#nikola's late night thoughts

[splendiferous-bitch]

so me n the bestie toured two places tonight and we applied for one!!! pls help us manifest the acceptance for our appy 🤞🏼

[sweetteaandpie]

thank for you tagging me @samabigailalan!

Tagging anyone who wants to do this!

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Academia - Turmoil

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, angst

Trigger warning: The reader is attacked, tied up, and given Scarecrow's fear toxin, thoughts of dead loved ones, blood - Damian is vengeful and goes after her attackers.

For the past couple of weeks, you'd been trying to explore your new relationship with Nikolas. He was everything a boyfriend should be - kind, considerate, fun to be around. You'd gone on the typical dates: dinner and a movie, a casual walk through the city, lazy afternoons hanging out in your dorm. It was easy. But there was one problem.

Every time you studied his face for too long, the same sad realization crept in. You weren't as attracted to him as you were... to Damian. Fine. You admit it.

Nick was the sweet, sunshine type. The kind of guy who would make you laugh and take care of you. But Damian... Damian was bad. Brooding. Sharp edges and quiet intensity. The kind of man who made your pulse race and your mind wander to places. You could picture Nikolas holding your hand, but with Damian, you saw someone who would take control. There was a thrill in the idea of letting go, handing the reins over to him, not having to think for once.

For days, you'd been teetering between the smart choice - Nick - and the one that made your heart beat faster, the one you couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how much you tried. Especially at night.

It didn't help that the three of you came across each other on campus often. There were many times when Nick came to meet you after class and walk you to your research lab, and you would catch Damian glaring at the two of you, his arms cross and his eyes narrowed. He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed when you caught him looking - ironically, you were the one who redirected their gaze to the floor in shame. It was all backward.

Meanwhile, Damian had buried himself in his routine. His training, his classes, his late-night patrols, and of course, his fellow elites; heiresses, models, and children of Gotham's 1%, who he was always captured with at night clubs, as your roommate helpfully showed you on her twitter reccomended.

In reality, Damian tried anything to drown out the thoughts of you in his head, the memory of you looking up at him with your soft, vulnerable eyes. The moment he rejected you replayed more times than he wanted to admit.

He didn’t need distractions right now. Not while you were off with Nikolas Hill, laughing at his jokes and letting him kiss you, hold you, touch you whenever he pleased. Damian scoffed at the idea. Hill was a decent guy, sure, but nowhere near your match. But if you wanted to waste your time, that was your right.

He was in the middle of his evening workout when his earpiece beeped, drawing him from his train of thought.

"Robin?" Oracle’s voice filtered through.

"Hm?" he responded, still lost in his own head as he lowered down and pushed up with one hand.

"Are you on campus right now?"

Damian stilled, suddenly alert. "No. Why?"

"There’s been an attack."

His blood ran cold. "Where?"

"Maddison Hall."

His mind flashed to you. Maddison Hall was where you spent most of your time working with Professor Kace and the other researchers. Before he even had time to process the rest of her words, Damian was on his feet, every nerve alight with tension.

"I’m on it," he said, already moving.

"Wait, Robin, I don’t have all the -"

Her voice cut off as Damian turned off his earpiece, barely taking time to grab his gear before he was out the door.

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The sight before him nearly made Damian drop his father’s "no-kill" rule on the spot.

You lay crumpled on the cold floor of the lab, hands bound behind your back, duct tape muffling any scream for help you tried to make. You were shaking as if trapped in some nightmare. Your eyes, which he was used to always being filled with curiosity about the world, were wide with terror, streaks of black mascara ran down your cheeks. It wasn’t just the sight of you restrained that twisted his insides but also the fear he saw on your face. A look he never wanted to see again.

His instincts screamed to go to you, to comfort you, to pull you into his arms and shield you from whatever horrors had been forced into your mind. But a darker instinct also conflicted within him the instinct to find whoever did this and end them along with their entire bloodline.

He freed your wrists and removed the tape from your mouth, but his gaze was already scanning the room, searching for the coward who had done this to you.

"Oracle," he growled into his comm, barely containing his fury. "Do you have any visual on the perp?"

"Damn it! Nothing yet. They must have disguised themselves as a student," Oracle’s frustrated voice crackled in his ear. "Damian, is she -"

"Yes," Damian cut her off, pulling a syringe from his belt. "It’s Fear Toxin."

You whimpered, still lost in the hellscape the toxin had built in your mind. Damian injected the antidote into your shoulder. Watching you writhe in pain made his blood freeze. He lifted you into his arms as gently as he could and moved toward the door, but the growing crowd of students outside only irritated him further.

"Move," he barked, his voice low and dangerous. "She needs a hospital."

Halfway to the nearest emergency center, he changed his mind. He wasn’t taking you somewhere filled with people who would ask questions, who could poke and prod at your fragile state. Instead, he shot a grappling hook to a nearby rooftop, pulling both of you up and away from the crowd.

As your vision started to clear, you groaned, your body trembling in his hold. "R-Robin…" Your voice cracked, laced with panic. "My parents... they z please, you have to save them."

"It’s not real," he said softly, kneeling and holding you as close to him as he dared, providing a warmth that helped ground you. "The toxin made you see things that weren’t real. Is that what you saw? Your parents?"

You nodded, tears filling your eyes once again. "I saw them die. Please, you have to - " You fumbled with your pockets, desperately trying to find your phone, anything that could help you reach them.

Damian’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. His white lenses stared down at you, and for a moment, you wished you could see his eyes, see the real person beneath the mask. "Your parents are fine."

His voice, deep and calm. There was something about the way he spoke - so sure, so steady - that made you believe him.

"It’s not real?" you asked, voice trembling, trying to keep yourself from breaking down completely.

He nodded. "Call them. You’ll see."

Your hands shook as you fumbled with your phone, which was now cracked. You dialed the number, waiting for what seemed like forever for each each ring. Then she finally picked up.

"Honey, thank God!" Your mom’s voice came through. "Are you okay? I’ve been watching the news - what’s going on over there?"

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to sound normal. "I’m fine, Mom. I’m just… in my room. Is everyone okay?"

"We’re fine, sweetie. Just worried sick about you."

“I’ll visit tomorrow,” you blurted out, tears stinging your eyes. "I’ll come home tomorrow."

Your mom’s voice lifted in relief. "That’s great! Be safe, honey."

After hanging up, your body gave out. Your knees buckled, and a sob you’d been holding in finally broke free. You fell onto the ground, unable to stop the tears. He caught you, lowering both of you to the ground until you were sitting in his lap.

In his hold, you didn’t feel the fear you expected from someone like him. You’d heard stories, read articles about this Robin. How he wasn’t like the others - scarier, more brutal, more dangerous. But here, in his arms, you felt safe.

The tears wouldn’t stop. Your mind kept replaying those awful images, the sound of your parents’ screams still echoing in your ears.

"I thought I lost them," you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.

Damian’s heart clenched. He had seen people cry before - mostly because he caused them to. But seeing you like this, broken and terrified, was something else entirely.

Damian’s first instinct was to say, "I thought I lost you," but he bit back the words, instead holding you close, his gloved hands cupping your cheeks gently. "I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely, barely audible over the city's noise. "I'm sorry."

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You were not the same after that night. Trauma clung to you with every thought. What happened in that lab left you scarred, destroying your sense of safety.

The last time Damian had seen you, he was still in his Robin suit. You’d been shaking, eyes glassy with the aftereffects of the fear toxin, but you insisted on going home to your dorm. Damian’s instincts screamed at him to take you somewhere safe, to keep you in his apartment where he could protect you, but he complied with your needs.

And as much as it killed him, he had to let you go.

What stung worse was the sight that awaited him at your dorm. Nikolas was already there, pacing anxiously by the entrance, his hair still wet from his swim meet. The moment he saw you, he rushed over, pulling you into his arms as though you were fragile enough to break. Damian’s fists clenched as he watched Nikolas cradle your face in his hands, checking you over with concern.

The sight of Nick’s resting possessively staying on the small of your back as he led you up the stairs twisted something deep inside Damian, but he pushed it down. He had no right to feel that way - not after he had pushed you away first.

You didn’t show up to physics the next day. Or the day after. A week passed, and still nothing.

He wanted to reach out - every part of him screamed to check on you - but that wasn't his job anymore.

Then, one day, his phone buzzed.

Nikolas Hill: Damian, hey. It's Nick Hill.

Nikolas Hill:Just thought you should know, y/n broke up with me. Got me flowers and chocolates. It was... pretty sweet, actually 😅. It's the nicest way I've ever been dumped for sure.

Nikolas Hill: Anyway, I’ve seen the way you look at her, man. You should go for it. Really.

Nikolas Hill: And you might wanna check on her... she dropped out of Kace's research project. Not answering anyone’s calls or messages. We’re worried.

Damian stared at the message, his stomach tightening. You dropped the project? And now you weren’t talking to anyone?

He didn’t wait. The next day, he was at your parents’ house, knocking on the door. A middle-aged woman half his size answered, her eyes widening as she took took him in - her gaze flickering between him and the sleek, black Camaro parked outside.

"Hello?" She said.

"Hello, ma'am. My name is Damian... Wayne." He flashed her the best smile he could summon, as his gaze flickered between her and the home behind her, searching for you.

Her eyes widened further. "Wayne, as in...?"

"Yes, Bruce Wayne’s son."

"Oh my!" She nodded, her eyes still studying him. "How can I help you?"

"I’m a friend of y/n’s." Damian explained. "She hasn’t been to class for the past couple of weeks, and I wanted to check on her. Is she alright?"

Her surprise grew, her lips parting slightly. "She never told us she had... a friend like you." There was a slight note of disbelief, as if the idea of you being close to someone like Damian Wayne didn’t quite compute.

Damian raised a brow. Why wouldn’t you tell them about him? Were you... ashamed?

Before he could respond, she stepped aside, inviting him in. "Please, come in. I was just finishing up dinner. Would you like to join us?"

"Is your daughter home?" Damian asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an urgency behind his words he couldn’t hide.

Your mother nodded, turning around and calling you downstairs. "Honey, you have a visitor!"

Just then, you appeared at the top of the small staircase, and the breath caught in his throat. You were a ghost of the person he remembered. Dark circles rimmed your eyes, your cheeks hollow and your body frail. The t-shirt you were in drowned you as it slipped off your shoulder, revealing how think your collarbone had become. Have you been skipping your meals?

Your usual spark of curiosity was replaced with something far darker—sadness.

You froze when you saw him before forcing yourself to recover and quickly make your way down the stairs, grateful for the 5 minute shower you decided to take just before you were called down. Damian may see you in a bad state, but at least hell be smelling 'coconut sunshine' bodywash. As you came to stand in front of him, barefoot, and without your high heels, you were even shorter and had to look up at a less comfortable angle. Your hand came up to rub the opposite arm, Damian's heart ached when he saw the bruises circling your wrists from the rope that was used to restrain you.

"Hi." You spoke softly.

"Hi," he replied, voice dripping with what seemed like disappointment. "You haven’t been to class. I wanted to check on you."

"I’m alright," you lied, your voice weak and shaky. "Just... spending some time with my family."

Damian tool a quick sweep over the room, the small, homey space that felt miles apart from the opulence of Wayne Manor or his apartment. It was cozy, filled with the scent of warm food, a stark contrast to the sterile, minimalist world he was used to.

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. He couldn’t stop staring at you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the one he knew.

“Do you want to go out? Get some air?" Damian asked.

"No," you answered quickly, then paused. "I mean... you can stay for dinner, if you want."

Damian tucked his hands into his pockets, fighting the growing frustration inside him. He didn’t want dinner. He wanted answers. “I was hoping for some privacy.”

You eyed him warily, a look of distrust flashing across your face, and it hit him like an insult. You didn’t trust him anymore? You ungrateful brat. If you only knew who was under the mask that day you were rescued. It enraged him, though he didn’t show it.

“Nikolas told me you broke up with him,” Damian said, lowering his voice. “And dropped Kace’s project.”

You shrugged weakly, your shirt dropping lower down your shoulder, which you didnt notice as you avoided his gaze. "Yeah. I did."

Damian’s arms itched to touch your bare skin. He took in a deep breath. "You’re also about to lose your scholarship," he pressed, his tone more insistent now.

Your brow furrowed. "How do you know that?"

“It’s a research scholarship. They won’t keep paying you if you’re not involved in research.”

There was a flicker in your eyes. Either anger, maybe annoyance. But it wasn’t indifference. And that’s all Damian needed. You were still there under this facade. He wasn’t going to leave. Not without you.

"Damian, thank you for visiting. But right nows not a good time." Before you could open the front door for him, his hand shot out, stopping it in its tracks.

“That’s not very nice,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Your mother invited me for dinner, and I accepted.”

"Damian - " you started, but your mother’s voice interrupted.

"That’s wonderful!" she exclaimed, oblivious to the tension. "I was just finishing up the potatoes."

The scent of dinner filled the air, but Damian couldn’t focus on anything except you. You were trying to slip away, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

After dinner, when your parents went to bed, Damian asked you again to walk with him. You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper when you spoke.

“I’ve tried,” you confessed. “I can’t get past the door. Every time I do, I... panic. I shut down."

The vulnerability in your voice was enough to shatter whatever resolve he had left. You were hurting, deeply, and it killed him to see it.

He stepped closer, his voice restrained. “I'll help you.”

But you just shook your head, pulling away. "I'm tired."

“It’s late,” Damian agreed, his voice soft but commanding. “You should go to sleep.” He nodded toward the stairs.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. "Thats not what I meant. I dont what to sleep."

But your body betrayed you, and before you could say anything else, you yawned. A small, defeated sound that you tried to hide but failed miserably.

Damian grinned, raising a brow as he looked down at you. “You sure about that?”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. "I... I can't go to sleep," you admitted quietly, the words trembling on your lips. "The nightmare comes back when I do."

Damian sighed, his expression softening, though the fire in his eyes never wavered. He understood - he had his own problem with nightmares, demons that lurked in the dark corners of his mind. “Try again now,” he said gently, leading you to your livingroom couch. “I’ll wake you up if it happens.”

You shook your head, the fear bubbling up inside you. But his unyielding gaze stopped you.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something raw, “you need to rest. I can’t stand seeing you this tired anymore.”

His words hung in the air, the concern behind them tightening something in your chest. You hesitated, searching his face for reassurance. "You'll wake me up?"

“Yes.”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t argue with him. Not when his eyes held so much insistence. Slowly, you lay down on the couch, your head sinking into the cushion. The moment your eyes closed, sleep washed over you.

But it didn’t last long.

Within minutes, you were tossing and turning, whimpering softly as the nightmares clawed their way back into your mind. Damian watched as you struggled even in your sleep. Then, gently, he reached for you, pulling you into his lap with ease. You felt so small in his arms as your back came to rest against his chest, his lips brushing your hair.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, “Youre okay, your alright.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wide and panicked as you gasped for breath. You looked around frantically before your gaze landed on Damian. “Damian, my parents - they’re - ”

“Upstairs, sleeping,” he said, his voice firm. “They’re okay.”

You blinked, your eyes darting toward the stairs as if you needed the reassurance for yourself. You made to get up to go check on them, but his grip stopped you, pulling you back against him.

“Yes.” Damian spoke quietly but with intent. “I’m right here. Nothing will happen to either of you."

You nodded slowly, the tension draining from your body as you rested your head against him. The warmth of his presence was enough to lull you back into sleep, though it didn’t last. The nightmare came back, and so did Damian’s voice, pulling you out of it every time.

It happened a few more times throughout the night. Each time, you would whimper, trapped in your dreams, and he would wake you, then hold you until you fell asleep again. Halfway through the night you began clinging to him, your arms snaking around him to hold him closer, sensing the safety he provided even in your sleep.

Not minding one bit, he could still see the toll it was taking on you, the way you couldn’t even get through one night without being haunted by what Scarecrow had done. It made his blood boil. It fueled a dark, vengeful fire that burned hotter with each of your nightmares.

He swore to himself, as he watched you sleep restlessly, that he would make Scarecrow pay for this - for the pain, the fear, and the nightmares that took you from him.

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On his third night of patroll, Robin cornered the man in the Scarecrow mask, ripping it from his face with such force the strap snapped. The man trembled, backing into the alley wall, his eyes wide in fear.

"I'm not him! Please!" The man’s hands shot up in surrender, sweat pouring down his face as he eyed the rest of his team, who were knocked unconscious. He hoped.

"Where is he?" Damian’s voice was low, dangerous. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I-I don’t know!" the man stammered. "I swear! A different one of us is made to wear that thing every night in case you show up!"

Robin’s jaw tightened. His eyes were cold and merciless. He didn't care if this man knew or not. He wanted an outlet, something to absorb the endless rage boiling in his chest. He sighed, cracking his knuckles slowly, deliberately, like a predator preparing for the kill. "Then you'll have to do."

The thug whimpered. "No, no, no-"

The Red Hood arrived on the rooftop, surveying the scene below. His eyes narrowed as he saw Robin beating the life out of the cowering henchman. The tension in his youngest brother's posture was unmistakable. Jason eyed the rest of the henchman team, laid out and bleeding in different spots on the ground.

"Uh, I’m gonna need backup here," Jason said into his comm.

"Why? Too much for you to handle?" came Dick’s teasing voice over the line.

"Nah, but someone’s gotta protect these poor bastards from Robin."

There was a pause. Then Bruce spoke up. "...on my way."

Damian couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in his skull, his vision narrowing to the terrified man in front of him.

"Robin!"

The first punch landed hard in the guy’s gut, causing him to double over, gasping for air. Then the fists came, rapid and unrelenting, from left to right. Each blow was calculated - not enough to kill, but enough to inflict the kind of pain that lingers, that leaves a mark deep under the skin.

The man’s blood splattered against the wall, his groans turning to pitiful whimpers as he weakly tried to shield himself. But Damian was relentless, his fury a tidal wave, drowning out any sense of restraint. This was for you. The helplessness he felt when he couldn’t save you, the guilt for letting you go, for not being there when you needed him most. Every punch was a punishment, a way to exorcize his own demons.

"Robin!"

By the time he stopped, the henchman was barely conscious, slumped against the wall, gasping for breath through cracked ribs and bloodied lips. Robin stood over him, panting, his chest heaving. His hands, covered in the man's blood, twitched. He wanted to keep going. Needed to keep going.

"FUCK!" Robin roared, the sound reverberating off the brick walls.

"ROBIN!" He was grabbed by a pair of strong arms, slamming him against the wall. "Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with you?" Jason's voice chastised him behind his mask.

"Back off!" Damian shoved Jason hard, his eyes wild, untamed.

"How about fuck no?" Jason growled, pressing his forearm against Damian’s throat, forcing him to stay still. Over the years, Damian grew taller than Tim, matching Dick in height, but Jason still had maybe an inch on him. The elder stuggled to hold his brother back. "I need you to calm the hell down!"

Before Damian could retaliate, Batman arrived, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "What the hell happened?"

Jason shot a look over his shoulder. "Your kid happened."

Batman’s eyes fell on the battered man, then on Damian, still shaking with fury, fists clenched, ready for more. "Damian," Bruce said quietly.

"Its what he deserves." Damian’s voice was low, venomous, each word dripping with barely contained rage. "He hurt her. He broke her."

Batman’s expression shifted as he understood. You. The girl who Damian was bringing home from school. The one who’d been ripped apart by what happened to her.

"And how is killing this nobody helping her?" Bruce asked, his voice steady but firm.

Damian’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "It's not." His eyes glinted with a dark amusement as he stared into his father’s unflinching gaze. "But it sure as hell makes me feel better."

Bruce sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knew this wasn’t about justice. This was about catharsis. Damian was unraveling, and if Bruce didn’t stop it now, there’d be no pulling him back. "You’re off patrol," Batman ordered, stepping toward him.

Damian sneered, shoving him back. "Like hell."

"It’s not up for debate."

Damian’s glare intensified. "I’m not stopping until he’s dead. I’ll bury him - "

"Robin." Batman’s voice was calm, controlled. "You’re going home."

Before Damian could react, he felt a sudden sharp pinch on the side of his neck. He staggered, his vision blurring as his hand flew to the dart embedded in his skin. "Wha - " His legs gave out beneath him, and darkness closed in before he could reach for the antidote.

Batman caught him as he slumped forward, unconscious. "Get him home," Bruce said to Jason, his voice heavy with regret. "Ill take care of this mess."

Jason nodded. "You know he's not gonna forgive you for that."

Bruce glanced at Damian’s unconscious form. "I know."

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Damian woke up groggy, his vision blurry as he blinked against the harsh lights of the Batcave. His arms were strapped down to something cold and unyielding. "Damn it. Let me go!" His voice was a snarl, filled with rage and frustration.

"Negative," Bruce's calm, gravelly voice responded. He approached from the shadows, no longer in his suit but in a sweater and jeans, the cowl replaced by the face of a father. "You killed someone tonight. Did you know that?"

Damian gritted his teeth, pulling against his restraints in fury. "Who gives a shit?" He thrashed, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Let me go, now! She's alone - "

"She's fine," Bruce interrupted firmly. "Oracle is monitoring."

Before Damian could spit back another response, the Batcave’s voice system activated with Oracle’s voice. "I have visual on her right now. She's at home, watching TV with her family. Safe."

Damian's chest heaved, but the confirmation did little to ease the burning tension in his veins. He didn’t care that she was safe. He needed to be there with you. Protect you.

"How long are you going to keep me like this?" Damian glared at Bruce, eyes flashing with anger.

"You're too worked up to be set free," Bruce said, his tone unwavering. "I don't want you making decisions you’ll inevitably regret."

"I won't regret jack shit!" Damian roared. "Scarecrow's overdue for a visit to hell!"

"'Overdue for a visit to hell,'" Jason's voice echoed from somewhere in the batcave, but Damian couldn't see him. "Goddamn, this kid's more dramatic than you, bats." Jasons chuckle echoed alongside his footsteps as he entered the batcave.

"Thank you, Jason." Bruce said sarcastically.

"Youre welcome."

"Damian," Bruce's tone was deadly serious. "I don't think you heard me clearly. You are a murderer."

Damian's jaw clenched before he spat, "Bruce, do you even understand what 'League of Assassins' means? I've been a murderer. Since I was ten." His voice cracked slightly, the anger mingling with something deeper - something broken.

The tired lines of his fathers face grew more pronounced. "And when I took you in, I made both you and myself a promise to end that cycle." His voice was softer now, but no less firm. He stepped closer, his presence towering over Damian, not as Batman, but as a father. "You were a child, Damian. You didn’t know any better. But you do now. You don’t get to decide the outcome of human lives. When you do, you become the very thing we fight against. The very thing she fears."

Those words landed hard, and Damian stopped struggling.

The very thing she fears.

He pictured your face, pale with terror, your haunted eyes. Damian swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "Fuck."

He hated it. Hated that the old man was right. His whole life had been about violence, about using pain to solve problems.

He glanced up at Bruce, anger creeping out of his voice. "I don't know what to do."

Bruce’s expression softened, the hard edge of Batman fading away as his fatherly concern surfaced. He sighed, his own guilt simmering beneath the surface. "Be there for her. That will be enough."

Damian stared up at him, resisting the urge to punch him for that unhelpful advicr. He didn’t know how to be that. How to be anything but the weapon he was trained to be.

"I don’t... want her to fear me," Damian whispered, his voice barely audible. At least he didn't think he did.

Bruce reached out, his hand resting on Damian’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "You can't solve this one as Robin. Nor the League’s heir. Just Damian."

For a moment, Damian closed his eyes, letting his father’s words sink in. His breath slowed, and the fury that had been burning inside of him all night began to fade into something else - epiphany. He had to fix you himself. He had no qualm playing therapist, whether you wanted him to or not.

When he opened his eyes again, he met Bruce’s gaze, still defiant but quieter now. "I know what I have to do."

"You do," Bruce said with a firm nod.

Damian had a new goal in his mind now, bringing you back. His jaw was tight, but his breathing was steady now. "Untie me," he said quietly. "I’m calm."

Bruce hesitated for a moment, and then he slowly unstrapped his son’s hands. Damian sat up, rubbing his wrists, though his mind was far away - thinking of you and the promises he had made to himself.

"Not so fast." Bruce spoke up. "You're still in trouble. Tomorrow, you will bring in... 10 juvenile delinquents into the station -" Bruce knew Damian especially hated dealing with kids - he had to hold back with them - "to make up for the shithead you killed tonight. And you'll do two hundred push-ups now."

Damian scoffed at the easy challenge. "Fine,"

"Jason, sit on his back."

"What?!" Damian spat out in protest as Jason rolled his head back in laughter.

The next morning, Damian barely made his way to your doorstep, limping over sore limbs. He had his work cut out for him with you, and he would start with getting you alone.

[theaveragepsychoticbitch]

Hey there!! Could I request some sfw + nsfw hcs of Poseidon , Buddha , and Nikola Tesla with a cat hybrid! Reader?💕

I've been wanting to do another hybrid readerrr😭thanks for the request <3 I'm not sure if I'm characterizing Mr Kola right, but there's a first for everything! I'll make the SFW and NSFW versions separate, so send another ask just to bookmark it would you?♡

Poseidon, Buddha, Tesla x Cat Hybrid!Reader || SFW || Headcanons || Warnings: Ur, none!

Poseidon♡

The king of the seas is ironically, a cat guy. When he sees you sleeping, tail tucked comfortably into your side with your ears twitching occasionally, a strange feeling comes over him.

You were definitely lesser, and he definitely despises you along with everyone else but... he supposes you may sleep in his private suite.

He somehow doesn't hear you when you point out that you didn't ask to sleep there in the first place.

Rubs your ears subconsciously. They're like a stress reliever for him, and dealing with other gods caused him great amounts of stress. He's embarrassed by it (though he'd die before admitting it) and so whenever he catches himself reaching for you, he has the audacity to get mad at you, and send you away.

Quickly calls for your return though. Which he also is embarrassed by.

Loves when you purr in your sleep. Late at night with nothing and no one to see how his face relaxes as the vibrations hit his chest. One large hand adoringly placed atop your head, he hasn't slept this well in eons.

Buddha ♥︎

His initial impression of you was unhinged; he'd caught you in some sort of... hiss-off with an actual cat. It was far too interesting a sight for him to simply ignore it. So he sat there, for ten good minutes, until you finally emerged victor! He jumped and cheered right along with you, scaring you shitless.

He once managed to spook you and watched as jumped far above his head, shredding the wall as you embedded your claws in it.

Your canines are a strange source of serotonin for him. Sharp as a lion's and strong as one too, you've bit the shit out of him a few times while he was admiring them- only a few weren't on purpose.

Once said "Why do they call them canines when you're a cat? Shouldnt they be felines?"

You bit him for that too.

Nikola Tesla ¤

He wants to figure out how you work. So, so bad.

He entered your life by grabbing you none to gently by the tail, hoping to gain insight from your reaction. While he did gain said insight, he also gained four new scratches on his face.

Pestered you for a long time with questions, none of which you answered. Eventually, advice from Buddha led him to setting up a nice dinner for the two of you- him, with a steak, and you, with a variety of fish and cat treats.

You appreciate the thought... you guess.

Always touching and poking you. He doesn't even realize how odly intimate he gets; holding your hand and playing with your fingers is just him studying how your claws extend. Trailing his fingers down your back is him trying trying to figure out if your tail connects to your spine or your ass. Massaging your ears? Ur, well... he hasn't come up with scientific reasoning for that yet, but he will!

(His excuse is that purring has been proved relaxing for humans, and wants to see if it still works with you. Doesn't know he could have asked Poseidon 🤦🏾‍♀️���)

Adores when you loaf on him, or "bake bread". He finds the semi-human equivalent of these cat behaviors to be extraordinary, and asks you dozens of "why?" And "how?" questions. When he asks too many, you stop, and don't continue until he promises to be quiet.

--------

A/N: I'm literally a comedic genius guys. Not proofread!

[drnikolatesla]

The Burden of Genius: Tesla’s Battles with Memory and Perception

Nikola Tesla was a towering genius whose remarkable intellect often intersected with profound psychological challenges. His extraordinary mental abilities created a unique interplay between reality and imagination, which evolved significantly as he aged.

Tesla’s eidetic memory was both a remarkable gift and a source of distress. In his autobiography, he explained that during his youth, his vivid memories often seemed to overlap with his physical vision and reality, creating intense anxiety. For instance, recollections of his brother’s funeral would vividly reappear before his eyes, causing him significant distress. Tesla described these experiences, noting that his sisters frequently had to help him distinguish between reality and the projections from his mind.

Over time, Tesla mastered his memory, using it to perfect his inventions mentally before physically constructing them. This mental rehearsal allowed him to refine his designs thoroughly, ensuring that when built, they were as flawless as he had envisioned. This innovative approach was a cornerstone of his engineering process.

There’s a story about Tesla where his cleaning lady would find him sitting in a chair in the middle of his room, seemingly asleep. In reality, he was deep in thought, mentally exploring complex ideas, solving problems, and even working on his inventions as if he were in his laboratory. So immersed was he in his mental work that he could visualize wear on his apparatuses—all within his mind. Tesla would enter a trance-like state, appearing physically at rest while his mind was intensely focused. He believed these periods of mental immersion were crucial for his creativity and problem-solving. While others might think he was napping, his mind was actively refining his inventions and theories.

However, in his later years, the line between Tesla’s imagination and reality became increasingly blurred. His intense focus and stress began to distort his sense of what was real. In a deeply personal 1934 letter, Tesla recounted a profound and emotional experience involving his mother. He described his experience as being in New York in the early 1890s, and as he said, “I experienced an exquisitely painful longing for something undefinable” and was driven by a desire to see his mother, which was intensified by his inability to clearly recall her features. After rushing to her bedside, he saw her alive one last time. He then went to another building to rest and thought that if she died, he would feel a disturbance in the ether letting him know so. Sure enough, he had a vivid vision of her and was later given the news that she had passed. Out of nowhere, he realized with shock that he was back in New York and his mother had died years earlier. Tesla reflected, “My sufferings had been real though the events were but imaginary reflections of previous occurrences,” attributing the experience to a temporary “numbing” of his brain’s faculties from intense concentration. This incident highlights how deep focus can distort one’s grasp of reality.

By this time, Tesla was in his late 70s, and his mental state showed signs of decline. In John O'Neill’s biography, there is a poignant story about how Tesla believed Mark Twain was still alive and even wanted to send him money, only to be informed by his assistant that Twain had been deceased for 25 years. Tesla was adamant that he had met Twain just the night before. This anecdote underscores the growing blur between reality and imagination in Tesla's later years. Despite this, interviewers still described him as possessing grace and articulating his thoughts with both wit and intelligence.

His confusion over Mark Twain’s death and his intense, often troubling experiences reflect the toll that age and stress had taken on his mind. Tesla’s story reveals a man who grappled with the boundaries of his remarkable intellect and the increasingly blurred line between imagination and reality.

Tesla’s experiences remind us that even the greatest minds are not immune to the complexities of the human psyche. His life offers valuable insights into the delicate balance between genius and mental health, illustrating how the same qualities that fueled his innovation also led to profound personal challenges.

[crazymcwritesalot]

Trick or treat!

Nice costume my child 🤶. Let's see what I could give you, something special...

Ha, here! What follows is the first idea I had for Elysandra's secret Santa last year. I toyed with the idea of an AU taking place in a dystopian Gothic town. Kate is a burglar, Helen a merciless assassin and Nikola a vampire. Here it goes, I hope you enjoy this weird draft (unedited) :

The night was perfect. Dark and foggy with a side of drizzle, which insured that no one would spot the shadow gliding effortlessly up the razzle-dazzle facade from the street below. The owner of the manor had gone all out with gargoyles and marble flourishes, which made it both outrageously tacky and a ridiculously easy target for a burglar of Kate Freelander’s caliber.

The windows of the three first floors of the building were burglar-proofed. However, the owner of the manor must have run out of money before the completion of the building, or -and Kate thought- lost the last thread of common sense. For, the last floor stood like an open invitation: big windows, no bars, easy climbing access thanks to the hideous adornments disfiguring what would have been a top notch facade, and at least one side of the building was slightly kept in the shadows from the city gas lamps.

Kate’s mission was to be easy and fast, and, as she was dragging herself up the window sill -one more sign the owner was an absolute idiot, window sill, in a city where nearly a quarter of inhabitants earned their living committing crime- she was dreaming about the pint of ale waiting for her at her usual late night drinking spot.

She did, however, think it odd to find the window open. Not open open, but pushed closed yet unlocked. That didn’t deflate her confidence in the slightest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”.

Kate tightened her grip on the bottle, ready to use it as a weapon should the intruder bear ill intent, and turned around, her hands held out in surrender.

In her line of work, crossing paths with the competition wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and things could go sour very quickly,

She surely did not expect to come face to face with an assassin.

“He’s had so many visitors of your kind that he resorted to leaving the window open to cut off on glass replacement costs.”

“Eddison sent you.”

“How d’you know?”

“You’re his type. Let me guess. He contracted you to steal Nikola’s blueprints, paid you twenty five percent of the total price in advance, securing the deal. I’ll save you time: you won’t find any schematic. They only exist in Tesla’s mind. Which is why your boss has not yet dared place a kill contract on his head.”

“Why would he pay me to steal documents that he knows don’t exist?”

[emhasthoughts]

Gertrude and the cat-avatars, pt 3

Summary: A cat with a strange pattern show up that Gertrude can never even think about getting back out. Agnes decides to bring a friend. Mike makes a friend.

A/N: Thanks @dcartcorner and the chatter in the stream that helped me decide on what type of cat Jude would be.

Not beta read, just me, my document and thoughts

Pt 1, Simon, Peter, Elias and Mike / Pt 2, Michael and Helen Distortion, Agnes / Pt 3, You're here! / Pt 4, John, Jane, Maxwell, Manuela / Pt 5, Jon, Martin, Sasha, Tim / Pt 6, Melanie, Daisy, Basira, Georgie / Pt 7, Jared, Gerry, Nikola / Bonus, a visit to the vet / Halloween bonus!

Gertrude rarely thought of getting rid of Annabelle. She was rather sure the cat had something to do with it. Annabelle had wandered into her home and fallen asleep on the armchair. At first glance she would seem like any ordinary cat, dark brown with grey stripes on the stomach and up to the back, though most of the left side was left stripeless. However, as Gertrude looked closer, she realised it was not just an ordinary pattern. In fact, some were way too straight and it all connected in a way that was not natural, as if someone had decided to take some paint and make a bleach-blonde pattern. As Gertrude looked closer she realised what it looked like. A spiderweb. 

Gertrude had named her Annabelle without too much of a second thought. Let her sleep on the sofa that night. Though as she laid awake at night she could not fully tell why she had done any of it. She had no interest in another cat and usually it had taken more than a few hours to decide on a name. Annabelle seemed very happy to just be inside. Though the times she did go outside she would always bring in living spiders that she got protective over. Gertrude was not sure why she let Annabelle live there.

Agnes came by at least once a day for an entire week alone. Getting more and more confident as time went on. Until one day she showed up with a cat next to her. A sphynx cat nearly ginger looking with some form of black mark on one of the legs. Though something told Gertrude that the cat was not actually a sphynx cat, could a cat just lose all the fur? Had it been burnt off in a fire? She was not entirely sure.

Agnes kept coming back and more often than not she had the other cat with her. Gertrude eventually named her Jude, as both seemed to stay for longer. The main problem with it was that Gertrude did not really like Jude and Jude did not seem to like her either. Often hissing if Gertrude spent too much time with Agnes, even if she had simply fallen asleep on her lap. Agnes, however, seemed perfectly happy being around and getting attention from them both. Seemingly ignoring whatever hatred was going on between a human and a cat.

There was one cat that came by once in a while. The first time she saw him he had been laying by her mailbox, ‘saw’ was a rather strong word in that case. His black and fluffy fur melted into the darkness of late November night. He had looked up as Gertrude passed him. All she had been then was bright yellow eyes, blinked, then put his head down to sleep. Or she assumed he went to sleep. 

After that she would mostly see him, well, his eyes. He did not stare at her, just looked up from whatever shadow he melted into and looked very tired to be a cat. Seriously, he did not seem to have a home and even if he did he could sleep all day. No need to look like he went to work all day. Gertrude had been rather happy to just let him be. After all, he seemed quiet and calm, just happy to lay around in the shadows, rather similar to Maxwell when she thought more about it.

In the end Mike had been the one to get the cat inside. It had been a month of living there and Gertrude had tried to let Mike go back out now that he seemed more healthy. But just like her first attempt he came back. This time not alone or with Simon. Gertrude had opened the door and Mike, though smaller than the other, had managed to push the other in. An hour later the cat had made himself comfortable in a corner of the sofa, Mike tucked into his side. Both asleep. Gertrude had a sinking feeling that the other would be staying more inside. 

She had been right as the cat was still in the house a week later. This time curled up on a table, watching Gertrude with the sleepy yellow eyes. She looked between the still unnamed cat and the food she was making and decided to name the cat Oliver. She was not very fond of ‘Olive’ just because he looked similar at the moment.

[truedairship]

Have another Fic Title. :)

Six Impossible Things

Thanks for the title, truly, it certainly made my imagination happy! My mind immediately jumped to those Five Times challenges, I wrote Nikola’s part… and then the rest happened. It was most certainly not my intention to make it this dark! Blame it on late night studying and then writing all this in one go I suppose.

A second round through history. Where do you draw the line of how much you dare to affect? When does acting, or choosing not to act, become playing god?

In the end there were many small things she dared to do that, should a mistake be made, might risk altering the timeline. Things her old self hadn’t been able to explain, ‘miracles’ that had been oh so convenient in times of need, funding that had all but fallen into their lap when resources risked running low… In a time before digital surveillance and the World Wide Web, pushing the boundaries of what was perceived to be possible without being detected wasn’t very difficult. No. Her trip to the past had not been a century worth of vacations, but the countless of species thought extinct even by her past self, now safely moved to her new sanctuary made it more than worth it.

Some things, however, were too impossible even for Helen Magnus to accomplish.

She had entertained the idea. Of course she had. Ever since finding out about the energy being cohabiting his body she had tried to figure out a way of separating them. She did not believe it to be the cause of all the violence, but it had certainly played a major role, of that she was certain. However, even with a hundred years to think, she could not come up with a way of keeping it contained. Not without completely altering the future. And perhaps she didn’t dare to find out how much of it was all John in the end. At some point, the victims of Jack the Ripper became a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

Letting Nikola in on the truth had always been part of the plan. It resulting in him nagging her for investment advice had not. Because one did not need a hundred and fifty years of experience to disbelieve that he would keep a low profile and use the money sparingly. She never told him how much their timeless arguing comforted her. Besides, with the amount times he would come to deplete her wine cellar in the future, he certainly got his fair share of that money either way.

The evening of April 14th, 1912, found one Helen Magnus in front of an empty bottle of whisky, sitting close enough to the fireplace that it could be blamed for the sweat pooling around her neck. Not even her warmest jacket could block out the icy cold gripping her chest. It was not the last night she would spend with a bottle, drowning out the sounds of terrified screams falling silent half a world away.

He knew. Of that she was certain. Why she had ever thought she could keep it from him she didn’t know. The very moment she told him about the time travel, she saw the comprehension in his eyes, the realisation that in her time, she has already seen him die. She wants to tell him about the energy being in John. To ease the bitter heartache of his betrayal. She does tell him to bring a damned spare battery for his suit with him. He never lets her finish, to tell him when he will need it. Perhaps, she thinks, he finds comfort in knowing there is an ending waiting for him in the future. And she can’t help the feeling of jealousy coursing through her because of it.

When an archduke was shot in Sarajevo, Helen Magnus helped a newborn child take its first breaths in Nepal. She didn’t trust herself not to interfere, should she have remained in Europe. Declining the grateful offers of food, she left the house. How could she explain that today, every smell reminded her of the rotting stench of dead corpses. Two wars worth of corpses, and she was now responsible for them all. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she tried to wash the blood of them. In the years to come, she often wondered what right she had, choosing not to change it all.

The first time, she had begged him to stay. Had wanted to force him into accepting more of her blood. Now, standing in front of the newly covered grave, watching the single white tulip next to the flowers her past self had left mere hours ago, she couldn’t help but think that he made the right decision. Espionage and bank robberies aside, seeing the never ending violence of the future would’ve broken her dear Nigel. As he had told her all those years ago, humans were never supposed to live that long. When exactly she stopped thinking of herself as human, she didn’t know.

Heart in her throat, she watched as the consciousness stored in the modified Praxian computer was transferred into the sleeping body. There were things still impossible even for Helen Magnus to do, but figuring out how to retrieve a daughter scattered across an EM-shield was not one of them. Heavy as the burden of it might be, it was her job after all, always doing what others can’t.

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

Spinning in Infinity, He Says, "Amen, and Hallelujah!"

(Because we all need at least one fic with a song lyric as the title. 😂😂😂)(Fun fact - I've just learnt what the actual lyric is, because I thought it was angels hallelujah. I've only been singing along with this song since forever. 🙈😂😂)

I don't think I've ever heard this song, so I wouldn't have known the difference. 😂

It would take place after just after Nikola's fake death and the funeral. He was living at the New York City Sanctuary in the immediate aftermath to lay low and now that the funeral has been held and people have dispersed, he's packing up and getting ready to leave.

But the night he's set to leave, Helen, James, and Nigel all join him and spend time with him and it's almost like old times (except John's not there and Nikola actually wishes he were). They enjoy themselves, though there is some mourning going on. Nikola didn't die, not really, but the Five already split up once and doing it again is hard.

It's very late by the time Nikola leaves, but he can't bear goodbye in the morning, so he walks out and the city is quiet and it's snowing. He stands in the street, just taking it all in. Realizing that he is (mostly) free and has the chance to start over from the wreckage his life became despite his efforts.

And yes, he does spread his arms and just spin around in the snow with his eyes closed before stopping and taking a breath and carrying on his way to a (hopefully) fresh start.

[tinknevertalks]

12, 36, 46, and 53 for the fanfiction writers' ask if you'd be so kind! :) (After you sleep, I saw the comment and it was over an hour ago!)

😅 Yeah, I didn't get to sleep until super late last night. I was crocheting and in the zone! Lol, anyways. XD

12. Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them? - Lol, outlines? Who's she? XD No, to be fair, my long fics have a vague outline, but nothing major unless I'm worried I'm gonna fumble the ball. The last five/six chapters of OSaS had an outline so it would work properly.

36. What fic are you proudest of? - Uhm, either OSaS or Laws and Equations (Laws and Equations because I looked up proper science stuff instead of technobabbling 😅).

46. If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be? - Slice of life, everyone's human AU. Just, humans being human.

53. What is the most-used tag on your ao3? - Additional tags? I *thought* it was drabble, but it's actually post-canon. The more you know. 😂 Ship tag, its Helen Magnus/Nikola Tesla (obvs). XD

[splendiferous-bitch]

OK HELP!!

*it's the last day of con tomorrow and i wanna shop and see her panel but... still conflicted about the photo

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 109 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: putting up a new fence

Haha, funny coincidence! (I probably already said this in S1?) Julia's statement is MAG 9 and Trevor's (first) statement MAG 10. And now their mutual statement is MAG 109! Like... 9 and 10, 109?

Episode title "Nightfall" - On one side it seems to be late in the evening or already night when this recording is happening (the crickets) and on the other side it's of course a statement involving the Dark.

JON: "And, and, and if I run?" TREVOR: "I’m very much hoping that you do." Hunters wanna hunt, not catch.

JON "I read your statement, you know, you, you don’t kill people. Only monsters." TREVOR: "The line gets blurrier every day." Daisy does the same. Justifying her murders with ever lower and lower growing standards to what qualifies as a "human". I wonder where Jon would draw the line since it’s something that bothers him?

JON: "I, I mean, yes… but the situation has changed quite a bit…? Last I heard, you were dying of lung cancer." TREVOR: "I was." JON: "And now…?" TREVOR: "I’m not. (heh)" JON: "And that doesn’t strike you as… odd." TREVOR: "Not much I see these days isn’t “odd” somehow or other. Not gonna turn my nose up at one bit of it worked out well for me. I hunt monsters; my lungs don’t kill me. Seems like a fair trade. No big job, is it." There it is, the hypocrisy of the Hunt. The inability for self-reflection. Also I think it's unfair that the Eye let Gerry die of his cancer and Trevor was saved, that seems like a bad deal! (Yeah, yeah, something about choosing to stay human...)

JULIA: "What is it, do you think, that makes people so obsessed with horrific things happening to other people?" I know Julia exclusively talks about true crime here. Can't really talk about that specifically, cause I don't really watch much true crime stuff. It actually upsets me cause I know it was real. Especially cases that happened not too long ago. I've thought about people, who knew the victims, seeing videos on Youtube and how they must feel more than once. But there is a bit of an overlap in "fans" of true crime and horror and the supernatural (e.g. Buzzfeed Unsolved. It started out as a true crime show I think, but then got into ghost hunting). Have you ever noticed that there are a lot of people in the horror community, who have experienced something horrific happening to themselves? Some kind of trauma. There's a reason for that. On a meta level it's dealing with the trauma in a safe and contained way.

Just quickly throwing in that I love the crickets in the background.  So soothing, the sound of them. Reminds me of summer. 

JON: "Uh, um… (nervous laugh) Yeah… it’s, uh… it’s… what do you do for money?" JULIA: "(annoyed) Sorry?" JON: "I, I just, I-I doubt roaming around killing things pays all that well, What do you do to support yourselves?" Capitalism is the real enemy!

JON "Uh, yeah… o-o-okay, uh, Mustermann, or whatever your name is" Oh, Jon(ny)’s the only one saying Mustermann with the German pronunciation of the U - like moo-ster (m-uhn)!

MUSTERMANN: "Maybe not, but are you sure you know what’s listening in?" JON: "Do you?" MUSTERMANN: "No. But I don’t like it." TREVOR: "What’s he mean, 'listening in?'?" It may be a coincidence again that it’s a Stranger pointing out the tapes and questions who’s listening in via those (last time it was Nikola, MAG 101). The Stranger just really got a lot of screen time. Last episode I said I enjoy TMA providing canon explanations for.. just things which are necessary for a good narration. We already found out, why Jon’s acting his little heart out during the statement and why all those statements are written like the people have a degree in creative writing. And now the tapes are getting addressed more and more. Everything just clicks wonderfully into place and I love that in a story.

@a-mag-a-day​

[arri-kitt]

Saw your post about Nikola and TS and I thought about it late last night and just got reminded about it, so I’m putting it here bc it’s sorta similar (also, writing this at 1.45 am for me so sorry if stuff doesn’t make sense)

Toy Soldier stole a voice, right? (like to imagine the person being called Jessica Law bc “The toy soldier as Jessica Law” said in drunk space pirate) HOWEVER Nikola said she “borrowed” the voice. (ep 97)

Which lead me to think that TS was just wandering about in London at some point, saw Nikola without a voicebox and was like “I don’t need it for a little bit. You wanna borrow mine?” and so Nikola borrows the voicebox for like a year or two until the entire ritual thing. After that destruction TS has to go back to the ship, realises it hasn’t gotten the voicebox back and goes to find Nikola, finds it in the destruction. Takes it, puts it back into it and goes back to the ship as if nothing had happened

The crew never found out about it. The Archivist never found out about it. It was never mentioned ever again

HAHAHA that’s amazing

Just TS being a little silly and helping out a fellow little silly

TS and Nikola being friends and they have like tea or something because Nikola just loves to gossip

She has no idea what this thing is but it’s close enough to herself plus it have her a voice box! What an absolute sweetheart!

TS gets a bunch of stories that it may or may not tell Jonny later because honestly what do half of these things even mean what is an Unknowing and why is an Archivist important to it??? It was the epitome of smile and nod along shdjsjbska

I think that they could have a very weird friendship for a few years lmao

[a-mag-a-day]

i'll be honest. I do not have any complex thoughts for this episode. My second most Beloved Girl, Nikola Orsinov has finally arrived, and she is here to stay for a while~ Right now, i came up with an idea - Nikola Orsinov dancing to the tune of Barbie Girl by aqua. I'm sorry if i am not making any sense, it is late for me

Well now I’m gonna be thinking about that all night

[drnikolatesla]

A Night with Tesla: The Future of Electrical Resonance

(This narrative is a creative reimagining of a 1901 interview with Nikola Tesla, titled "Tesla's Twentieth-Century Views," originally penned by Frank L. Perry for the Western Electrician. Presented from a first-person perspective, this piece offers a fun and immersive experience while preserving Tesla's original words about resonance and the future of energy.)

Late one Friday evening in January of 1901, I found myself at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York, sitting down with the legendary inventor, Nikola Tesla. The setting was grand, but Tesla seemed entirely focused, undistracted by the opulence around him. I had been eager to ask him about his latest thoughts on the future of electrical energy, particularly the concept of resonance, or as Tesla often referred to it, “electrical tuning.”

With a mix of excitement and curiosity, I asked, “From your own investigations with high-frequency currents and the transmission of electrical energy, it seems that there’s a great future along these lines. Does the question of ‘electrical tuning’ become a most important one? Will this direct the progress of scientific discoveries in the next decade?”

Tesla leaned forward slightly, his eyes bright with conviction. “You have put a question,” he began, “which not only is of great importance in many arts of the present day, but also throughout the mechanism of the universe. The phenomena of sound and light afford striking examples. I believe that ultimately even nerve action will be proven to involve the principles of ‘sympathetic response.’” His thoughts were as bold as they were profound, suggesting that the very nature of life and nerve function operated on the same principles as electrical resonance.

He continued, “In my own experiments with electrical and mechanical vibrations, I’ve been impressed by the tremendous possibilities. With a small engine capable of pressing a piston back and forth with a force of just two pounds, I once set an entire block of modern buildings into such violent swaying that people rushed out terrified. And this was done through precise attunement.”

As he spoke, I found myself captivated by the simplicity of his explanation, despite the staggering implications. Tesla didn’t stop with mechanical resonance. He went on to explain his even more astonishing work in electrical vibration. “In electrical vibration,” he said, “I have frequently obtained results that were even more wonderful. The tuning of electric circuits is becoming increasingly important as the arts advance and methods refine. The layman can only have a vague idea of what can be accomplished in this line by those who possess the knowledge and skill.”

I asked him about this skill—how one could master such an art. “Knowledge of the principles is easy enough to acquire,” he admitted, “and one of the best sources of information on the subject comes from Prof. Pupin, whose work makes it accessible even to a beginner. But skill—now that takes patience and untiring dedication.”

The conversation turned to the challenges of refining electrical circuits for optimal resonance. Tesla explained, “Many experimenters don’t realize that an electrical system cannot vibrate freely through an imperfect contact or high resistance. It’s like trying to get a spring to vibrate while holding it firmly—it simply won’t happen.”

He paused for a moment, as though he was envisioning the future even as he spoke. “The transmission of electrical energy through the earth offers the greatest possibilities of development. The time is not far off when electrical oscillations will speed through the globe, each separate and distinct, fulfilling its mission. It’s a seemingly simple subject, but as you advance, it feels as if the wide ocean is opening up before your eyes.”

As we concluded, Tesla recalled an experiment from five years prior, where he had successfully “tuned” 150 circuits, calling each one in turn without disturbing the others. “At the time, I thought I had mastered the art,” he smiled, “but now I see that I was only just beginning to learn.”

Leaving that evening, I felt that I had been granted a rare glimpse into the mind of a true visionary, a man who saw the universe as a symphony of vibrations, with every element perfectly attuned. What Tesla envisioned wasn’t just a technological future—it was a harmonious one. And as we move further into the twentieth century, I can’t help but wonder how much of his grand vision we’ll soon witness.

[reggiefalvey]

Full Name: Reginald Rodney Falvey.

Nicknames: Reggie, Reg, Redgefund, The Nald, Dundee, Reggie Smalls, R-E-double-G-I-E.

Pronouns and Gender: He/Him, Cis Male.

Birthday: August 10th, 1988.

Birth place: Cardiff, Wales.

Time in Providence: Consistently from 2000-2006, on and off beyond that. Currently he's been in town for 3 months as of Feb 2024.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Housing: Bighorn Hills.

Occupation: Late Night Radio Host for 96.8 The Peak.

Family: Rodney Falvey (Father), Erika Falvey (Mother), Elijah Falvey (Older brother), Nikolas Falvey (Older brother), Cynthia Falvey (Younger sister), Rhiannon Falvey (Niece).

tw violence, injury

BIO:

Third born of the Falvey brood, it was almost like Reginald Falvey was sent to test everything his parents had thought they knew about parenthood. As soon as he could walk, he could run headfirst (literally, on several occasions) into danger. As soon as he could talk, he could spin a yarn. He had a big imagination and an even bigger penchant for exaggerating when he knew he would be rewarded with attention for it. 

Where his parents and his older brother were musically gifted, Reggie was just loud. He liked to make a racket and to cause one, and he never stuck to a hobby for longer than a month. Drums lasted three weeks, football lasted two, karate made it three and a half weeks. 

His parents always found his everchanging whims charming, though his teacher’s rarely agreed. Reggie embodied the word average as a student, never excelling but not failing outright either. From reception right up to Year 8, he carved out a place for himself as the class clown, gaining frequent reprimands and trips to isolation from his teachers. The move from Cardiff to Providence Peak hadn’t helped much in that department, he was exactly the same from middle school and all through high school. 

When the time came to start seriously considering college and what kind of life he wanted for himself after it, Reggie opted to take a gap year. That was how he found himself as a holiday rep in Ibiza from ages 18 to 22, with one year stretched into four in what felt like the blink of an eye, he knew that his promise to his mother that he would get a degree was just like half the things he said -- empty air. He decided to travel instead, working odd jobs and making his way through central Europe on a series of trains. 

By 26, he was trekking through Asia and supporting himself in much the same way. By 28, he was Australia bound. He spent a year and a half down under, living with his then best friend Street Smith, a California native he had met while doing necessary farm work to keep his visa. It was in a bar in Sydney in December 2018 where Reggie’s smart mouth finally caught up with him and a disagreement over a pool table turned violent. After hurling some insults at the Aussie who he had exchanged words with, he ended up getting jumped in the alley beside the bar while trying to stumble his way to an Uber, which resulted in a scar on his right cheek from being bottled and lingering issues with headaches stemming from a concussion he got during the incident. 

That was the first and only Christmas back at Providence Peak with his family Reggie ever missed. 

Rattled in the aftermath, Reggie was forced to take stock of his life so far and whether he had really made anything of it. Living in the moment had always been where he was most comfortable, but the carelessness he usually exhibited was frayed by a genuine fear experienced during the attack that he might not see the next one. 

Deciding to move back stateside, he and Street split rent on a shared room in Cali where they spent time mulling what to do next. Over the years, both had amassed a decent following on their respective Instagrams from their travels, and the combination of the two of them sent both their engagements skyrocketing. 

After creating a successful dual TikTok account in 2020, they decided to listen to their audience’s demands and began to work on a podcast together. FaceTime Your Mom was an instant hit, the name serving a play on the fact both of them had been terrible at keeping up with their families when they had been solo travelers. Clipped versions of the YouTube recording of their podcast went viral from time to time, and everything seemed to be on the up for the pair. 

That was until their bust up in 2023, when Reggie walked out mid-recording of an episode of FYM and never came back. Street had wanted to recount what happened in Sydney as a storytime on an episode for months by then and each time Reggie refused and when he was blindsided with a mention of it mid-episode about an entirely different topic, he ended the podcast and the friendship then and there. 

Faced with uncertainty that was entirely his own doing, Reggie decided his best course of action was to go home. He showed up in Providence Peak for Thanksgiving 2023 and hasn’t left since. He briefly crashed at his parents before finding his own digs in Bighorn Hills, and he’s recently started a new gig as the late night host for 96.8 The Peak.

PERSONALITY.

+ goofy, adventurous, spontaneous.

- indecisive, scattered, unreliable.

FUN ADJACENT FACTS.

FaceTime Your Mom's vibe pre it ending was very The Basement Yard vibes aka two dumb bitches just telling each other exactlyyyyy except into a podcast mic JSHGFSGHJ

every episode ended with "and don't forget, FaceTime your mom"

the intro of it was a snippet of a deliberately shoddy and slightly more upbeat cover of Facetime with my Mom (Tonight) by Bo Burnham recorded by Reggie and Street. They promised a full cover for the 200th episode but the podcast didn't get that far

Was officially diagnosed with ADHD at 31, though anyone who knew him well could have told him that just by being around him.

The Nald was Reggie's short lived rap name. He uploaded to soundcloud for three months at 17 and he's haunted by his digital footprint ever since.

Put on a pair of crocs for the first time and never looked back. Got the name Dundee from how often he wears them.

Absolutely loves a fun croc jibbitz

Is the absolute worst when it comes to keeping in contact. Loses his phone often, will reach out on strange numbers when he gets a replacement one.

Terrible texter.

Excess energy to the max, gets very restless if he has to be still for too long.

Has a bunch of tattoos from his travels.

A chancer through and through, has worked a bunch of jobs he's completely unqualified for because he can talk the talk and it gets him everywhere.

Lies about the origin of his facial scar because he doesn't like to talk about what happened to him. It ranges from plausible (took a spill in someone's kitchen on a drunken night and hit the counter edge) to absurd (got side-swapped by a bear, you should see the bear).

Number 1 purchaser of counterfeit amethyst merch from etsy and aliexpress. amethiest shirt? owns it. eli falvey shirt in this vein? works it.

If you've ever found a janky looking fake amethyst shirt in a thrift store, reggie was the source.

Has found a way to survive on 5 hours sleep a night, far from ideal but since his attack he finds it difficult to drift off unless he's exhausted or baked.

His party trick is perfectly pronouncing llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllanty (longest town name in wales). it's where his welsh fluency starts and ends.

truly believes wales will win a world cup in his lifetime (delulu)

his favorite song is Want That Old Thing Back by The Notorious B.I.G

had a mohawk for 2 weeks in 2022

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

younger brother of @elifalvey

long term dl hook-up of @estherclements, on bad terms most of the time

brother-in-not-law / part time rival / part time co-conspirator of @draslihanxfahri-bailey

former hook-up / fake wife when he needs to get out of an entanglement / friend of @emelinecormier

schmokey tokey pal of @ayselkarademir

roommate / close friend of @fletcher-braley

chaos goblins in cahoots w/ @jeanieprabhakar

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

friends / ride or dies

a past serious relationship??? would need heavy plotting bc reg rarely does anything seriously but SJHGFSGHJ could be hella angsty and fun to explore and flesh out

frenemies/friends who only fuck with each other when they’re drunk and/or partying but on a normal day its like nah fuck you KJSHGH

connects he knows through his brother elijah

former co-workers / former bosses (he's for sure worked some random jobs during prior stints of being in providence peak for longer than a week in between his travels)

folks from his travels!!!!! can be any sort of vibe, would love to plot out in full and can shift his specific location around to work hehe

people he’s gotten into fights with (he can be annoying as hell and never knows when to shut up and walk away)

ppl he gets high with (has some sleep issues following his attack and weed helps him to shut off)

mentor type vibe.

ppl who call into the radio show, feel free to request songs and/or terrorise him nightly HSGFDSFGHJ

hookups, fwb, usual jazz.

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

a best friend / ride or dies / close friends / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / former roommate / people he met on his travels / people from cali he was close to before he moved back home.

romantic

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes from his twenties / exes on good terms.

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / exes on bad terms / frenemies / rivals / negative influence / people he grates on because he's a lot.