alone. If her actions shows otherwise, I can never stop her.

I cannot control her. And I never wanted to. She can block me, remove me from her life and or just cut me off everything if she wants to. But she doesn't. She never did.

She CHOSE to STAY.

She CHOSE to make an EFFORT.

She DECIDED on her own.

You can laugh all you want, believe whatever you have thought of, throw blatant insults or whatnot but again, your truth may be different than mine and that's no longer my problem. I just do what is right, live in peace, loving her with pure intentions. As always been. You can keep on with your rants and exhaust yourself. IDC.

If she believes in me, and trusts in me, that's because I never lied to her on anything about EVERYTHING.

The HARD SLAP here is, I am the person she has feelings for and Its no longer with you. As for me, She wants to keep your FRIENDSHIP and I have to accept it too. If you cannot show respect, accept that its just friendship and be civil, that's a given. But i will no longer do anything about it, nor accept anything beyond what's right. All I know is our feelings are intact.

HARD FACT: I am NOT courting HER

TRUTH is --

She's the one who asked for this Chance.

Even before UK, she's the one who keeps asking me to give her a chance after another, who wants to give effort, who wants to continue everything that we have.

She asked ME for another chance since, as she said in her own words, she wants to have her chance to express her TRUE feelings for me. To do things right with me. To correct her wrongs. To show me what she truly feels. And she doesn't want to put everything we had to waste. So I gave her that in exchange for her honesty.

You're still wondering why I have 'so many chances'? Or wonder why she keeps 'following' what I say? That's your answer. FYI: I told her if she wants this chance, if she wants to be with me, she has to respect my boundaries; Respect Me.

And I am NOT 'bragging' here. I am just stating facts.

Facts that are based from what she tells me, her actions, and what she makes me feel every single day.

Yes, she's unstable. Complicated. Confusing even. And yes, she makes mistakes. But that doesn't stop me to appreciate and see what she's been trying to show me ever since.

She pushes me away. But doesn't want me to go. She pushes but holds on me tighter. She may not be great in telling her feelings, resistant to feel at times, and deny things at most, but

Her actions show her TRUTH.

I even asked her recently what turns her off, and she mentioned,

"Someone like her. Someone who LIES."

FACT: She got turned off with YOU when you LIED.

Now I am not invalidating what you had nor what you feel. You are entitled to that. I know truth hurts. I know how it feels to be cheated on, broken and lose the affection of that person. However if you really value her, keep the friendship at least, then STOP yapping about her choices, her feelings, and accept that its DONE.

We can all co-Exist if everyone values RESPECT and no one crosses the line.

Again --

The cause of her downfall and made her realize she's over YOU is the unacceptable DECEIT you've done.

Its your choice to HURT her. Its your fault why those feelings faded.

And here I am getting scraps for the loss of her sense of self for problems I didn't make. I am even compromising for her sake.

DON'T blame me for things I didn't do.

Accusing me for that lame blog? Fine. Accuse me all you want.

Its not mine hence, I'm NOT affected.

Again, if you want to focus on some random shit which could be about someone else really, then enjoy. I won't join your parade.

Go on. But that's on YOU. Enjoy living in that life of hatred.

TBH, I was never jealous of you. I don't compete with you. And I don't even hate you.

I just hate what YOU did that damaged M and lost her self.

It was never personal. Amongst it all, I just hated all the LIES.

I hate the fact that you deceived her when you know for the longest time how hard it is for her to TRUST again, to love again.

She trusted you.

You were her friend before anything else.

And YOU betrayed HER.

Don't you even realize that? I don't think you do.

You know how bad her mental state is, you know what she had gone through. Her traumas. Her past. You knew her fragility more than anyone else, yet YOU still deceived her.

She didn't deserve it, but YOU did anyway.

And all this time, you keep attacking her,

making her feel so small

when it was YOU who traumatized her tremendously.

And you're blaming her for what she feels and do now???

Its not her fault to feel lost.

Its not her fault to lose feelings.

She never wanted to lose herself.

And now she gets to be blamed for changing?

Where do you get the audacity to demand, really?

For you to get mad since she's prioritizing ME now?

Amazing.

I don't even understand where you get the audacity of telling M that I'm taking advantage of her weakness when all the while, you're the one who's deceived her for 11 long years.

Again, STOP projecting yourself on me.

I am NOT anything like YOU.

Tell me, who has taken advantage of M, really? I never did.

You LOST her because of YOU.

You lost her with all the 'ALIBIS' you've given her for the past years she's been yearning for you. YOU already lost her months long even before I came. She said it herself. YOU lost her with your own shit.

Its your fault.

Your actions, your karma.

And with all the things that happened, with what you did, along with ALL the choices she's made, You should know and accept your place by now.

She always say, "She feels she can do right with me. And with me, she can finally do what's right." So I'm holding on to that.

Hence, I am compromising the friendship chat, and to be CIVIL for her sake.

I can never win against your 11 years friendship. BUT I know I have her heart. So with that, I will never let anything or anyone get in the way.

I will never do anything to put it to waste. I will stand here to defend her, support her, love her in ways YOU'VE never done; and give her what she needs. I'm going to protect her, be with her -- no matter what.

And I only believe THIS--

If she wants to, she would. If she doesn't, she won't.

I NEVER BEGGED for her to keep me. Or make her feel GUILT for the things that she's done. At the end of the day, if she doesn't feel anything, she WON'T feel anything, nor do anything for me, regardless. Her EYES says it all. I don't "use" ANYTHING to gain affection nor compassion. Every night, she's more passionate than she used to, and I don't ask her to. Every day, she's more intimate with me even if she appears to be COLD.

Her actions, Her choices -- ALWAYS speaks a thousand words.

so, You be the judge.

As much as she feels for me, I will stand here. And I am NOT going anywhere.

[rainstormcolors]

I asked the_cryptographer if it was alright to share this excerpt from their story Lottery Ticket, as mentioned in the initial post (Jonouchi is called Joey here, and he's multiracial, and there's an eclectic sense of canon):

Already, it was nothing like any Family Mart Joey had ever graced with his presence. There was a fountain and a tiled walkway in its courtyard. And its security cameras were so well-hidden, it took Joey several passes to locate them under the building’s awning, hidden behind an exotic selection of hanging green plants.

The inside of the store was coloured in a soft bronze, immaculately clean, and unusually spacious – with long, wide aisles. A quick survey of the merchandise in its front display revealed an unusually large selection of souvenir chocolate. But, otherwise, it was the same old crap Joey was used to seeing, only at double the price – for no discernible reason except that the people here would pay double the price.

Joey shook his head, but he let his feet carry him further inside. The soft purr and cold breeze of the air conditioner was a welcome change from the dry heat of the sun. And the aisles were arranged in the same comforting way as usual so, without even really thinking about it, Joey made his way halfway down the third aisle to where the painkillers were located.

He flipped his hand over the selection and unhooked an individually packed dose of aspirin. The tablets fit easily against his palm, and the price was ridiculously inflated, but not so high that Joey couldn’t pay it.

From there, Joey skipped around to the snacks in aisle two. He considered the chewy melon candy and a bag of crab-flavoured chips, before he came around to the Pocky. He was flitting between original, choco-banana, and almond – intentionally dragging out the decision process and prolonging his time under the cool force of the AC – when he glanced over the partition of lined goods into the next aisle.

He looked back down and decided suddenly on choco-banana, before it hit him, and his eyes shot back up again – diagonally across to the next isle.

Joey remembered the last time he had seen Kaiba, glancing briefly away from his friends to the back of the assembly hall during graduation, where Kaiba sat in his school uniform, legs crossed. He had refused to give a speech despite having the highest grades in their year. And then there were those times Kaiba’s image had been caught on the television screen, as part of some bid for publicity or news report, and had floated by in the periphery of Joey’s vision as he attended to business far more pressing. But Kaiba’s appearances there had seemed fake and unreal, and had left so little an impression on Joey as to be non-existent.

But Kaiba was, right here, right now, on the first aisle of Family Mart, strictly studying the selection of energy drinks from the look of things. And his presence struck Joey with an amount of familiarity and nostalgia and poorly-conceptualised dislike that seemed nothing if not significant. Kaiba looked exactly the same as Joey remembered, right down to the stiff box-like haircut and the dark overlarge trench coat, as if he had stepped out of Joey’s mind’s eye rather than out of anywhere real. His skin was as deathly pale, his eyes as bright and cold, and his features as fine and pristine. And he had the same scrawny and freakishly tall build, which made Joey realise Kaiba couldn’t have been exactly the same. Because Joey had grown a fair number of centimetres in the last few years, and Kaiba still loomed unacceptably higher, like a statue – unbalanced and ready to topple.

And it was strange that Kaiba was here. It was weird. But the kind of weird Joey was familiar with.  A kind of weird and not-quite-fortuitous coincidence, one of many that had blossomed around his life after he had befriended Yuugi.

I should go say hi.

Joey hesitated. Because it was Kaiba.

He shuffled briefly as he plucked the choco-banana Pocky off the shelf.

What the hell, he decided. We were in Egypt together. We saved the world together.

Joey ran up to the front of aisle two, and then ducked around the corner, sliding up next to Kaiba.

“Hey, Kai-”

“Don’t call me by name.” Kaiba cut him off before he had even finished his greeting. He didn’t even look at Joey, only continued perusing the energy drinks.

“Eh? What’s the big deal?” Joey deflated.

“We’re in public,” Kaiba explained, “and my name is rather recognisable.”

Joey looked around. There were no more than three other people in the store, all of which were congregated around the cash register.

“Paranoid much, moneybags?” Joey snickered. “Anyhow, is that any way to greet an old pal?”

Kaiba frowned at the energy drinks. He picked one off the rack and squinted at the label.

Joey watched him, as the silence dragged out for a long moment. Kaiba slid the drink back onto the rack. He still hadn’t looked at Joey, and Joey was beginning to wonder if Kaiba hadn’t recognised him at all.

And then Kaiba finally spit out a response.

“What do you want, Wheeler?”

Joey felt himself relax.

What did he want?

A driver’s licence. His own apartment. For Mai to stay in Domino City with him. For Yuugi to be less busy with studying all the time. For Honda and his sister to get along. For Anzu to return his calls at a decent hour instead of in the middle of the work day or the middle of the night.

What did he want from Kaiba? …Nothing.

“Uh…” Joey looked down at his hands for answers. “I want an aspirin and a box of Pocky?”

“Fine!” Kaiba swiped the tablets and the Pocky out of his hands. “If I buy these for you, you’ll go away! Right, Wheeler?!”

“The hell?!” Joey protested. He shoved against Kaiba’s shin with his foot and pried the items back out of his hands.

For the first time since they had run into each other, Kaiba blinked, and his eyes actually focussed on Joey.

“I don’t need you to pay for them, moneybags!” Joey protested. “I came in here to get them myself! Why else would I be in a convenience store?!”

Kaiba tensed and looked away. The movement was a little too stiff.

“What?! You think I only came over here to bother you?! Or to get you to pay for my stuff?!” Joey frowned, aware that he was talking at least partly to Mai.

Kaiba’s left eye twitched, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t say anything, only raised his hand to hover over the energy drinks once more.

It occurred to Joey that Kaiba probably really had thought that – that Joey was only there to bum money and cause trouble. And it would have been insulting, if it hadn’t been so depressingly pathetic.

Joey groaned. He wanted to leave, but he suddenly felt exhausted. His feet were stuck.

“It’s been four years since I last saw ya. Five since we said anything more than greetings.”

“Well, I’d hate to break our record,” Kaiba snipped.

Joey rolled his eyes at that. His head hurt.

“I just didn’t think I’d run in to you here, Kai-”

Kaiba cut him off with a glare.

Right, no names.

Kaiba seemed uninclined to say more. And Joey waited impatiently, before he threw his hands up in frustration.

“What are you even doing here?!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I’m never over here in this part of town- And the one day I am I run into you. In a convenience store! Don’t ya have servants and stuff to send off for this kind of stuff?!” He crossed his arms behind his head.

Still, Kaiba said nothing – seemingly content to ignore Joey indefinitely in favour of the energy drinks.

I should just leave, Joey thought. Kaiba’s as much of a jerk as always.

And he really did, or he started to anyway. He turned and walked towards the register.

But, in a moment of weakness or, more likely, perception, he turned back around and looked, not at Kaiba’s face, but at his hand, hovering uneasily over the drinks and-

“Uh, Kaiba? Are you shaking?” Joey asked. He grinned half-heartedly, like he expected it to be some kind of joke.

Kaiba’s hand snapped into a fist immediately. He thrust his arm down to his side and turned quickly to glare at Joey, before turning even more quickly away again.

Joey scrunched his eyebrows incredulously.

“Why am I here?” Kaiba murmured.

“Uh, I dunno,” Joey volunteered. “It sure looks like you want an energy drink.”

“Shut up, you!” Kaiba snapped at Joey. “Idiot!” he added, before continuing his murmurs, addressing himself. “You literally don’t have time to be here. Your time is worth too much to be spent in this godforsaken hole in the ground with these morons.”

Joey huffed, exasperated. “Don’t start with that snobby rich guy too-good-for-everyone act, again.”

“I’m not being egotistical,” Kaiba protested, turning to Joey, more calmly this time. “It’s a simple fact. My time is worth near a million yen per hour. I can’t afford to spend it here.”

“Then why are you here?” Joey asked again.

For a moment, silence sat between them.

And then Kaiba grit his teeth and clutched the side of his face with one hand. Joey watches as Kaiba’s eyes bulged, and it suddenly occurred to him what was happening.

Kaiba was having some kind of mental break, in a fucking Family Mart, over what kind of energy drink he wanted.

And it was surprisingly unpleasant to watch.

“Aw, geez…”

Joey scanned the shelf and selected one of the bottles.

“Lipovitan-D, okay?” he asked, waving it up to Kaiba’s face. “Best to go with the classic, right? You’re not going to break out in hives on me, are you?”

Kaiba looked at him, blank faced.

Joey sighed, frustrated that he’d have to make this sudden act of altruism more explicit.

“Look, just- Just go take a couple of breaths of fresh air. I’ll get you your damn energy drink.”

Kaiba stared at him with the same look of incomprehension, but Joey had to turn away and walk up to the counter before he changed his mind.

He had no idea how to explain the fact that, unlike a night at a fancy hotel or French toast and sparkly orange juice at a seaside restaurant, an energy drink at Family Mart was actually within his budget. And that was somehow meaningful.

“Hey! How’s it going’?” Joey said, waving at the cashier, as he dropped his items roughly on the counter.

“Not bad, not bad…” was the soft reply. Joey watched the cashier rung up the items. His hair was brushed back flat under his cap, and his apron was neatly folded. His gestures were inoffensive, and his words – polite. But, all the same, something about him, perhaps the time and thought and care he put into every movement, indicated to Joey that he lived closer to Joey’s part of town, and wasn’t just the bored, aimless son of a high-class businessman.

“Your total comes to 1638 yen.”

“Sure. Sure,” Joey agreed, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He flipped through it, pausing briefly over his metro pass, to find a lone thousand yen bill. Without pausing, he went to unzip the change pocket, and upturned over the counter. He flipped quickly through the coins and-

“Shit-” Joey cursed softly. He was short. “Hey, man, how much was that aspirin?”

He picked up the box of Pocky to stare at the label – 550 yen.

“640 yen,” the cashier said, reading the price of the aspirin off from his monitor.

Joey’s headache still persisted, no doubt aided by Kaiba’s sudden appearance.

But, between food and medicine…

“Cut it,” Joey said, brushing the aspirin tablets away with his hand. “Just the other two.”

The cashier obediently scanned the aspirin again, removing it from the total. With only 966 yen left to pay…

Joey’s eye caught on the lottery scratchers under the glass counter.

He glanced down at the change on the counter. He isolated a group of fifty yen coins, dragging them across the counter with his fingers. He had enough for two of the hundred yen scratchers.

…And it would serve Kaiba right to have to wait a few minutes for him.

“Hey, add in a couple of those-” Joey said, pointing to the stack of paper tickets under the counter. “The red and pink stripped ones.”

The scratchers proudly advertised: Win 5000000 Today!

“Might win enough to buy back my aspirin,” Joey grinned, aware of the self-deprecation inherent in every word.

The cashier smiled back. “Just don’t go in expecting the grand prize.”

He ripped the tickets off from the stack and slid them across the counter to Joey. And Joey forked over his cash, to get the rest of the items rung up.

He grabbed a stray five yen coin lying on the counter, and got to work scratching away the carbon film coating the tickets.

You needed to reveal three matching amounts to have a winning ticket. The first scratcher revealed no matches whatsoever and, just when the second ticket seemed to promise some success with two matching circles of one thousand yen, the final circle revealed an uncomplimentary five thousand yen.

“No luck?” the cashier asked, leaning over the counter to study Joey’s tickets.

“No luck,” Joey agreed. He pushed the spent scratchers back across the counter, accepted his plastic bag, gathered up the change on the counter, and waved as he walked off.

Kaiba wasn’t in the aisles anymore, and Joey realised he must have left.

Giant waste of time and money- he thought uncharitably.

But he looked side to side, as the automatic doors parted in front of him exiting the store, and startled.

Kaiba was standing to the left of the exit, leaning against the side of the building, with crossed arms and an ugly expression.

And it occurred to Joey that Kaiba must have actually listened to his advice, and gone outside for fresh air, and that was even more startling.

“Here you go, moneybags,” Joey said. He dug through his bag, passing over the Pocky for the Lipovitan, and tossed the bottle over to Kaiba with a small flick of his wrist.

Kaiba caught it deftly in his hand, and stared at it – like Joey had tossed over something completely foreign to him, like one of Honda’s fancy car wrenches.

Or tossed him a shovel and told him to dig.

“Savour it, Kaiba,” Joey teased. “Don’t drink it all at once!”

Kaiba frowned. “It’s essentially a shot, Wheeler. You’re supposed to drink it all at once,” he said, proving he did, in fact, know what to do with it.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Joey said, reassuring himself more than Kaiba. He gave a quick thumbs-up before turning to go. “See you around!” he called, completely aware that he wouldn’t be running into Kaiba again anytime soon if he could help it.

I'm desiring more fanfiction of Seto Kaiba having a nervous breakdown in public and trying to hide it and hating his own guts so much for this weakness, like in the first chapter of Cryptographic_DeLurk's Lottery Ticket and the opening of bobtailsquid's Abstraction.

[lilxberry]

Cap Doesn’t Like Bullies - Steve Rogers

Synopsis;

Your daughter meets her biggest hero to which you’re completely oblivious to the fact during the entire encounter. Her confidence certainly didn’t waver like you had expected it would of a child meeting someone such as Captain America.

Bruh I’m in love with him. LOOK AT HIS FACE!

Warnings: FLUFF! Rude ass stranger. A lil bit o’ language. A sassy child.

Words: 3,305

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader (female reader) (single mom!reader)

(A/N: I named the daughter Kira but you can happily change it. It’s just a name I can easily associate with a child for some reason lmao.)

(A/N 2: I fixed as many mistakes I could find and hopefully, it’ll be more bearable to read lmao.)

Chapter 2 >

_______________

“Mommy,” Kira, your little girl whined.

“Yes baby?” You swung your conjoined hands widely causing her to giggle which in turn, made you smile.

“Can we go to the park today?” Her Captain America backpack bounced on her shoulders with each step. The mostly blue bag clashed yet also complimented the very pink, puffy coat that she wore.

You looked down at her with a raised eyebrow as you watched her for a reaction. “Really? In this weather?”

Kira threw her head back and groaned before exasperatingly replying as if it were the most obvious thing she could have ever spoken. “YES! If we’re at the park, I’ll want to run around and running around will keep me warm. It’s always cold at home but you won’t let me run around.”

A smart little drama queen.

You desperately tried to hide your amusement because you know if she senses that you hadn’t taken her seriously, even more dramatics would be added. “That’s because we can’t run around inside. We might-“

“We might break something. I KNOW! Ugh…” Her feet drag slightly as she walks. She huffs and lowers her head, watching her feet as you move along the sidewalk. You smirk ever so slightly as you watch the top of her head which adorned a woolly hat in an attempt to keep her warm in the season of winter.

“We can go to the park-“ She perked up instantly with a gasp, looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “ONLY, and only, if we can get burgers, too.”

She pauses her steps and looks up at you with a stern, serious expression as she thrusts her hand forward, prompting you to take a hold of it. “You’ve got yourself a deal!” Kira shook your hand firmly and rapidly before she began to pull you along in the direction of the park that was honestly too cold to be sat in.

You huffed a chuckle as you allowed your 6 year old to pull you along the pavements and closer to the large open space of the park.

_______________

The inside of the small Brooklyn burger joint was certainly warmer than the harsh weather that lashed at your face and every inch of exposed skin at the park. Your daughters face matched her coat in colour by the time you reached the building.

Waiting in line, your daughter wormed her hands out of the sparkly knitted gloves, stuffing them in her coat pocket before tearing her hat off of her head and stuffing that in the other available pocket. You chuckled as she tried to brush the mess of locks down with her hands and the cheesy grin she flashed you only made your laugh more.

The missing baby tooth at the forefront of her mouth adding a funny effect to the adorable face you had the tendency to squish between your hands tenderly.

The person in front of the two of you had just finished ordering and just as you were about to step forward with your daughter at your side, someone had rudely pushed in front of you, effectively cutting you off.

You scoffed at the sheer audacity this man had in believing he could cut the line, but it was your daughter who spoke up. Sometimes you cursed yourself for teaching her to stand up for herself in situations as these. You forget your daughter has a vote of confidence like no other and will speak her mind, even if the person is nearly 4 times her height.

Of course, these lessons were meant for her to deal with people her size and age, fellow students who bully her or others, seeing as she’s only 6, not for grown ass adult males.

“Cutting is rude. You should wait in line like everybody else mister.” You heard the pissed tone she spoke with and couldn’t decide whether to find it adorable, humorous, or concerning.

You heard the man scoff and honestly, your blood began to boil. He turned towards the two of you and looked you up and down as if scrutinising you before peering down at your daughter with disinterest.

“I’m ordering for one, you’re ordering for two. I haven’t got time to wait for mama bear to order with her equally scruffy little cub.” He rolled his eyes and looked towards the employee who honestly, looked just about as pissed as you did.

You clenched your fist and took a deep breath in the hopes of calming down. Honestly, it hadn’t worked well. “If you’d asked nicely, we would have happily let you order before us. There isn’t any need to be rude, especially to my kid.”

He heaved a deep sigh before turning to look at the two of you once more. He opened his mouth to no doubt retort back with yet another rude remark but someone elses’ voice swiftly cut him off. “I believe you should listen to the young lady and wait your turn like everybody else.”

The stranger, mighty handsome stranger you might add, with beautiful blue eyes and blonde hair smiled down at your daughter and sent her a discreet wink. She beamed up at the tall stranger as he turned to look towards the man who had rudely cut you off in line, his features hardening.

“You should apologise and move yourself to the back of the line. What you’ve said was unacceptable and certainly no way to speak to a woman and her child.” He folded his arms over his chest, his muscles, even though hidden behind the material of his long sleeves, bulged with incredible size.

The man that had cut the line looked up at your saviour and gulped but relatively kept his features schooled. “No chance. I only said what’s true. Why should I be punished because of that?”

The stranger chuckled humourlessly as he stepped forward, the incredibly rude man taking a step back out of fear. “Whether what you said was true or false, which was absolutely false, doesn’t matter. You disrespected another in not only speaking to them as if they’re below you, but by simply cutting in line in the first place.”

“Yeah. You’re just a bully. Bullies are rude and always cut in line,” your daughter chirped with pride. The stranger smiled down at your daughter and nodded his head.

“That’s right, sweetie.”

The man scoffed before turning towards the employee stood behind the counter. “Are you really going to let him speak to a paying customer like that?” he asked incredulously.

The employee had a smirk cross her lips and she popped her hip out before folding her arms in front of her. “You haven’t paid for anything. Now, please leave before I get my manager to call the cops to have you removed.”

The man huffed indignantly before grumbling and stomping pass the handsome stranger, shoulder checking him on the way. The stranger rolled his eyes before catching a hold of the mans’ arm and pulling him back slightly. “You still haven’t apologised.”

“Sorry.” His tone was fake and nothing but sarcastic but nonetheless, the stranger released him, probably knowing that was the best apology they should expect from him.

The small interior of the place slowly bustled back to its quiet chatter of the few customers inside. The stranger smiled down towards the two of you and you couldn’t help but be enraptured with how perfect his smile was.

“Are you ladies alright?”

Your daughter rapidly nodded her head, grinning widely once more. “Sure are mister. Thank you!”

You cleared your throat, shaking yourself out of your reverie and smiling up at him. ‘Stop gawking at him, idiot!’

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

His smile seemed to widen, and he looked quite bashful and oh god, your stomach did flips when looking at him. “It’s nothing, ma’am. I don’t tolerate bullies, I suppose.”

Kira gasped and her eyes lit up. “Like Captain America! The Cap doesn’t like bullies, either!”

The stranger chuckled and lowered himself to your daughters’ height. “Yep, like Captain America.” Honestly, he seemed almost pleased at the connection, but you couldn’t place why. Although, if you were say compared to someone like Black Widow, you certainly would feel chuffed yourself, so you couldn’t blame him.

You failed to realise you were staring at the stranger, again, until you felt a small tug on your arm. You snapped yourself out of small daydream to look down at your daughter. “Ask him if he wants to join us,” she whispered although by the huff of laughter that he tried, and failed, to supress, he clearly heard.

“Uh, yeah. Would you like to join us…?” You trailed off, hoping the stranger would give you his name. He seemed to pick up on his lack of introduction as he stood to his full height, once again towering over you.

He held his hand out before him for you to take, which you did. “Steve.”

“Well, would you like to join us, Steve? We’d like to thank you for standing up to that rude man and pay for your meal if you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Well, that’s a really nice offer…” Now it was his turn to trail off.

“Y/N!” your daughter exclaimed loudly. “And I’m Kira!”

He chuckled. “Y/N. And Kira. But I was actually going to offer to pay for your meals.”

“Oh, no. That’s oka-“

“Thank you, Steve!”

You looked down at your daughter with wide eyes as she cut you off and accepted the strangers’ offer. Steve chuckled and glanced down at Kira. “Very well. Should we order then?”

Kira grasped your hand in her smaller one and pulled you to the front of the counter, beckoning Steve to follow. You couldn’t help but shake your head, feeling only ever so slightly embarrassed by your daughters’ antics.

_______________

You daughter was enthralled with whatever came out of Steves’ mouth; completely enraptured with the stories he told. Though, you couldn’t really blame her.

Kira wasn’t one to shy away from conversation, but it had honestly shocked you how versed she became in conversation with the man the two of you had only met 45 minutes prior.

Yes. 45 minutes.

It seemed none of you really wanted to part ways; all enjoying yourselves with flowing conversation and shared smiles.

“So,” Steve started, his arms resting on top of the table that sat between him and you and Kira. “You mentioned Captain America earlier, and you have him on your backpack. Do you like him?”

“Yeah! He’s my favourite hero!” Gosh did she get excited over the topic of heroes.

He chuckled. “And why’s that?”

You rolled your eyes knowing what was coming yet couldn’t stop the fond smile growing on your face. “Well, he’s super cool. He’s brave, kind, strong and he doesn’t like bullies. I don’t like bullies either.” Then, a devilish smile broke out on her small, rounded face. “Mommy likes him too. She thinks he’s pretty. AND SHE HASN’T EVEN SEEN HIS FACE PROPERLY! She’s seen his butt though, looks at it a lot.”

Your eyes widened and the smile was promptly wiped from your face whilst Steve seemingly choked on his spit and laughed nervously. “I think she’s in love with him,” Kira whispered, further embarrassing you.

“OKAY! That’s enough, ha…”

Steve smiled, albeit sheepishly, towards the two of you. “Well, I believe Captain America would think your moms’ pretty, too.”

Kira shrug, shovelling a cold, left over fry from the basket into her mouth. “I know.”

You groaned softly and hid your face behind your hand, slumping in your seat. Your whole face felt hot. Trying to calm your racing heart, you peered at Kira. “Why don’t you tell him about your birthday sweetie?”

“OH YEAH! Mommies taking me to the Captain America display!” Kira bounced in her seat and if her eyes hadn’t already twinkled with excitement, they certainly did now after she’s formulated a plan quickly in her mind. “You should definitely come, mister.”

You and Steve both spluttered at her invitation.

“Oh honey, I don’t think Steve would-“

“W-well, it’s not up to me-“

Kira groaned and rolled her eyes overdramatically before looking at Steve. “Yep. It’s up to me.” She then turned towards you. “And, we can just ask Steve if he would like to.” To which she faced Steve once more, looking at him intently. “Would you like to come too?”

Steve looked extremely apprehensive to answer and looked towards you in the hopes of getting some guidance in what to say. If he were being honest, this past hour he’d felt nothing but calm and happy, forgetting his worries and has actually taken a break from all the responsibilities he’s been handed.

He very much liked both yourself and Kira, feeling content in both of your presences’ and would very much like if he continued to get to know both yourself and Kira more. He just certainly didn’t want to overstep.

He internally cheered for himself when you nodded your head discreetly. Your face told him that the young girl who looked extremely hopeful would certainly not cease until she succeeded in getting what she wanted in this moment.

“Uh…” He turned his gaze towards Kira once more gave her a small smile. “I would love to go to the Captain America display for your birthday.”

Kira cheered loudly and you shook your head with an adoring smile directed to the young girl sat beside you. “Great! You should give your number to my mommy so we can plan it properly.” She sipped on her half-drunken refill of milkshake after speaking so nonchalantly.

Both Steve and yourself felt and looked dumbfounded. Had she really just said that?

Steve chuckled before his eyes darted down towards your phone which was sat face down atop the table. “May I?”

“Oh, uh, yep.” You fumbled with picking your phone up, unlocking it and opening up a new contact before handing your phone over to Steve, face burning and a shy smile adorning your features. Your hands brushed against one another as he carefully took the phone from your hold and typed in his full name and phone number.

He was just about to hand it back to you when Kira swiftly took it and looked at the screen. She shook her head before looking up at Steve. “You gotta add a picture, silly.” She raised the phone after tapping the picture icon atop the contact, pointing it straight at Steve.

The poor man panicked and smiled quite awkwardly as your daughter snapped the photo. You slapped a hand over your mouth to try desperately hide your laugh, which hadn’t really been that successful.

Kira observed the picture on the screen before nodding; she clearly found the picture acceptable for use. Steve couldn’t help but also find it quite amusing and chuckled himself. Your daughter swiftly handed you your phone back but once in your hand, you had spotted the time and your eyes slightly widened.

“Oh wow, is it really that late?” you questioned yourself but prompted Steve to check the time himself by looking down at his watch. You looked up towards him with an apologetic smile and shrugged your shoulders. “Sorry, we really should get going. Kira has school in the morning.”

Steve shook his head and smiled, unbothered by your information. “No, no, it’s perfectly fine. I completely understand.”

“Thank you, and sorry again.” You looked sheepish as you stood and put your own jacket back on before beckoning Kira to stand herself. She pouted but did as she was told, allowing you to help her with her coat, to which she then put her hat back on top her head and gloves back on her small hands.

Steve stood and cleared his throat as he stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. You looked up away from Kira and sent him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen upon someone’s face and miraculously, he felt a lot let nervous.

“Thank you for the wonderful company and the meal,” you spoke with such sincerity that made his heart thump louder and harder than any life threating mission ever could.

“And for standing up to that bully for us,” Kira added.

You huffed laugh. “Yes, and that.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He nodded his head.

Kira stepped forward which prompted Steve to lower himself to her height just as he had done so earlier. “It was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too, ma’am.”

She beamed up at him before sticking her hand out and her expression was nothing but serious, one which Steve copied as he took her hand and shook it. “My mommy will text you later about my birthday.” She withdrew her hand before her big, bright smile reappeared. She grasped your hand in hers and waved as she began to pull you out of the burger joint.

“Bye Captain America!”

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets comically and you did nothing but splutter, opening and closing your mouth in the hopes that some words would pass out of you as your daughter pulled you out through the doors and in the direction of your small Brooklyn apartment.

Steve froze and watched wide eyed as you both left through the door, the bell atop jingling when it closed behind you. “Huh. Smart kid.” He shook his head before laughing and standing, collecting his jacket and leaving a tip on the table before slowly exiting the building himself, walking towards his bike ready to head back to the tower, completely dazed and the image of you ingrained into his mind.

Meanwhile, you finally snapped out of your shocked and flustered state halfway down the sidewalk. “YOU KNEW THAT WAS CAPTAIN AMERICA?!”

“Yep,” your daughter replied, popping the ‘P’ and acting completely nonchalant about the whole ordeal.

“AND YOU TOLD HIM I LIKE HIS BUTT?!”

“Yep.”

You narrowed your eyes at the small figure of your daughter. “You little monster.” You swept her up into your arms and began to blow raspberries against her chubby little cheek, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles and loud laughter.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with her and then Steves’ earlier comment came to the forefront of your mind. ‘Captain America thinks I’m pretty! HOLY SHIT!’

You’d dwell on that later though.

“MY MOMMY LIKES CAPTAIN AMERICAS’ BUTT!” Kira shouted as she continued to gasp out giggles and you couldn’t help but laugh and indulge in her silly behaviour.

“I LIKE CAPTAIN AMERICAS’ BUTT!”

Kira roared in laughter once more along with you, and you both continued to find an abundance of humour in the situation the entire walk home.

_______________

“Hey punk,” Bucky spoke as he entered the main, spacious shared living room and spotted Steve sat on the couch, staring at his phone and smiling widely as his eyes scan over the words you had texted him.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” Bucky playfully quipped, a small smirk across his lips.

“Uh, nothing.” It could have been convincing if Steve had looked away from his phone and his already large smile didn’t widen further.

“Sure. Nothing.” Bucky shakes his head and sits beside his friend. “She pretty?”

Usually, Steve would question what made his friend think it was a woman, but he was so dazed and giddy, he couldn’t find it in him to deny it. “She’s so beautiful Buck.”

“Gotta date?”

“Not yet.”

Bucky chuckled and slapped his friends’ shoulder in good nature as he shook his head. “Well, good luck, punk. I hope you get that date.” Bucky stood and huffed a laugh at Steve still grinning at his phone as he left to head towards the kitchen, missing Steves’ mumbled response.

“Me too.”

_______________

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Gosh dang do I love this man

That is all

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual​ @iwazoomingouttahere​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​

[watchmegetobsessed]

Good morning - Harry Styles

a/n: oh wow look at me, double posting, can’t stop won’t stop. anyway, here is this lil birthday smut i wrote today, totally not while working, that would be unacceptable *cough cough*.... whatevs, enjoy and let me know what you though!

warning: it’s a smut, straight up, morning blowie for the bday boy

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

The warm morning Sun peeks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the half open curtains giving the rays a free pass into the hazy bedroom that’s filled with warmth, sleep and little snores coming from one particular birthday boy who is turning twenty-seven today.

Harry lies on his back, one hand on his bare chest, the other one sprawled out to the side, his lower arm hidden under the pillow your head is resting on. Your legs are tangled with his long ones, one hand on his stomach, the other one tugged under your head.

You wake slowly, with each drawn breath, gradually sensing your surroundings. The rays of sunshine on your back where the sheets are not covering you, Harry’s soft puffs and snores you’ve grown to adore so much, it’s now hard to sleep without them. The touch of his soft skin under your balm and his hairy legs tangled with yours, locking them together, anchoring you to him even in his sleep.

Blinking a few times you get used to the brightness as your eyes fall on the man beside you, sleeping so peacefully. You give yourself a few minutes to adore the line of his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the curves of his lips and his chiseled jawline that’s just screaming to be touched.

You sigh, feeling so lucky and gifted to have him as the first thing to see in the mornings, his presence makes sure your day starts perfectly.

Harry hums in his sleep, his arm that’s under your pillow curls until he is scooping you closer to his side and you gladly move to lie against him, running your hand up on his chest you trace the cross pendant that lies between his chest muscles.

“Mmm,” he hums again at your touch and for a moment you think he is awake, but when you look up at his pretty face, his eyes are still wired shut, lips slightly parted. You smile at how easily he reacts to your touch even when he is asleep.

With your wandering eyes, you take in every tiny detail of his perfect body, every piece of art that’s tattooed into his skin forever, every curve, muscle and blemish, you just can’t get enough of him. And today, you are ready to cherish him more than usual. Today is his day, it’s all about your love for him and to show how happy you are that he chose to spend another year of his life with you. You still remember his last birthday at the beginning of your relationship. You were still testing the waters with each other, not entirely cozied up to each other just yet, you just knew you wanted to be together.

Now a year later, you can’t be more sure about wanting to spend the rest of your life with him, share everything with him and love him every day that you have on this planet.

Your hand slowly makes its way down his chest, gently caressing his tummy, grazing your nails softly on the lines of his fern tattoos until your fingertips reach the elastic band of his boxers. Glancing up you see that he is still sleeping and a devilish smile tugs on your lips, knowing how you want to wake your man up on his birthday.

As your palm slides further down his body, you cup his cock through the fabric of his boxers, rubbing him gently and sensually to wake his nerves up down there. His reaction is almost instant. When you slip your hand under the band he is already half hard, ready for whatever you have in your mind. You give him a few gentle strokes just to make sure his body knows your intentions before you pull your hand back. You push yourself up from your lying position and throw a leg over his waist, getting on top of him and leaning forward you put your hands to his stomach for support, your lips meeting his perfectly cut jawline as you start peppering his warm skin with chaste kisses everywhere you go. You watch his face and see that his eyelids start to move, finally opening when you’re kissing along his collarbone, down his chest.

“Mornin’,” you smile at him as his hands instantly come up to your waist. To add to the experience, you gently rock your hips, rubbing yourself against him, feeling his growing bulge push against your core.

“Oh my, good mornin’ to you as well, my love,” he smirks, closing back his eyes, lying underneath you, letting you do anything you want with him.

Your lips travel down his chest, across his tummy and you kiss every leaf of his fern tattoos before you move to the very bottom of his stomach.

“Have you slept well, birthday boy?” you ask with a coy smile when his eyes open again, fixed on you as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

“Yeah. But waking up has been especially good,” he chuckles, his morning voice doing things to you without him even touching you.

“Thought you’d like your first birthday surprise as early as possible,” you grin and tug down his boxers. He buckles his hips up a bit so you can easily get rid of the clothing item, throwing it to the side.

“So thoughtful of yo—Ah!” he moans when you place a soft kiss to his pink head, hands sliding down his erected length before you grip the base and bring it up from his stomach. He is so hard and ready just for you, it waters your mouth.

“You think you’ll like my gift?” you tease him, gently pumping him, taking your time with every movement you make.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he breathes out, his eyelids are still heave from his sleep, but he can’t take his eyes off of you as you settle between his legs.

“I hope so,” you smirk before licking up his whole length, a whimper erupting from his pink lips. Keeping one hand on his base you bring your other one to play with his balls, knowing well it always drives him crazy. Your lips are not even on him, yet he is already moaning your name. He brings his hands to you, collecting your hair in his palm so he can see your face perfectly.

You wet your lips, give his head another sloppy kiss before you wrap your lips around him and start pushing your head down on his cock, his dick filling up your mouth just right as he cries your name out at the sensation.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, one hand holding your hair, the other one gripping the sheets beside him.

You start bobbing your head, going up and down his erection, taking him in as much as you can every time you go down, covering the rest with your hand, gently pumping his base. He is so big, your eyes start to water when his head pushes against the back of your throat and you thank all higher forces you’re not one to gag easily.

“Y/N, fuck! You’re killing me,” he growls, unable to hold still, his hips start to meet with your head movements, pushing himself even deeper into your warm mouth. You come up for air, moving your hand up and down his length as you make eye-contact with him. His green eyes are filled with bliss and adoration, he always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. You take a few breaths before going down again, determined to take his whole length into your mouth at least once. So you shut your eyes and try to focus as you push your head down, his cock sliding into your mouth again, but this time you go deep. He fills your mouth completely, the head already down your throat as your nose meets his pubic bone and you keep him there for a second before coming up.

“Oh fuck! You take me so well, baby. You’re fucking amazing,” he whimpers, unable to contain himself. His chest is heaving, his whole body buzzes with his excitement so you decide to go deep again.

You take another deep breath and push your head down, nose pressing against his pelvis once, twice and even a third time before you detach yourself from him.

“Holy shit I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack,” he breathes out and you can’t push your smile down as you go back to bobbing your head like in the beginning, picking your pace up a little as you know he is close to his orgasm.

“Yes, fuck! Just like that, baby. You are doing so good,” he encourages, moaning your name as you keep sucking him off, one hand pumping on his base, the other one massaging his balls to throw him over the edge completely. “I’m gonna c-cum, fuck! You feel amazing!”

You make sure to suck on him harder when your lips slide up on his length, giving him some extra sensation before his cock twitches in your hold and he cums into your mouth, his pleasure spurting into the back of your throat.

“Baby, oh my God! I love you so fucking much,” he whimpers, his words coming out all rushed and melted together.

You let go of him with a popping sound, swallowing without a second thought as you give him a few more pumps, making sure he has ridden his orgasm out fully.

“Holy fuck!” he pants, rubbing his face with his hands, clearly awake now. You lick him off, making sure he is as clean as he can be before you climb up him, cuddling to his side with a proud smirk on your face.

“So, did you like your surprise?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“You kidding me? I fucking loved it. You and your wonderful mouth, I can’t believe you,” he chuckles softly, pressing his lips against you, kissing you as a thank you.

“Happy birthday, H,” you smile against his lips, pecking them a few more times before pulling back.

“Twenty-seven feels fucking fantastic so far,” he sighs, holding you tight to his side as you giggle into his shoulder.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 2 - First Impressions [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback to the first chapter my loves ! ❤ Here’s chapter 2, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Word Count: 2500

Warnings: Mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language.

Summary: First impressions can be wrong.

Chapter 1 

Being a spy for years had taught you to be able to tell whether a mission would be dangerous or not before they even sent you there.

For example, the mission they had put you on three years ago where you had to poison the target in a very crowded ballroom while pretending to be an artifacts expert was a dangerous one.

Or five years ago when you had quite literally brought a dagger into a gun fight in a storage unit, that was also quite dangerous.

But something told you that going after Bucky Barnes would be the most dangerous mission you’d ever had so far, and you weren’t even going to be engaged in a fight.

Instead you were expected to make him fall in love with you, which-

To be honest, engaging in a fight would’ve been much easier.

“This is unacceptable.” Your best friend paced in the empty conference room while you nibbled on the chocolate, keeping your eyes on your phone. “You should’ve said no.”

“I can’t say no, it’s a mission.”

“No, it’s my father treating you like a—like a—“ she threw her hands up, “Honey trap!”

You shrugged your shoulders, scrolling down on the screen but then looked up when she snapped her fingers in front of your eyes.

“Y/N!”

“Chloe if I nail this mission, I’ll get the position I want. I could be a handler next year, do you know how big that is?”

“You need to stop pretending like you’re fine with this.”

“You’re sending me the files tonight right?” you asked, ignoring her huff of impatience and she sat down, crossing her arms.

“Yes,” she said, “Everything there is to know about Bucky Barnes is in there, lots of things you could use. I gathered it myself. His past, his interests back then, what he has been doing since he got here, his favorite porn, his favorite musicians—“

“I’m sorry, what was that last one?”

“His favorite musicians?” she played dumb, grinning and you shifted your weight.

“You wouldn’t do that background check on me, would you?”

Her grin widened as she wiggled her brows, “Just so you know, you’re such a cliché.”

“Jesus Christ.” You slipped a little in your seat, your cheeks burning, “I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t,” she sang and you tried to focus on the screen, but the door to the conference room opened, gathering your attention. Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw the figure stepping inside and you jumped on your feet as Chloe gasped.

“Keith?”

Keith was the third member of your small friend group. He was a field agent just like you were, and for years you, Chloe and Keith had always had each other’s backs, in or outside of missions.

Back at the academy you were inseparable and it had been months since you had last seen him.

“Figured I’d find you two here,” he said, “I just followed the scent of despair.”

“I thought you were still in Prague!” You rushed to hug him and he ruffled your hair before you batted his hand away.

“I was but I got called in at 5 in the morning. General’s orders.”

“It was about time my father did something right.” Chloe came to kiss his cheek, making him grin, “Gosh, it’s so good to have you back!”

“Good to be back, gorgeous,” he lifted her up in a hug before setting her down as she squealed, “I missed you.”

Your jaw dropped when you saw the file in his hand, “Hold on. Is that what I think it is?”

“It could be,” he told you, “That is, if you’ll have me in your mission.”

“The best news I got since I landed.” You pumped your fist in the air “Yes! Yes I do want you in the mission!”

“So then,” he said as he sat beside you and put his feet up on the table while you leaned back, “Is what I heard true?”

“Yes and you need to tell her she’s being ridiculous,” Chloe motioned at you and Keith pursed his lips.

“I just thought we put this whole honey trap thing behind us back in 1950s.”

“Exactly!”

“Guys come on, if Accords pass—screw that, even if they don’t pass, think about how we can use Barnes.”

Keith clicked his tongue, tilting his head.

“Will we use him more than we’re using you right now?” he asked and you rolled your eyes, grabbing the file in his hand.

“Your alias is Whistler this time?”

“Yep,” he nodded, “General says yours is Shrike?”

“Mm hm.”

“Considering what this Barnes mission entails, I’m surprised he didn’t call you Swallow.”

You kicked at his boot and he let out a laugh, holding his hands up.

“What? That was the terminology back in the day for agents seducing people for the mission, wasn’t it? Raven for guys, swallow for girls.”

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned and Chloe sat on the table, still pouting.

“You’re both fine with this then?”

“Chloe, the guy was around in World War 2,” you said patiently, “If I don’t want to sleep with him, I’ll just tell him I’m waiting for marriage, it’s probably not a foreign concept for him, old times and all. Happy?”

She arched a brow, “If you say so,” she said, “But you know there are examples of undercover agents falling for their targets, right? Especially in situations like these.”

Keith chuckled, “Yeah, that’d make a great story for your grandchildren.”

“Except that I wouldn’t get to have those grandchildren because I’d be killed.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Just let me know beforehand if the Winter Soldier decides to make an honest woman out of you,” Keith said and you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Look at you, making jokes.”

“I’m a funny guy, thank you very much,” he said, “So what are we doing tonight?”

“Killing some Hydra scum,” you said, “There’s this gallery opening, apparently evil guys love art nowadays. Who knew?”

“You need a spotter?”

“Sure thing.”

“After you guys are done killing that target, can we hang out?” Chloe asked, “We need to catch up.”

“Only if I get to pick the movie,” Keith made a face, “I don’t trust your taste after the last time.”

“10 Things I Hate About You is a classic!”

“Do you want to hear the one thing I hate about you, Chloe? Spoiler, it’s your taste in movies.”

“Play nice, kids,” you said, skimming the lines on the screen and Chloe huffed.

“Fine. And after that, we can work on the seduction mission.”

“You’re in on that as well?” Keith asked and Chloe nodded.

“Duh.”

“Look at us, Charlie’s Angels is back.” Keith said, “Wait, does that mean General is Charlie?”

You supressed a laugh and shook your head fondly, looking at Keith.

“I missed you, asshole.”

“Missed you too, trouble.”

                                                       ***

Working for the division you did had its advantages, and it never stopped to surprise you how you could always get the newest gadgets before going on missions. Chloe had installed certain features into your “sniper costume” as she put it, and one of them was a ring that would call the nearby agents of your team to your location, and the other one was a ski mask that was both bulletproof and could change your voice.

“Batman does it, why not you?” she had said before making you try it.

“Shrike, ma’am?” Keith’s voice echoed in your ear and you adjusted your earpiece before checking the harness around your waist, just in case you needed to jump off the building. Your team was already in position if you were in any way compromised, and you started setting your sniper rifle.

“Since when do you call me ma’am?” you asked Keith and he chuckled.

“Since they put you in charge of a team.”

“Don’t listen to him, guys,” you said to the rest of the team and took a look at the city lights, taking a deep breath.

Rooftops were always peaceful, even when you were holding a sniper rifle.

“ETA of the target?”

“Two minutes.” Keith said and you pressed your lips together, pointing the rifle at the entrance of the gallery, looking through the scope.

“So I think I found a movie for tonight,” Keith said as you shook your head slightly, trying to focus.

“Later.”

“James Bond?” he asked, “We can take a shot every time the movie gets something wrong about being a spy. We’ll probably be hammered by the end of the night.”

“One minute, Shrike.” One of the agents said and you exhaled through your mouth, your finger on the trigger.

“No seriously, don’t you guys like James Bond? I think it’s because of that movie I chose this line of work, but—“ Keith was cut off when you pulled the earpiece out of your ear to have a moment of silence so that you could concentrate when the target arrived, but as soon as you grabbed the rifle again, you heard the familiar sound of someone racking the slide of a gun, followed by a calm voice.

“Easy there,” he said, “Put the rifle down.”

You cursed at yourself in your head, then withdrew your hands from the rifle. Your earpiece was off, meaning that no one in your team could hear you, and you checked whether you could grab the gun from him, but he wasn’t standing close enough.

Professional.

You held up your hands, then slowly turned to see who was threatening you before your heart dropped to your stomach.

Damn it.

This was definitely not the way you were supposed to meet Bucky Barnes.

Thankfully you were wearing a ski mask, so your identity wouldn’t be compromised and the next time you met him, you could pretend.

And he would be none the wiser.

You pressed on the ring Chloe had given you to alert the others, keeping your eyes on the barrel of the gun.

“I thought I saw a glimpse of a scope.”

“Congratulations,” you deadpanned, trying to stall so that your team could get there, “You want a watch as a prize? A refrigerator?”

He looked almost surprised at your snarky comment and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Listen, it’s my target. So if you want to kill him, too bad. I was here first, early bird and all that, shoo.”

Even you could see his confusion that lasted for a second and a small smile pulled at your lips.

“Ah. You don’t know who my target is.”

“I know I’m not going to let you kill someone in a pretty crowded gallery.”

“Even if it’s some Hydra scum?” you asked and he pulled back.

“What?”

You stole a look at the entrance of the gallery over your shoulder as the limo pulled over.

“Mm hm. You really shouldn’t be stopping me Barnes. We got this, you can go and play the superhero with Wilson.”

“You know who I am.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” you stated, making him pause for a moment.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

You tut tutted, “Don’t be greedy.”

“Well, how do I know you’re not lying about your target if you can’t even give me your name?”

“Why would I lie about my target?”

“So that I would let you shoot him.”

“Aw, you’re cute,” you taunted him, tilting your head, “But I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds.

“Who are you?” he asked and you grinned as you heard the footsteps coming closer.

“Until next time, soldier.” You said as the team burst through the door, guns blazing. He turned around to point his gun at the agents, immediately taking cover as you picked up the rifle again.

It was time to get back to work.

You looked through the scope, found the target and pulled the trigger, blood splattering over the walls and chaos erupted over the street instantly, people screaming and running everywhere. You looked over your shoulder to see your team managing to keep Barnes busy with the constant gunshots, then you checked the harness around your waist again and jumped over the roof to land on top of the car waiting for you in the street. The rope went up to the roof as you unbuckled it and got into the car, pulling the ski mask off your face.

“You weren’t compromised, right?” Keith asked and you shook your head.

“I’m not an amateur,” you said as he stepped on the gas, the car breezing through the road. 

“You don’t look so happy,” Keith said after taking a look at you and you pursed your lips together, deep in thought.

“He didn’t take me hostage.”

“Hm?”

“When the team burst through the door and I turned around to kill the target. He’s a super soldier, he could’ve grabbed me, use me as a leverage to get out of there. That’s what I’d do but he didn’t attack me or the team, he took cover.”

“So?”

“Keith, it’s the fucking Winter Soldier we’re talking about. He can kill a team of agents in seconds, but I bet he just got out of there. Without hurting anyone.”

“Maybe he’s just a good person.” Keith chuckled and you slipped a little in the seat, biting at your fingernails.

“I guess.”

“Would it be so bad?”

“It would make no difference,” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the city lights, “Good person or not, he’s my mission.”

“Clearly, but aren’t you going to feel just a little guilty if he ends up being a good guy?”

You scoffed a laugh and turned to him.

“I’m no use to anyone if I develop a guilty conscience,” you stated, “Much less to myself. You know that.”

A silence fell upon the car before he heaved a sigh.

“Listen, Chloe has a point as always,” he said, “These kind of missions are hard, okay? The longer you’re playing your part, the easier it will be to believe it. Feelings get involved, there are bunch of agents who ended up hesitating when it was time to bring their target in, so if you—“

“I won’t hesitate.”

“Y/N.”

“I won’t hesitate,” you repeated, “I swear. The minute this mission is over, I’ll bring him in. Orders are orders.”

Keith let out a whistle, “If you say so.”

You bit inside your cheek and leaned your head on the window, fixing your gaze outside.

“Considering the lack of alternatives,” you rasped out, “Yeah. Yeah I do say so.”  

Chapter 3