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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it. You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response. As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence. "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability. Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique. Instead, he just smiled at you slightly. "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing. "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit. “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk. “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question. “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly. “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door. “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak. “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly. “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed. “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling. “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame. A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away.

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled. “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape? It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed. “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell. Things are fine with Tim, I promise.”

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled. “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you. “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent. “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink. You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion. “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers. “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point. It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one. I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together. “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way. “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly. “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student. You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone. He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily. “You challenge me,” he finished quickly. “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach. “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over. “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses. “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone. “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th? The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…”

Your heart started to race. Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door. “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery. “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again. “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise. “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked. “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch. You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side. The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping. He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable. You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear…

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare. You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued. “It doesn’t matter. We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration. “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him. Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal. Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me? I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed. “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly. Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly. “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do. You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways. That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes! Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly. “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all? Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove? Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about? You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed. “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified. “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders. “I know. Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe. You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher. But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you? You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm. What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do. As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again. This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter. You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat. That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility. You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape. It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought. There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside. Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly. “We lost some of the compound. This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed. “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount? How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk. “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied. “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone? He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh. “You?” the leader repeated. “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you. Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness. Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position. As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars. Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head. "If it isn't Batgirl. Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged. "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with. "Not with me. I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway. You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs. You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal. But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them. For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed. "Make it stop! Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver. “This is who you are. Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away. You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first. Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly. “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh. “But out here, you’re no challenge at all. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly. “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss. “Please,” you begged again, “no! Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped. He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed. You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin. “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked. “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants. You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response. The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh? Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening. With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit. The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier. It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away. He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan. “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly. “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it. Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily. He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit. “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down. You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head. He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists. “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him. He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground. You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct. All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you. You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you. It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that. “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful. You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed. “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking. You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you. “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused. “No one wants to get involved. These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school. You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh. Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing. They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles. You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones? You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me. Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become. Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear. He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice. “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven. He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin. Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed. With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too). As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside. He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt. “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms. When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down. You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class. I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again. Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed. “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in. A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.”

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you. "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh. “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew. I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches. Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists. Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask. You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it. He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet. This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom. “Alright,” he said. “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots. Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more. In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line. “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence. We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x reader #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane dark fic

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bwambiee · 1 year

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𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

this lil’ drabble is inspired by the lovely @zeijias ♡ her drabble of isagi being a perv while pretending to be a goody two-shoes just scratched my brain so right i had to add on to the agenda! pls check out her works they’ve got me blushin’ ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings ꒱ྀིა smut ⸝ drabble ⸝ fem! reader ⸝ isagi being a perv ⸝ mean isagi agenda ⸝ aged up chara’s (21+) ⸝ dirty talk ⸝ mentions of face-sitting

campus crush yoichi is just the sweetest boy in your psychology class, who you just found out is an exercise science major and he’s got the prettiest sapphire eyes you’ve ever seen. classmates turned best friends came easily to you two even if sometimes you both could see that the line is slightly blurred from how impeccably close you two are. after spending every waking moment together in freshman and sophomore year, it’s like muscle memory for you to run to him at even the smallest ounce of juicy gossip, tugging his sleeve as you look up into his eyes and nuzzle into his arm as you explain the drama of a recent friend, or how you complain over your classes whilst wearing his hoodie. but who could blame you? he was sweet and understanding, and felt like home. but it was clear that you two had something. and the both of you didn’t have the guts to act on it yet.

of course you only see what’s on the outside, goody two-shoes isagi who sometimes walks in late for psych, who always always opens the door for you, who covers your drink at parties when you need to use the bathroom and even bends down so his ear is at level with your face so he can hear you over the booming music, who always buys you your favorite drink or snack before your morning classes start because you stayed up a little later than normal and he knows you haven’t had breakfast yet. he was just so pure and flawless you could never guess that he was secretly eyeing you like the last piece of candy at a sweets shop. especially when you wear that miniskirt that can most definitely show what color panties you're wearing and the curve of your ass if you weren’t careful.

isagi freaking loses it when you stroll up to him all casually, your eyes looking up at him while you bat your eyelashes and flash him that sweet smile, your soft hands tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie as you lead him towards the library so you two can study for an upcoming test. yeah . . . ‘study’. what he’s really studying is how good your legs look when you cross them together, how good they’d look resting over his shoulders when he pounds into your pussy without mercy, growling into your ear about how fucking tight you are, or how good your shoulders and neck would look covered in marks he’d purposely leave on you so that the boy in your statistics class would get a hint that you weren’t meant to be shared with. nothing drives him wild as his thought run amok, dreaming of your plush thighs surrounding his head as he imagines you sitting on his face, pretty pussy dripping honey onto his tongue as you let out soft mewls and whines of his name when he sucks your clit just right, gripping onto your ass cheeks so he can move you back and forth on his tongue as you hold onto his headboard for dear life.

he inwardly groans as he imagines sinking into your pussy, sticking his whole cock into you in one hard thrust as he robs you of every single slither of oxygen when you gasp and do nothing but hold onto him tightly. he’d destroy you, the frustration of playing cat and mouse with you when really he just wants to play house and stop fucking around. the need for his true feelings comes out slightly when he sees you bite the top of your pencil, slightly groaning as you lean in close to him, not-so-subtly showing off how good your tits looked in the top and mention how the barista that had made your latte was cute and he grips his mechanical pencil tightly, digging it into his notebook when he stares at your lips, pursed in concentration, smiling about that stupid fucking barista.

damn tease.

his mind wanders again, thinking about how you’d claw his back as he imagines your tight, velvety walls gripping his cock as he makes you see stars.

“such a tight little pussy YN. All for me, yeah?” he’d pant against your ear. “you think you can keep up this innocent act around me, mhm? you don’t think i can see the little game you’re playing? you can mention another guy’s name in your mouth, but it’s my cock you come all over, and it’s my name you fuckin’ scream.” he growls, gripping onto your hips so he can bully that sweet spot in you and you would let out the most prettiest cry.

“n-no more—nnh!” you would moan. “it’s too much y-yoichi!” you’d whisper pleadingly, watery eyes hazy as your mind would be too fucked out to even form a coherent sentence. he’d do nothing but grin at you and just leans forward, folding you in half.

“t-too much y-yoichi!” he’d mock you with an insufferable smirk, one hand sneaking up to grip your tits and the other on your tummy so he can feel his dick move in and out of you lazily, pussy throbbing around him as his fingers slowly tease you clit in slow, deliberate movements, grunting since he can feel you squeezing him so fucking good.

“don’t be a quitter sweetheart.”

and fire would spread across your oversensitive body, writhing and spasming as isagi robs you of an orgasm that’s sure to send you over the moon.

well of course, you’d feel that euphoric feeling if you’d stop playing cat and mouse.

#ཐིཋྀ◞𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 #𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒌 ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi smut #isagi smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #isagi yoichi imagines #it’s been a while since i wrote ! i think i’m a lil’ rusty oops ૮꒰ つᯅ⊂ ꒱ა

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fuzzythoughtsblog · 3 months

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I've been craving some Alpha/Omega play which has caused me to be thinking about how much I want to be coerced into letting an Alpha "help" with my heat after I've pushed everyone who's tried away. Which lead to this fantasy :

Like always in this fantasy I'm in a program for disobedient wayward omegas. However this time Im having a persistent heat, one that I can't shake by myself. And despite the programs efforts, they can't manage to find a Alpha that can subdue me long enough to take me in my feral and fearful state. To add to the mess none of the tranquilizers they've been feeding me has calmed me down.

Due to the failed efforts the people of the program are starting to lose hope in taming me. That is until a college graduate and prodigy who majored in Omega psychology and physiology volunteers to help. The female Alpha read a paper on my case and had been intrigued.

She goes to the program and asked the doctors how I've managed to fight off all the other Alphas.

"She's cunning for Omega pretending to submit with a kiss only to bite their tongues, busting a light bulb above a Alpha suitors heads and scratching through the cuffs of the breeding bench. "

"Hmm I like her. How long has she been in heat?"

"She's been in heat on and off for about 4 months but it's usually only for 3 days at a time. This is the first time she's been in this state for a more than a week, 2 weeks in fact. "

"Aww poor baby! Her body knows what she needs. *sigh* Poor stupid omega trying to think with her brain. Turn on the air condition, get me soft blankets, pillows, plushies, and t-shirts, her favorite snacks and drinks, lots of water bottles and condoms. Despite how satisfy it would be to breed her body needs to balance out after we get her off her heat. "

The doctor agrees and with in minutes she's outside my door with a wagon load of stuff. I imagine I can smell her through the door causing me to already be on high alert before she walks in. As the door creeks open and she rolles the stuff in I sink further back into the corner. She then closes the door before turning to me.

"Hi Angel."

At her words I begin to take a defensive stance.

"Uh uh none of that Omega, now I've brought you some things."

I slightly peer over at this statement.

"Things for your nest. "

Slowly I scoot a little from the corner and look at her confused.

"I know sweetheart, the program has a misconception of you. They say only good girls get to make their nest. But you my angel are a good girl. "

I shutter at the praise that washes over me. Still I don't move from the spot I've settled myself in.

"*sigh* it's ok Omega here. " she says as she begins to throw the blankets, pillows and plushies cautiously over to me. "See you don't have to move yet. "

Slowly while keeping my eyes on her I gather the blankets pillows and plushies.

"Go ahead baby, I'm not going to touch you while you make your nest."

I continue to look at her before slowly switching working on my nest and looking at her. However soon I'm consumed by the process. This blanket is the based, these the walls, the plushies go here and the pillows lines the blank walls and... I stop as I pick up a T-shirt smothered in her scent. Slowly while checking to make sure she's not paying attention as she scrolls through her phone I take the shirt. And put it up to my nose letting out a quiet moan as I take in her scent. I look back at her to check again. She's still scrolling. I quietly begin to look for more t-shirts finding 2 no 3 and then the holy grail a T-shirt stained with her cum. I whine at the sight before looking over to her only to find her eyes starring back at mine. Her eye's making the heat in my stomach burn hotter.

"Aww did you like your present Angel. It's all for you, in fact I have more presents, you must be so hungry Omega after all the doctors said you've been laying there curled in a ball for hours just touching yourself. " she says while pulling out some snacks and drinks.

Setting them in the middle of the room, still closer to her than before.

I try to convince my self I'm not interested, that it's all a trap but she's right I am hungry. With such precautions I step closer to her and the food closer and closer. Before grabbing a bag of gummies and a bottle of lemonade and bolting back to the safety of my nest.

"Good Omega, eat. "

I look away as I tear into the bag and take the occasional chug of lemonade.

"Good Omega, such a good girl. Look at my pretty Omega in her pretty nest the best one by far. "

I begin to feel a twinge of pride at her words. The praise getting to me starts to go lower. As I feel a little slick run down my leg the scent meeting the air causing the alpha to take a deep breath in. To my dismay I begin to glare at her once more.

"Now Omega stop that. We both know what you need and it's not more food it's this " she says as she pulls her leggings down letting her cock flop out.

Again I start to back up.

"Now now angel I'm not going to force it. "

I look at her eyes full of doubt.

"Truly I'm not, but then again I don't have too. You know how good of a mate I am. Deep down you know, I can take care of you. " she says taking steady steps toward my nest

"I can give you everything thing you need, food, shelter what ever you need... Pups. "

I let out a long whine at the statement. As she approaches me closer.

"That was a good response Omega, is that what you want? My pups inside of you. Oh you'd look even more beautiful. "

I begin to close my eyes and hold my hand over my leaking pussy as she kneels down to my level.

"I know it's hard to say it baby. But I already know. " she says before gentle grabbing my chin making me look up at her "I know what your body needs. "

I begin to shake my head no as she leans in a kisses me letting out a deep moan as she does. As the kiss continues she deepens it sticking her tongue in my mouth before moving her hands down to my nipples. Only breaking the kiss when she's fully on top of me.

"Delicious, sweet but sour like Kiwis and lemons. "

I can even begin to push her off as I'm left panting from the kiss.

"I wonder if your whole body tastes like that. " she says as she leans down and leaves dark hickeys on my chest moving further down to my nipples her mouth only adding to the heat in my stomach as I double over with pain. Looking up at her for help.

"Ssh I know baby I can help you. " she says slightly pulling away from me allow her room for her hands to trail down to my unclothed cunt.

I gasp and bite my lip as her fingers lightly ghost over my already sensitive clit.

"Aww look at my girl, her clit is swollen all ready. Did you play with it that much?" She teases still moving her fingers.

"The doctors told me you didn't use any of the penetration toys they left for you, are you scared of it? The stretch? "

After a minute of her waiting patiently i slowly nod.

"It's okay angel your body can take it it's what it's for." She says rubbing her fingers up and down my slit as I try to squirm away to no use.

How did I let this happen I think to myself. Especially as she starts to sink a finger inside of me.

"See it went in with ease. " she proves by fucking her finger in and out.

Watching intently as she moves her finger in and out. After a while she puts her mouth to my clit make me squirm. Distracting me as she sinks two more fingers in.

"See sweetheart, you take it like a champ. Such a good Omega"

She begins to set a fast pace fucking her fingers into me with earnest. Stretching and kissing my cunt in the process

"Such a good fucking girl! " she says as she herself becomes more and more undone. "So fucking wet for my knot. Practically begging for it! "

She says before pulling her fingers out and lining up. As tears of fear run down my face.

"It's ok, shhhh, your good." She whispers in my ear as she sinks inside me.

I let out I whine as she just keeps going, when am I going to hit the base?

She groans "So fucking tight, warm and tight! "

Then finally our hips met. As tears continue to drip down my cheeks.

"See dumb little Omega, you took it so well."

I continue to sob as she runs her fingers through my hair before pulling out and slamming back in to my dismay.

"Ssh it's okay I'm gonna mold this pretty cunt to the shape of my cock and your going to lay there and take it like a good girl. "She whispers as she sets a brutal pace for my already heat wrecked little body.

Causing me to whine and gasp with each thrust. However, despite my original dismay the original pain from my heat starts to evaporate with every pound. I breathe a sigh of relief until my Alpha - no the Alpha reaches down and plays with my clit causing me to scream more.

"That's it baby make so noises for me. Fuck you get even. Fucking. Tighter. I have to keep you! " she announces as she leans down towards my neck.

Causing me to flinch away and whine.

"No baby, this is happening! I'm going to claim you and your sweet body and your going to lay there and milk my knot! " she states grabbing my hair to give her better access to my neck.

All while continuing to pound and rub as she attempts to make me ready for her knot.

"Good stubborn girls like you need structures, an Alpha. And I'll be that little Omega. I'll give you everything that you need discipline, pleasure, punishment, protection, pups and most importantly I'll love you! " she says so sweetly before sinking her teeth in and shoving her knot in as I moan.

Pleasure and satisfaction begins to wash through me as I feel her cock leak into me - no a condom. I let out a displeased sound at the realization.

She laughs "I know baby, don't worry I'm going to breed that cunt nice and full when the doctors clear you. "

I groan but accept her words as she our bond knot still locking us together. I purr as she runs her hands through my hair. Hearing the door open but paying no mind as this Spacey pleasure continues to flood my mind.

"Ah doctors, nice timing. Did you enjoy the show? Anyway my mate needs actual food before I take her home with me. " I vaguely hear the Alpha state before the door closes.

I continue to live in the pleasure that is till the knot goes down and my Alpha tries to pull out. I whine and grab at her.

"So needy, good Omega let go allow me to give you everything." She says before getting me in position to be taken again.

#wlw nsft #wlw ns/fw #sapphic ns/fw #lesbian ns/fw #lesbian smut #sapphic nsft #lesbian nsft #wlw noncon #wlw blog #sapphic cnc #cnc wlw #queer cnc #wlw a/b/o #wlw omegaverse

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many-but-one · 3 months

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Satanic Panic, The False Memory Foundation’s Shaky Origins, and Why You Should Believe RAMCOA Survivors

(TW: mentions of RAMCOA, False Memory Foundation, child torture & death, cults, trafficking)

Pretty disappointed to see a fairly popular and well known blog on tumblr is encouraging the idea that RAMCOA doesn’t exist. Just came across this post and was pretty bummed to see the comments too.

For those that agree with them (most of my followers won’t but who knows who will stumble across this), please know that RAMCOA has been going on for much longer than the Satanic Panic. The Satanic Panic was fabricated in an effort to discredit RAMCOA survivors. It was supported by the False Memory Foundation, which was created by a man (and his wife) trying to prove his daughter’s repressed memories of trauma involving him did not really happen. [Explained further in the third article further down in this post]

For the record, false memory/planting false memories has been disproven, it’s not possible to fully plant false memories in patients. Some memories can be altered to an extent because memories can be disjointed and influence from others can cause memories to shift slightly, which is why it’s not encouraged for trauma patients to share exact detailed memories with each other. For example, if two trauma patients were abused by their father and had a similar situation happen and patient A spoke about their experience in detail, if both fathers wore glasses and patient A describes their father to have black rimmed glasses, patient B’s memory might shift to believe that their father also had black rimmed glasses, even though his glasses were gold rimmed. However, it’s not possible to fully plant memories that do not exist in a patient’s memory. The “base memory” so to speak has to be there in order for any alterations to occur, and those alterations that are possible are often rather minuscule, such as glasses or whether or not their abuser had facial hair or not, or the color of the person’s eyes. Not an entire scene of RA. [Again, explained well by the third article below.]

Repressed memory has been proven to exist. (Though it’s more accurately called dissociated memories by clinicians) It can even exist in people who have traumas that happen in adulthood. Pieces of a traumatic event may go missing in a patient’s working memory, and they may not retrieve it until they are ready to process the memory and all the emotions and information that comes with it. However, it still exists stored in the brain, just in a different area than working memory. It’s why triggers to the traumatic event (that the patient may not even realize are triggers until they occur) can cause flashbacks and memory resurfacing during said flashbacks.

Some sources explaining the False Memory Foundation and the harm they’ve caused: [a good overview of a woman who was major in the development of the idea of repressed memory being a myth, by a researcher of child psychiatry], [while this is a psychology today article, I think this explains well how misused the idea of FMS - false memory syndrome - is.] [A comprehensive article explaining the roots of the FMF and how the studies used to “prove” false memory are terrible and easily debunked, with several assertions from professionals in the field.] I want to add that while the FMF has dissolved and rightfully so, the British False Memory Society is still alive and well, as well as the Satanic Temple’s Grey Faction, and both groups still cite False Memory Syndrome as being real and claim that RAMCOA survivors have false memories of their abuse.

However, before Satanic Panic happened, people were starting to actually believe in the existence of RAMCOA and the concept of DID was brought into the mainstream. A survivor on tiktok has a very good video on this situation. And that scared people, especially the abusers themselves who didn’t want to get caught. That’s when the False Memory Foundation stepped in on the heels of Satanic Panic and literally rewrote the textbooks therapists learned from, and basically taught everyone that repressed memory doesn’t exist. Any therapists that spoke about their patients’ experiences with RAMCOA were sued. Therapists stopped wanting to treat RAMCOA patients for fear of being sued and/or losing their license or being told they planted these memories in their patients’ heads and possibly losing their licenses. It led to generations of old therapists not treating RAMCOA patients and generations of new therapists learning it doesn’t exist.

But it does exist. To outright deny that child torture cannot exist is absurd. 1-2% of reported child abuse falls under the definition of child torture. [source, TW: photos of children with serious injuries from torture included on page 7 of this document] For the record, my abuse was never and has never been reported, and most survivors—RAMCOA and non-RAMCOA, whose trauma falls under the definition of torture—never reported or plan to report.

Even if you find the mind control aspect to be far-fetched, ritual abuse most certainly does exist. I’ve seen videos on the surface web on fucking tiktok of all places of child torture and ritual abuse. Organized abuse such as sex trafficking and labor trafficking does exist. Two out of those three things in the acronym are well documented to exist. And for the record, ritual abuse and cult abuse even in adults can cause extreme mind and identity alteration, upwards to the point of nearly being mind control. Look up OSDD-2 in the DSM-V. Look up just about any cult survivors testimonies and hear how they talk about how they nearly became a different person within their cult, how the cult uses torture and mind altering drugs to get their initiates to commit terrible acts of violence to each other. Now imagine if that same stuff were happening to a child whose mind is significantly easier to mold and change. Even if the child RAMCOA survivor does not develop DID, it can cause extreme conditioned responses in which the child (or now grown adult or teen) will still do the responses even now because as a child they were threatened with torture or death if they didn’t do it.

Mind control is essentially an extreme form of conditioning, and with the plethoras of research on DID and how it functions, it’s not even a difficult concept to grasp that a cult member might learn how to split new alters in a child via torture and then manipulate those alters to do what they want individually. Anyone who knows fuck all about DID knows that alters can be triggered out via positive and negative triggers. All mind control programming is, is creating a specific trigger for a specific alter and then when that child is exposed to that trigger, that alter comes out and does the task it was taught to do—usually via torture, manipulation, and threats of harm to the child or those the child loves. It’s not a difficult concept to grasp, and with how long TBMC (torture based mind control) programmers have had to perfect their work, it’s no surprise that they’ve learned how to make alters do extremely complex tasks or hold onto specific functions, always at the ready for their specific trigger.

RAMCOA research doesn’t exist in mainstream spaces because it’s nearly impossible to be taken seriously because of people who claim it doesn’t exist when it’s not even a complex topic to understand. They just don’t want to accept that it exists. The concept is terrifying, harrowing, and at some times almost absurd—and that combination makes it easier for people to put their blinders up and decide it doesn’t exist. [Edited to add: On top of this, what little research is done on it is steeped in conspiracy theories that often have roots in antisemitism. While I’ve asserted that Miller’s deprogramming books are good reads for RAMCOA survivors, she does often sound conspiratorial, and quotes Svali, a known antisemite. While I don’t think RAMCOA is exclusively related to the Illuminati stuff she often talks about, Miller’s work cannot be completely discounted because of her beliefs of where the abuse originated. Where it originates matters much less than the fact that it happens. However, not from dark, underground, secret societies—but from normal places like churches, children’s own homes (yes, RAMCOA can be done by a single parent to a single child, it just may look different than say, a trafficking ring), trafficking rings, militaristic groups, political cults, etc. I wanted to put the above put there because I know someone is going to come at me and try to say the researchers who talk about it were conspiracy theorists. Yeah, they were. Maybe they were the only ones willing to talk openly about it because of the fact they’re conspiracy theorists? I don’t know. However, I think it should also be noted that just because the researchers sucked doesn’t mean the information taken from them isn’t useful when you weed out the conspiracy stuff. For example, a LOT of modern understanding of medicine was taken from Nazi and Japanese experiments during WWII. Arguably some of the worst doctors on earth. Do we discount everything we learned because they were horrible, evil, people? No. While those who studied RAMCOA went about it in shit ways, that doesn’t discount the information learned completely. Likewise, much of modern psych understanding came from roots that included incredibly unethical experiments that would never be allowed today. Do we throw out all of that info too? No, we don’t. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t hold these people accountable, I’m saying we cannot throw out all discussion of RAMCOA because the doctors who talked about it were shitty people.]

I wish I could decide it doesn’t exist. I have permanent scarring that proves what happened did happen. I have doctor’s visits that prove I am disabled because of the traumas I went through. I have a DID specialist who didn’t even know programming to our extent even existed before our parts started telling her what they went through and she heard it from our own mouth. She had to learn how to deprogram us on the fly because she’d never done so before. So fuck off with your “oh, RAMCOA patients only have RAMCOA because they’ve been influenced by their therapist to believe they do” bullshit.

I relive my traumas in flashbacks and nightmares daily. There have been periods in my healing process where I couldn’t leave the house without someone with me for months. I couldn’t hold a job for nearly a year. I didn’t know any of this happened to me until I was in my 20s. I thought my memory was just bad and the only parts of my childhood I remembered were little blips of good things, usually involving my parent that was not involved with the cult or memories with friends at school or when I was hanging out with my sports teammates. Living with this stuff is hell. You think I want to live with this stuff? If I could permanently erase it all from my memory forever I would. But I can’t. I don’t have that luxury.

It happened. And I’m not the only child it happened to, both in the area of my country I live in and in areas all over my country and the world. This is not an isolated phenomenon. It is more common than anyone tends to realize (though still rarer than most DID cases, thank fuck). I was lucky to survive. I survived because they wanted me to. I saw a lot of children, teens, and adults who were not as “lucky” as I was. If you won’t respect survivors and their stories, at least respect the ones who didn’t survive. They didn’t deserve their final moments to be so full of pain. All of the children in these groups deserved to be loved and cared for and treated with softness and compassion. So do adult survivors like me and many others.

If I could end on one thing, it would be to urge the doubters to have some fucking compassion and empathy for people who have been through things they cannot even begin to understand. My past feels like a nightmare I will never be able to escape. I cannot erase it. I can only try to heal from it. So heal I will do, and in the process I will continue to speak the truth of my experience as safely as I can.

You want proof it’s real? Survivors are your proof.

WE are the proof.

[Edit: changed some wording for clarification + added a section after rereading a couple hours later]

[Edit 2: I realized I said my abuse has never been reported, I meant my RAMCOA related abuse. Want to make that clear. I reported sexual abuse done by my church to CPS and nothing came of it. CPS actually wrongfully claimed that since they had no reports existing of that church harming kids they wouldn’t pursue it since it happened so long ago, when a cursory google search of said location shows they’ve been reported multiple times and all reports were dropped. Why, I’m not sure.]

#ramcoa tw #torture tw #cult tw #death tw #trafficking tw #ramcoa survivor #false memory foundation #ramcoa #tbmc survivor #tbmc tw

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slvttyplum · 11 months

Text

im having suguru brain rot

didn’t edit this so idk.

suguru walks in the kitchen where you’re popping grapes in your mouth scrolling on your phone.

“yo.” he says as he slides in front of you opening the fridge.

his hair is all messy and his wife beater was cropped showing his v-line and happy trail, your eyes subconsciously sliding all around his body.

the slam of the fridge startling you, you snap out of it.

“suguru whats your major again?” you blurt out. the truth was, you needed him. you didn’t care what conversation was needed you just wanted to hear that—

“psychology.” he deadpans, sliding past you again walking towards the pantry. your eyes follow his tall figure, his back muscles pushing out the shirt, and the wall those black sweats fit around his small waist.

sexy voice. sexy mind. sexy body. sexy major.

you could never really catch a glimpse of his face since both of you have two different schedules, when both of you were home he would stay cooped up in his room.

that didn’t bother you much since it did make you a little uneasy to have a male roommate in the first place, you hated to admit it but you were shallow, that man was fine.

so him being a guy living with you wasn’t a bother.

you slipped another grape into your mouth thinking to yourself, what’s something else you could ask him or talk about, this was your only chance, he rarely spoke to you.

“breaks coming up, are you going back home?” you ask, your voice cracking.

you mentally curse yourself, that wasn’t a good one but you gotta do what you gotta do.

he turns his head looking at you, his dark eyes looking you straight in the eye and his eyebrow and lip piercing shining from the light.

damn he’s fine.

he turns his head back to the pantry then closes it, he wasn’t feeling any of the good options today, maybe he could…

he folds his arms against himself leaning his butt against the counter near the pantry.

“unfortunately no, i have way too much to do here and i don’t live close so.” he says, playing with the piercing on his lip.

your eyes light up, this was fate, it had to be. you would make it your life goal to make sure you guys talk everyday.

“awe bummer, i’m not going home either, i don’t feel like flying.” you say tucking your hand in the waistband of your pants trying to warm it up.

suguru scans your figure and looks back at your face, his dick jumping.

“maybe we could hang out.” he says leaning off the counter.

your eyes almost fall off hearing this, this was all working in YOUR favor. oh universe what did i do to deserve such kindness you think to yourself.

a grin forming on your lips but you quickly wipe it off, “yeah i would love that.”

he smiles, his smiley piercing shining. god please.

“good, i’m a little hungry can you do something for me?” he asks leaning on his side only a few inches away from you.

your ears start ringing with anticipation, were you a genius or were you a genius. he’s going to ask you on a date, this was your time.

“can you lay across that table, i want to eat.” your jaw drops and the grape that was in the hand drops.

what?

“sorry, huh?”

he’s smirking and his hands drop down walking towards you, almost nothing helping the distance.

“sorry if that came off too blunt, it’s just… you look good and im starving here.”

your throat is closing by the second, your pupils forming in the shape of a heart, if he was saying what you thought he was then…

“fuck!!” you yelp out. suguru grabs your hand placing it on top of his head, telling you to grab.

he tongue swirling all around you, spit mixed with your liquids dripping off his chin.

his eyes glued to your pussy, his hands gripped around you.

his tongue piercing gliding over your clit every second, your body shivers from the cold touch every-time.

your hands sliding and grabbing his hair, where did he learn this oh my—

“god! right there!”

his eyes are rolling as his hands grip your thighs with force, his nails digging into you.

saliva was foaming inside your mouth, dripping off the side. the knot deep inside your stomach was tightening, and you felt like you were dying.

his tongue sliding from deep inside you to sucking your clit, the pattern and rhythm stopping your climax.

you tug on his hair, “keep sucking.” his eyes shoot up to you, smirking. he takes one of his hands off your thigh, sliding it under him and right into your pussy.

your breath hitches and a sharp feeling explodes in your stomach, back arching, your liquids leaking.

you flop back on the table, your head spinning.

suguru gets up licking his lips. “i’ll be back tonight, maybe we can do this again.”

your head shoots up and the heart shapes still in your eyes and the ringing in your ear was still there.

“yeah yeah for sure.” you say wiping off the drool.

he smiles at you and walks back to his room, you slide off the table clearing your throat.

for sure…

#college au #jjk x reader #getou suguru x y/n #geto x y/n #jujutsu geto #suguru geto smut #geto smut #geto x you #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚plumdrabble

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steppedladder · 1 year

Text

The fate of A Modest Renaissance

My latest art post was hinting at it but by this point I should just say it outright: A Modest Renaissance will no longer be an MCYT AU. More info under the cut.

Wait, it's ending?

No. If I stopped making content for AMR I think my brain would boil over.

What does this mean?

Characters and the story have changed. Some, like the one I posted today, underwent minor design changes. Other unposted characters got a major rehaul, and with them storyline alterations. In short, this story will now be populated by original characters.

Why?

I talked a little about it before on my twitter, but I got burnt out on MCYT content. I love the community and the people I've met in the fandom but I'd lost interest in most of the CCs and their stories by Doomsday, and by then had only been watching Techno's streams anyway. He was the reason I got back into MCYT with his Skywars videos. When he left, it made sense that I would too.

But I had a whole story plotted out for this blog. Since I hadn't been watching other CCs/drawing heavily on their plots in the first place, as I continued to work on AMR the characters started to resemble their origins less and less. So eventually I was faced with the choice to:

keep AMR a MCYT AU and rarely post art, squirreling away the "real" AMR in drafts, or

convert all of AMR into original content and (psychologically) give myself total creative freedom, but risk losing my audience.

The choice was clear, so I decided I should do what I want.

What about content already posted on this blog? Is it still canon?

A lot of characterization and plot stayed the same through the transition, especially regarding posted content. Think of it like a beta version of the story.

Now what?

I guess introductions are in order for my new(ish) characters. You've already seen Loume by this point, but I'll post new characters as I finish up their designs.

Whether you choose to stick around is up to you. Thank you for everything, and I hope you enjoy the story.

#spem et alium #a modest renaissance #sanya #(formerly technoblade)#i hope you all have enjoyed the story so far as much as i have making it.

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meowzfordayz · 1 year

Text

when you're apart

Author’s Note: is my Sanemi favoritism showing? 🤍 Spoiler Alert: yes. 😂 Don’t mind my psychology major brain showing ~a bit too. 🤓

when you’re apart

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,300

CW: anxiety disorder, explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I was wondering if you could do how the men hashira react to a female reader with separation anxiety

I have a fear of being alone which makes me very clingy. My longtime boyfriend recently broke up with me due to me being “to much to deal with.”

Being clingy is such a bother I know I just hate being alone

~faqs~

When you’re apart…

… Gyomei doesn’t mind receiving calls from you throughout the day. He’s endlessly patient, always willing to listen, and warns you in advance if he can’t talk for long. His strategy for setting and respecting boundaries? Planning ahead and communicating his availability to make sure you feel prioritized and included in his decision making, while still fulfilling his own wants and needs.

… Obanai dislikes it as much as you do, but is ~somewhat more subtle about it. He, at least, has Kaburamura to keep him company, but kissing you is decidedly more pleasant. He’s mindful about maintaining healthy boundaries and expectations—he knows codependency shouldn’t be romanticized—but he’s also so wholly in love with you, that sometimes he gives up and surprises you anyway. “Obanai? You’re two hours early?? Are you okay???” He nods sheepishly, already pulling you into a hug, “I’m fine. Missed you.” “Is Sanemi going to complain to me the next time I see him?” you sigh, scrunched grin revealing your contentment despite the exasperation in your tone. “Probably, I don’t care. I left him enough to cover more than my share of the tab.”

… Mitsuri totally understands your anxiety, and is lovingly firm about ensuring you don’t slip into unhealthy habits. “You can text me anytime, but only call if there’s an emergency, okay?” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your earlobe. You nod slightly, resisting the urge to pout. “I’ll be home before you know it.” Even though it stings, you know it’s never personal. Her willingness to draw straightforward boundaries, as well as her willingness to cross them if you’re truly upset, are just another reason to cherish her.

… Shinobu checks in every couple of hours. Sometimes it’s just a single sentence text, other times a quick call, but she knows how important feeling connected is to you. It’s important to her too, of course, but she’s apt to lose track of time when she’s at the hospital or her lab—she enjoys her work—so she puts in conscious effort to be proactive about your anxiety. When she anticipates a busier or longer day, she’ll ask, “Is it okay if I only check in during meals today?” Generally, you’ll reassure her that, “Absolutely, I’m so proud of you,” and if you’re having a low day, then she always figures out a compromise with you before she leaves.

… Kyojuro unknowingly reassures you, because—apparently—everything reminds him of you. Whether it’s a photo of a flower shortly after he arrives at work Pretty flower, but you’re prettier 🌻, a photo of the sky during his lunch break The cloud formations remind me of you, so soft and mesmerizing ☁️, or a blurry selfie as he finally heads home for the day Cannot wait to see you! 😁, you’re kept in the loop. The one time his phone fell into a puddle (he was trying to photograph a reflection of willow branches Elegant and dreamy, like you 🌿), he immediately visited the nearest shop to borrow their landline Hi, yes, how are you today? Would it be possible for me to make a call? I am happy to purchase something. I would just like to tell my partner that I will be unavailable for the day.

… Sanemi often forgets to explicitly text, call, or otherwise contact you. He doesn’t mean to aggravate your anxiety: he just doesn’t quite ~get it, and assumes it stems from insecurity or jealousy — which also confuses him. “You have nothing to worry about. How could I fall in love with someone else when I’m already in love with you?” he snorts, lightly tapping your nose. “That’s not…” you bite at your lip, unsure how to explain yourself. “I’m not big on texting, you know that. It’s not that I specifically dislike texting you.” You smile despite yourself, eyes rolling fondly, “I know it’s not specific to me.” “So then what’s the issue?” he’s determined to understand. “I’m afraid of being alone,” you shrug, gesturing vaguely, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” Arms crossing, he leans in, forehead bumping yours, voice warm and low on your skin as you gulp, “It’s okay to be afraid of things, and being afraid isn’t nothing.” Arms uncrossing, he settles his hands on your hips, kneading gently as he pulls back slightly, fixing an even gaze on your flushed expression, “I can’t be with you all the time, but I can promise that I love you and think about you.” “All the time?” you ask quietly. It’s his turn to blush, eyes closing as he dips his face into your neck, muttering softly, “All the damn time.”

… Muichiro is a bit absentminded, and rarely thinks to check his phone, but he sets reminders—around noon, and later in the afternoon—to make up for it. If he’s occupied and misses his usual look-at-his-phone time(s), then he’s never bothered by a call from you coming through (besides your number, his phone’s always on Do Not Disturb). In the bathroom? He’ll pick up. About to bite into his lunch? He’ll put it aside. Presenting during a meeting? He’ll literally answer his phone mid sentence, and leave the room (creative liberty: thank gosh he’s the boss hah). He’s aware of his head-in-the-clouds tendencies, just as he’s aware of your anxiety, and feels that having a specific routine is perfectly fair: if he forgets to uphold his end of your expectations, then you’ve every right to remind him. Conversely, if he’s feeling overwhelmed, he’s more than capable of reasserting his own needs — an infinite practice of mutual respect and taking necessary space.

… Giyuu feels uneasy too, but his discomfort stems primarily from how most people tend to socially drain him — you’re one of few that he can feel both stimulated and rested around. Therefore, if it’s a spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-around-others situation, then he’d prefer to be with you. Spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-by-himself situations are more complicated. It takes a lot of discussion, some heavy evenings apart, and tense evenings together, but you gradually nurture a shared understanding and acceptance of your varying needs. He’s always happy to reassure you that I’m not upset with you, nor am I tired of you; I’m just tired, while you’re slowly learning to trust him and his commitment to loving you.

… Tengen could care less about how clingy you are. Super duper clingy? He loves it. Not clingy at all? He’s cool and confident — he knows you adore him as much as he adores you. His easygoingness, however, isn’t the most productive in terms of processing and reducing your overall anxiety. In fact, you eventually have to tell him that he shouldn’t answer your texts or calls immediately, every single time, without a hint of irritation, because it reinforces your self soothing behaviors. “But I’m happy to?!” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “I know, and I appreciate you,” you chuckle, tucked snugly into his side, “But I don’t want to feel afraid of being alone-” “Sooo don’t be alone!” he interrupts enthusiastically, “Again, I’m happy to keep you company!” Inhaling deeply, you gently grip his jaw, a silent request for him to focus, “And again, I appreciate you, but sometimes I have to feel afraid to stop feeling afraid. If I’m never alone, then I can’t ever feel afraid,” hesitating, voice softer now, “And I know you’ll promise to never leave me, but shit happens. Y’know?” He’s silent, maroon eyes steady and tender as he holds your gaze. Before you can nervously murmur Tengen?, he touches his nose to your forehead, still smiling. “I love you. I’ll do my best to help, even from a distance.” “Well don’t go too far away,” you quip. “Of course not,” he laughs, “I’ll just go wherever you tell me to,” declared earnest and true.

#hashira x reader #preferences #modern au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #gyomei x reader #obanai x reader #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #kyojuro x reader #sanemi x reader #muichiro x reader #giyuu x reader #tengen x reader

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starry-bi-sky · 6 months

Note

I am absolutely loving your Danyal Al Ghul au. While I have a soft spot for the whole plotline of Danny becoming his canon personality almost right after breaking away from the LOA all because of Jazz, I'm just as much for your take in which he goes through the same character development as Damian.

Now I'm curious. You already tackled his relationship with Dani, will you eventually take a stab at when he, Sam, and Tucker meet Gregor? Given that it's one of my hated episodes as I couldn't stand Sam's infuriatingly hypocritical attitude to Danny's suspicions of him, I'd kill to see your spin on it.

Aw, thank you! Danyal Al Ghul aus are what got me into DPDC first, so I have a major soft spot for them. That being said, uh, its exactly that soft spot that causes me to have Many Opinions about the trope you just mentioned. Like the trope is all fine and dandy, i don't blindly hate it, my main issue with it is that most aus i've seen treat his backstory as an ex-assassin more like a pretty cosmetic accessory rather than something that actually should have had an impact on him. Especially if he remembers being in the league.

Like i cannot stress enough the fact that being in an ecofascist assassin cult (regardless of his standing in it) should've left him, in some way or another, screwed up morally and psychologically because that's just how development works. Nature vs. Nurture is like a game of tug-o-war that never ends, where they are constantly fighting against each other and one side usually has the upper hand or greater influence. Children model the behaviors of the adults around them (ex: bobo the clown doll experiment), and what impacts them in childhood can stick with them permanently.

Like how my psychology professor put it: a baby's brain is like wet cement; if you slap your hand on it, it leaves an imprint, and the cement dries that way. The same rings true for small children.

I could go on, but I frankly have so many thoughts on that alone that I would end up completely derailing from the second half of your ask, and I don't want to be more critical than I already have. Especially since you just mentioned you have a soft spot for the trope.

[Okay, hold onto your hats because this is long. Naturally lmao.]

Gregor! Man, I'll admit I last watched the show back in middle school on a dodgy illegal website (it had surprisingly good audio and visual graphics, and full episodes. But really annoying porn ads.) but I only made it to like season 1 before my hyperfixation faded and I lost interest. So I never actually saw the Gregor episode.

But... it is relatively easy to find free websites that stream Danny Phantom :), so finding the episode took me like. Thirty seconds. Plus the Tv.Tropes recap page because my damn earbuds just died and im out in public as of rn.

I'm not sure if I'll write something for the gregor episode like I did with Dani, since Dani's a bit of a special case in that she's a clone and tends to be a reoccurring presence in DPDC, and I thought the new dynamic with Danyal would be interesting.

Plus, I'm not a big amethyst ocean shipper for the pure reason of I'm just not all that interested in it; its kinda bland to me. I'll admit I've entertained the thought in this au due to the whole balcony scene i wrote, but I would've entertained the thought anyways if it was Tucker in that position instead. Big multishipper, me.

But, if I had to make it official? Danyal is not interested romantically in Sam when the Gregor episode happens, regardless of his relationship with Valerie. Who, speaking of I'm trying to think about how that would go, and I'm torn between including him almost-dating Valerie or not.

Because on one hand it helps point out Sam's hypocrisy (and i love her but i am always happy to point out her flaws and address them in au) in this episode in terms of Danny spying on them, but on the other hand I'll want to include a lot of set up in order to make Gray Ghost work in this au and wow will that take a while.

Especially with the Flirting with Disaster episode because it happens due to Technus' meddling, and Danny is, well, the son of the Batman? A trained assassin? An ex-assassin nonetheless, but still an assassin? A prodigy child in this au? He might not have needed to use most of his skills in the last few years, but like... there's just a bunch of 'what if' and 'well technically...' and 'would he? he could, but would he?' things that is getting in the way of my thought process and making my head spin.

Mmm. Okay. Flirting with Disaster occurs relatively the same as canon with a few exceptions; like Danyal noticing the strange coincidences, and he might take the idea into proper consideration because Sam has a point it is strange, especially out of nowhere.

However,,, he really enjoys Valerie's company, and he does really like her. He's been adjusting to civilian life for the last four years and while he's made a lot of progress, he's still. an ex-assassin child living like a wolf amongst sheep. This is normal, typical teenager stuff, and usually his friends like to encourage him doing normal teenager stuff.

So he's stubbornly holding out on the thought that this is normal, that ghost stuff isn't interfering here. He's a little hurt that his friends are discouraging this, he's not bothered by the fact that Valerie is a ghost hunter and he a ghost -- his mother is an assassin, and his father is Batman, and they still had a relationship. (Granted, he's not gonna tell them that)

If anything, being diametrically opposed to each other but still being in love is part of the family! Granted, usually both parties are aware of said opposition to each other, but he'll make a special exception this time around.

(And man now that i'm thinking about gray ghost, im now thinking about various like. scenes i could write between the two of them. maybe in a reblog.)

Anyways uhhh things relatively go the same as canon. Yeah. I think Sam still has a crush on Danny and still spies out of jealousy with Tucker.

Now, the Gregor episode! With that out of the way; the TVTropes recap for this episode isn't the best because it doesn't go into detail about the entire episode like it does with Flirting With Disaster and Shades of Gray.

(which i looked at earlier because I made a section of this post talking briefly about what changes I'd make to the Shades of Gray episode to help set up Gray Ghost, but ended up deleting because it was kinda irrelevant for the matter at hand.)

So I'm taking in bits of the episode clips at a time, I'll try not to get too nitpicky about how each scene goes because then it's gonna take me a longer time to write this.

But! First thing's first; since Danny is not romantically interested in Sam, he is also not jealous of Gregor. He is however, a bit eyebrow-raisey at him in their first introduction, but that's because Gregor is coming off as obnoxious.

Danny thinks he's kinda annoying, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Gregor is trying to impress Sam. But since they've only known him for five minutes he takes the good faith assumption and assumes that Gregor is genuinely trying to show interest in Sam's interests too because he likes her, so he keeps mum. The fake hungarian accent is weird, but it's overall harmless, so he doesn't point it out.

He does do the spying thing when he starts suspecting that Gregor might be working for the GIW. The episode only has this happen twice, but for the au this happens a handful of more times over the course of the week, with Danyal's suspicion steadily rising more and more each time.

Hah, when he brings up wanting to spy on Sam and Gregor because of this reason, Tucker still does his "woah! you wanna spy on Sam?" thing.

Danny immediately turns to him, completely unimpressed, and crosses his arms. "Tucker," he says, deadpan, "you and Sam spied on me and Valerie."

He uses a combination of his ghost powers and his regular stealth ability to spy on them. He's hiding in a tree when they're skipping rocks, close enough that he can use his powers to hear them talk but far enough away that he has a good view of their surroundings.

He's invisible in the cinema, but doesn't accidentally get in front of the projector. He checks the inside of the room for the GIW, and then waits outside the actual room itself, keeping an eye on the area and occasionally flying in to watch the movie out of boredom. It reminds him of being back on a recon mission with the League, but it doesn't end with him orchestrating someone's death.

Then when they're at the mall he stays in human form, blending in with the crowd. He runs into the GIW there, but realizes that they're not there because of Gregor; they're just shopping. They didn't show up at either of the last two locations, and he follows them to make sure they're not also trying to blend in. But they're literally just there for shopping.

Danny is rather pleased with this turnout; so far Gregor isn't a spy, he's just annoying. The next day at lunch he asks Sam how her date with Gregor went, and that's how she figures out he spied on them, because well, she didn't tell him that.

"Have you been spying on me?"

Danny messes with his food a little bit, and Tucker is sinking into his seat with embarrassment. He frowns, "Only last night. Those incompetent government dodos--"

His lip curls up; he gets all 'Shakespeare-y' (as Sam and Tucker put it) when he's insulting someone, "--kept appearing whenever Gregor did. I followed you and him last night to make sure he wasn't a spy."

A roundabout way of saying, "I was worried".

Sam is, as canon, furious. Danny understands why, he knows generally speaking that people don't like being spied on. But he's confused on just how angry she is, and is a little irritated by it.

"Why would you do that!" She exclaims, "That's way out of line, Danny."

"How? You spied on me when I was going on dates with Valerie." He narrows his eyes, and points his fork at her, "I'm not blind, I noticed."

"That's different, we told you why we were suspicious. And we don't have ghost powers like you do."

"I don't need ghost powers to sneak around, Sam, you've seen this firsthand. And I just told you why I followed you, I thought he was working with the guys in white--"

"So you think someone can only be interested in me if they're after you?" (this is a paraphrased quote, folks ;D)

"No! If that was the case I would have voiced my concern the moment I thought it. I don't get why you're so angry, you spied too."

Iiits.... a mess. Sam storms off with Gregor, Tucker tags along because okay, yeah, maybe Gregor isn't with the GIW, or maybe last night was a fluke. Either way he ends up tagging along. Danny overhears that conversation between the GIW and Mr. Lancer, and maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong; but something is up.

I've gotten to that scene in the locker room where Gregor tells Danny that he knows he doesn't like him, and I've paused at Danny's reply to say this: Danyal doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"I know you do not like me."

"You're right; I don't."

"Ah, let me finish. I know you do not like me because you want to protect your friend, Sam, and I respect that."

"...That's correct."

"Good! Because I am going to ask her out."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he stands up, claps his hand tight on Gregor's shoulder, and leans close to him with a threatening smile, "so you understand me when i say; if you break my best friend's heart, you're as good as dead, right?"

"Ah,, yes. I am so glad we got that cleared out of the way, and now I hope after we can.. how you Americans put it, hang out?"

In the episode he hugs Danny and gives him a la bise (which is that french greeting where you kiss someone on the cheek two or more times) after they end their conversation. But here, when he goes to do that to Danyal, Danny leans away, points an accusatory finger at him, and says; "Absolutely not; we are not close."

The next scene after that is like, end of day. Sam, Tucker, and Gregor walking away. Sam looks over her shoulder to glare at Danny, then gets forlorn. Tucker looks back and just looks forlorn.

(When did I start narrating each scene?? Eh, I'm writing this in brief spurts of time throughout the day. Don't fix what's not broke)

After that there's this whole scene with the two GIW agents that have been chasing Phantom all episode. They're there because they have Tucker's PDA that Skulker took, and it's got the information of their purple backed gorilla assignment on it. They've been going around seeing who Tucker associates with in hopes of catching Phantom.

Uhh ahaha and that is where this gets a little interesting imo, and also allows me to mention that im retconning Danyal's (already) redesigned ghost form. Which I've wanted to retcon even before this moment bc it was just too busy. I'll get to that in a moment.

The GIW suspect Gregor for being the Phantom because of his white hair and green eyes, which is all fine and dandy until you remember: Danyal (and by extension Phantom) has that very noticeable, rather identifiable facial scar that goes across the middle of his fucking face. The GIW could easily suspect that Phantom hides his scar with makeup if he's in disguise, but if they meet a kid with a seemingly identical facial scar and similar disposition? Hoo boy.

Solution? I've got two: Gregor is canonically a kid from Michigan who faked everything to impress Sam. Considering he knows she's gothic and knows that she's ultra-recyclo vegetarian? He probably watched her from afar or got information on her somehow. His hair is dyed, his eyes might just naturally be green, but if he notices that she's got a crush on either Danyal or Phantom? A little sfx makeup could help him recreate a similar looking scar.

My second solution that's gonna happen anyways bc its that suit redesign; Danyal does hide his face as Phantom. Ghosts are emotional creatures and its a popular headcanon that their interests, ambitions, etc, influence the way they look as a ghost, not just their death. A big reoccurring theme of my au is that Danyal did not leave the League unscathed, and that being an assassin is an important part of his identity.

So i'm discarding the hazmat suit look entirely and leaning into the 'assassin' thing. But the general (stylized) feel is like, white ribbon/cloth vambraces that he has used as a garrote at some point, a hood, a gaiter scarf-type thing. I'm keeping the cape. I did a doodle a few days back that's not the official redesign, but a redesign for Phantom. I may reblog this post with that attached because it's got the general feel down. There's very little white involved, but the inside of his cape flares out and looks like the night sky.

Now, the hood and gaiter scarf gets rid of most of the problem, but Danny's hood doesn't stay on all the time, so the GIW have likely seen the upper half of the scar. :] Gregor's own drawn-on scar doesn't have to be 1:1, but it looks close enough, right? A small scar cutting through the edge of his brow and ends right below the corner of his eye. A 'cool, badass' one opposed to Danny's 'garish' scar.

But! Back to the episode scene. Canon Danny gets written off as being 'too prepubescent' to be Phantom, and honestly it'd be hilarious if Danyal was written off for the same reason (he's calling them idiots in his head if they do). But instead -- leaning into the GIW's incompetence here -- he gets written off as being too mature or too talkative. Or something equally as absurd.

Sam breaks up with Gregor for canon reasons, but when Gregor does his "i really like you, but, come on-!" and gestures to tucker, he adds on "and that scary friend of yours too, seriously!"

Things go relatively the same as canon after that. Danny does end up apologizing for spying, however. Sam does it first. Sorrows, prayers, all that.

Things usually end up changed or different when I actually write it down, so I'd likely add more or adjust different scenes according to the flow of the oneshot. This is just like, a general vibe of how things would go, and where some of the more obvious changes would be if I did write this oneshot.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the ask :]

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #danyal al ghul #i dont even mind the trope that danny becomes like his canon self i just want *some* kind of impact on him. but as it stands most aus i've #seen lowkey treat his assassin background as an accessory. like dyeing your hair or piercing your ears. that being said its also a silly #au where they're brothers and are related to each other and thus doesn't have to be that deep at all! im just bored of seeing the same thin #all the time. especially considering danny is usually depicted as the paler/whiter passing twin and being the 'kinder. more compassionate'#one between the two of them. give me danny who suffered crises of morality! danny whose morally darker than a cloud #morally orange and blue danny who sooner understands 'dont litter' than 'dont murder'. arrogant danny! he dotes on the people he loves but #is an utter bitch to everyone else and thus has to learn to be kinder. danny discovering himself outside being an assassin #his brother remembers a kind and compassionate older brother because thats how danny interacted with him. But danny had no qualms turning #around and slicing the tendons of one of the other assassins because of smth they did that displeased him.#he can still be like his canon self but shouldn't there be something that stays behind? Lingering like a blast shadow?#danny who carries weapons on him always even though he knows he doesn't need it but it makes him feel safer.#danny who spits out the oddest. most foreboding shit sometimes and his friends just stare at him and go 'bro what the fuck??'#idk if i can share the website where i found the episodes bc of risk of copyright. but just search up #'where can i watch danny phantom for free' and look for a reddit post with that question. the comments give website options.#i keep thinking about gray ghost now. valerie finds herself becoming a member of the 'danny fenton protection squad' with sam and tucker #danny takes a page from his beloved mother's book and calls his partners 'beloved' and equally sappy pet names.#he also throws the BIGGEST shitstorm of the century when he finds out about what Axion Labs did to the dogs. hoo boy.

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scrupulosity-comics · 1 year

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hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on��.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Clown Talk

Yandere Crime Harem + G.N Clown TV-Showhost Reader

Extortion. Aggravated Assault. Murder.

The list went on for the royal who had it all, and lost almost everything in one night.

A well respected and charitable figure in their community, it was a shock to the masses to see local casino owner, and frequent donor to hospitals framed on the five o'clock news for misconduct. Anyone with a good head on their shoulders and a realistic outlook on the world could see straight through the facade. Beneath that mask was a monster - every good deal that person ever committed a cover for their true goals.

Those they had helped plead their innocence. Those they had wronged tied their noose. The documents leaked to the public would tell which party was correct, wiped clean from history before the victor could be declared. Read aloud in court, each word marked a new trial at play. The execution of the rat bastard who got them into this whole ordeal in the first place.

The criminal know exactly who it was. Caught his hand in the cookie jar resembling their safe weeks ago, but they had enough of a heart to let him go for being the one person his little girl had. Not again. Day in and day out they dreamt of how they'd carry out their revenge. Splattering his brains all over the wall. Slicing him into cutlets and having a nice cookout for everyone involved. It was a beautiful dream. The one thing preventing the compete lost of their sanity. Shouldn't be too long now until their people manage to get them out and their hands around that bastard's neck. Only a matter of time-

"Quit mumbling to yourself- I can't hear the TV."

As if this hell couldn't get any worse. A desaturated rainbow flies across the television screen, showering an empty field with stars and hearts that sprout colorful flowers from the earth. The theme song for the show plays in the background; the strums of each guitar string and the voice humming along to the beat drilled into the criminal's head like psychological warfare. While the voice wasn't totally abysmal it still belonged to their greatest enemy. That fucking clown.

"Good Day, everyone! I've missed you all so much, and am so excited to meet all the new faces. Are you ready all for an exciting day of fun and new adventures?"

The few shouts of agreement make their ears bleed more. Needless to say the prison they had been thrown in was a shit hole. Terrible food, hard beds, and televisions that only played one station without interference. That neon haired, colorblock mess of an entertainer had haunted them from day one of their stay; the sounds chasing them whenever they fled to the sanctuary of their cell. Pathetically, while there were a couple naysayers, majority of the prison population had begun to actually like the show. A body hurls into the seat next to them.

"Thank fuck I didn't miss it. You staying this time, Zero?"

Zero's face wrinkles from the frown lines. 4D was a fellow intimate and the biggest fan of the show. A crook booked for various robberies who just like Zero was ratted on by an acquaintance. The nickname came from their tag including the number fourty and they thought it would be cool in unison with the one they forced onto Zero.

"I told you not to call me that."

"I get that you're some big hot-shot and "adults shouldn't be watching shows for kids.", but it's really good when you sit down and watch it. That clown ain't too bad on the eyes either."

Zero resists the urge to snap their fingers as they air quote. "I'd rather flush my head down a toilet."

"Come on! If ya watch it, I'll leave ya alone for the rest of your sentence."

That catches their attention. Armz crossed, Zero looks at the television. The set had switched to that of a kitchen as the clown speaks

"Juno has been feeling better down today, let's cheer him up with his favorite snack! Before we begin, make sure you always ask for an adults help when handing sharp objects or using the stove. Unless you are one yourself. "

With a wink, they throw an apron and go through the steps of making homemade rice treats with the audience. After putting the tray in the oven, they discreetly pull out another one with a full sheet of the treats already made. Marshmallow fluff and melted chocolate chips ooze from their sides as the clown cuts out a heart shaped piece with a cookie cutter.

"And there you go! A simple, fun activity you can do with family and friends, and even get something taste out of it. Juno prefers chocolate, but you can add a number of things to your own and let your imagination run wild."

Great. Now they were annoyed and hungry. They couldn't stand another segment.

"I'm leaving."

4D whines. "Whaaat? That was barely anything. Hey, don't go-"

They grab Zero's sleeve, but are powerless to stop them as they leave the common area and venture up to their room. Over the guard rail of the second floor, they watch the other inmates mindlessly crowded around the television screen and unironically enjoying it. They would've spat at them had it not been for the guard by their cell. Inside the room, their roommate had left the tv on and that same damned show was playing. They go to turn it off only to be cut off by a fake cry of pain.

"Ouch!"

The clown tumbles to the ground, figure looming over them off screen. They come into frame as they grip the clown's arm and helps them to their feet.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay, Juno. I know it wasn't on purpose."

The two face the screen as the clown speaks.

"Sometimes our friends do or say things that hurt our feelings. Take a breath, hear them out, but there's one important rule. Remember - forgiveness and friendship aren't always mutual. Sometimes people we may think are our friends go too far, and they believe an apology will make everything okay, but that's not always the case. The best thing you can do is forgive - and let go."

The background music is soft. The clown's smile is sincere, but an offshoot of that silly expression they had moments ago. Forgive. That weasel? There's no way in hell they could. He ruined them. Damaged their imagine. The bitterness Zero held was the only thing that pulled them forward. But what would come after they got their revenge?

"That's all for day, folks! And don't forget- you all may be my helpers, but I am here to help you the most!"

The intimate ends up watching the show until lights out. Each episode holds a new life lesson, cushioned by the silly activites prior to them and the songs the clown and their friends sings at the end. Regrettably, Zero finds their lips twitching upwards and a hushed laugh in their chest at some of the clown's jokes. When the clown visits them in their sleep, the dreams didn't seem as bad as before.

The next day Zero finds 4D in the yard. They're hesitant to speak.

"So... Why exactly do you like that clown?"

4D drops the equipment in their hand, looking flustered. "Wow, uh, why do you ask?"

"Just curious. If it's so embarrassing, I can make it worth while."

4D refuses the cigeratte they offer. "I quit. It ain't nothing serious like that, we just... talked."

Zero raises a brow. "Talked? You some kind of nutcase or something?"

"Maybe, but what I mean is I sent them a letter. After all the rush and freedom of the things I did, I was going mad in here. I got no friends, no family. At the end of every episode there's an address so I thought I'd try and send them a letter. I never expected them to respond. Hell, I thought the guards would tear it up and laugh, but neither of those predictions were true. They... helped me. More than anyone ever had in my life. Even sent me a couple things when I hadn't asked. They're all I have."

4D wipes their face with their sleeve. Zero, unsure, raises their hand to their shoulder, but falls short of a comforting touch.

"..Thanks... Take care."

Zero sits in their cell when the next show comes end. They pen down the address on the screen, wondering if they were really going to go through with this. They write out their letter and hand it off to the only guard they trust.

"What do you do, when you've lost everything."

A response comes in a week's time.

"Hey, there!

First off, I want to say thank you for sending your letter in. From the address and the others I've spoken too, I know that you're going through a really tough time. It's understandable to believe you've lost everything, but there will always be a new ladder to climb to the top so long as you try your hardest. You may be in the dark for now, but the sun will shine again for you some day."

Zero loses track of how many times they read the letter. They can see eraser marks from when the writer rewrote their lines. It was the exact same penmanship as when the clown wrote their name on a drawing they had just finished, clearing out the possibility of it being an assistant on the show. Zero crumples the envelope and throws it in the trash, but tucks the letter under their pillow.

When they are released the following month, they're found sitting in front of the community television.

"Sunshine's beautiful this time of day, isn't it?"

"B...oss, I'm sorry, please."

Zero takes another drag of their cigar as his head is dunked into the freezing waters. The silence makes the scenario one for the books, but for some reason the sun just isn't as bright as it was on those dirty screens. They exhale as the bruised male is brought out of the sea once more.

"I forgive you, and now I'm letting go." They wave to the others on the boat. "Drop him. I don't want to be late for the show."

Arriving at the studio, a whiny voice drills from behind them.

"Aw, man- you got front row seats? Switch with your ol pal. Its the least you can do since I introduced you to them."

#Clown reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere x darling #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere drabble

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peachsukii · 7 months

Text

Hollow Heart { chapter 3 - choke }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: To all of you who have stopped to read this fic, thank you so much! This was my jump back into writing after almost a decade. I appreciate every single one of you!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 13,885k as of ch.3 ꒱ Masterlist 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER THREE: CHOKE

Day One (?)

Metallic rust.

That's all you could taste when you awoke from your drugged slumber, the world stuck in a haze as you hummed in discontent.

Where the hell am I?

The thought muddled in your head as you attempted to gauge your surroundings. The numbness in your limbs from earlier had been replaced with a new sensation - your body feeling too heavy for your bones to carry.

Did someone strap a weight to your shoulders and ankles?

You rotate your head sluggishly to see an all white and gray room, one singular door directly ahead of where you sat. There's a metal table in the corner with a few machines - you can't seem to determine what their purposes are. On your left, a surgical instruments table sits ominously, a few bloody bandages and an empty syringe splayed across it.

There's a sudden pulse in your head that rattles your brain, the train of thought you had derailing instantly. Glimpses of memories begin to spark in your mind - Bakugo's anguished expression as you drifted out of consciousness, an unknown number of hands removing your hero suit and belongings, cold steel of an operating table touching your bare skin, the ungodly amount of poking and prodding of your delicate skin with needles of all shapes and sizes, and a glass enclosure.

How are you remembering all of this if you weren't even conscious for the majority of it?

As if to answer your silent question, a doctor enters the room - what you presume is a doctor, anyways, by the looks of his white surgeon coat and stethoscope around his neck.

"Good morning. Would you prefer the use of your hero name or first name?" He asks, paging through the file on his clipboard.

What the fuck?

"Uhh...hero name?" you slur as you answer, voice cracking with exhaustion. You're not able to think straight in the moment and have zero adrenaline to be combative.

"Noted. How are you feeling?" His tone is dry, like every other doctor you've met in your life.

"Shitty."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate?"

God, this is so annoying. Why the hell are you being interrogated?

"M'everything feels...funny. Heavy but also...fuzzy?"

He scribbles down notes on a few different pages, flipping back and forth through the stack on his clipboard.

"Is it my turn t'ask a question?" you quip, snickering at your own request.

He approaches you hastily and slaps the ever-loving shit out of you. You let out a sharp yelp, the sting of his palm radiating on your cheek.

"Subjects only speak when spoken to."

A chill runs down your spine when he uses the term "subjects." Just how many of you are there?

"Return her to containment," he orders, signaling to someone behind you before turning to exit the room. Another man enters as the doctor leaves, dressed in white scrubs with mint green latex gloves. He approaches you, latching a pair of handcuffs around your wrists while turning off a device nearby.

"C'mon, move it," he scolds as he yanks on the chain of the handcuffs. You stumble forward to your feet, wobbling on jelly legs as he's dragging you behind him. Looking down, your wrists were littered with bruises in varying shades of yellow, purple and green. Had they cuffed you earlier and roughhoused you? A few raw spots on your arm lead you to believe they had taken blood from you at some point, too. You have zero inclination to how long you've even been wherever the hell you are - anything is possible.

The mystery worker drags you down multiple corridors of dimly lit metal hallways and various steel lacing the walls. There were no windows in sight as you maneuvered your way around the labyrinth of never-ending laboratories, holding cells and various medical exam rooms. He stops in front of a frosted glass cell, swiping a keycard in front of the mechanism on the door. It opens with a high pitched beep and he pushes you inside, whipping you around by the shoulders to face him. He undoes your restraints before slamming the glass door shut, locking it with another beep of the keycard.

With the silence comes the realization of your current predicament, crashing down around you like a tidal wave. It's intense, the surge of emotion that cascades through your entire body as if someone flipped a switch inside you.

One lingering thought pulls at your heartstrings - Bakugo's face as you slipped away from him, his panic and desperation as he failed to save you.

And to top it all off, you told him you loved him.

In the heat of the moment, it felt right. But now? It feels selfish. You admitted your feelings just in time for them to be ripped away from him. You don't even know if you're going to see him ever again. What if you die down here?

Oh.

What if you die down here?

Alone and scared.

Away from your family, friends...Katsuki, your best friend - the secret love of your life.

You never got to kiss him, properly express your affection for him - the experience was stolen away from you.

You're left to your own devices inside an unknown cell, blubbering on the tiny cot in the corner, frustration burning in your chest as you're heaving sob after sob. It triggers something in you never felt before - an unfamiliar violent rage. Launching up from the cot, you snivel as you face the wall and punch it with all the energy you can gather.

"Fuck!" You wail, failing to recollect the memory that your still under the effect of the quirk suppressant. The sound of your knuckles smashing against the steel wall reverbs as it sends lightning bolts of pain up your arm, dissolving as the adrenaline makes its way through your entire being.

And then something terrifying stirs in your guts as the blood drips from your knuckles onto the floor.

The pain was satisfying.

Day Nine

Days have passed, that much you knew, but how many? That answer remained unclear, no matter how many times you begged various workers around the compound. No one ever answered you with words, just violence. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve been slapped, kicked, and pushed around for engaging in minimal conversation. There’s other prisoners here, too, but no one is allowed to communicate. You see each other sometimes in the hallways but never long enough to speak, even if you wanted to. It was like everyone was a ghost, all haunting the same burial ground.

Shockingly enough, they keep you fed and allowed one shower per day. It's a confusing system, considering how inhumane things have proven to be, but you're convinced it's to keep their subjects "healthy" for their fucked up experiments.

Your schedule consisted of a hellish rotation of broken sleep and taking whatever drugs they forced upon you. The amount of times you were pulled from your cell varied for their trials that they had planned for the day. Whether it be once, or four times, you never knew how many hours you'd be stuck under surveillance in a catatonic state.

You desperately tried to turn your emotions off to protect your psyche at any chance you could. As much as you hated to admit defeat, the endless stress and over dosage of unknown substances was more than enough to keep you underwater, sinking further toward rock bottom with each passing moment.

A guard stalks up to your cell and bangs on the glass to grab your attention.

“Y/H/N, your cooperation is needed for test 15. Up and at ‘em.”

Your body is burdened with all the medical trauma you've endured over the last few days, slowing your pace to a sluggish limp as you make your way toward the cell door.

"Hurry it up, subject. We ain't got all day!" he shouts, startling you with his sudden command.

Fuck this place.

Day Fourteen

"Test 23, Y/H/N - Forced kinetic energy release. Begin testing."

You don't have time to react before the IVs hooked to you begin to force various fluids into your veins. The competing sensations flood through you in rough currents - hot, cold, burning, stinging in cycles. A well-known tunnel vision begins to cloud your sight as you squirm in the steel throne you've been restrained to. You're body is on the verge of passing out when an intrusive illusion appears before you.

"Hello? Sweetie?"

Your mother appears in front of you, outstretching a phantom hand to touch your shoulder.

What the fuck...mom? How is she here right now?

"Are you coming home?" she asks, her face settled in a deadpan expression. Her voice resembles a computerized AI, as if someone is programming her dialog.

"Mom?" you speak aloud, frightened by how real this looks and feels.

"Honey? Are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need you."

"Mom, I'm right here. What do you mean?" You're becoming more and more disturbed as she continues to drone on the same question.

"When are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need help."

She's not real.

She's not really here - this shadow knows nothing.

Snap the fuck out of it, they must have drugged you with a hallucinogenic.

But why? What the hell does this have to do with quirk suppressants?

"You're not here," you growl, screwing your eyes shut, refusing to entertain anymore of this apparition of your mother.

"Oh, but honey, I am!"

What?

A force squeezes at your throat, cutting off an anxious breath as it leaves your lips. You scramble to grasp at the hallucination, forgetting you're trapped in the testing chamber and can't move. Your hands are flexing repeatedly under the shackles as energy is collecting in your palms, unable to control the emotional response racing through every nerve in your body.

They must have not given you the suppressant...or mixed it with something more deadly.

"No!" You croak, your scream choked out by the pressure on your neck.

Your vision turns white, a sudden surge of energy expelling from your palms, pulsing intensely over and over again. You can feel the impact against the chair beneath you, the sound of shredding metal filling your ears as kinetic energy is forcibly pouring out of you in succession.

"Cease testing, inject sedation."

The pain in your hands dissipates immediately upon hearing the doctor's orders, followed by the prick of a thick needle penetrating the crook of your neck. The white cast in your vision fades, reality returning to you as your eyes glass over. One of the scientist walks around the chair and stands before you with another goddamn clipboard.

"Y/H/N, please describe how you feel and what you saw."

That familiar fire returns in your chest from your first night here - the aggressive urge to lash out. Was this a side-effect of whatever serum they've been loading you up with?

"Fuck you," you snarl, lip quivering as you're attempting to bury the ferocity thrashing inside you, begging to be set free.

He approaches you and snatches your cheeks in a rough hold. His grip tightens around your jaw as he repeats his question.

"One more time - Y/H/N, describe how you feel and what you saw."

The flame burns hotter as your fists are trembling, the emotion becoming overbearing.

Before you can stop yourself, your palms shoot up into an offensive position, sparking with the remaining collective of kinetic energy as it bursts forward, striking the scientist and sending him tumbling backward. The bonds on the arms of the chair must have broken and freed your hands during the test - you didn't even notice until you attacked the guard.

Shit.

"Quirk handcuffs and solitary - stat," orders the doctor over the surround system.

The door to the room slams open and three more scientists scramble inside as they're rushing to surround you. One shoves you down harshly into the metal chair, bouncing your head off the back of it.

Black…everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re in a new room that you don’t recognize. It’s different from the one you’ve called “home” since your arrival. There’s a mirror in the cell they’ve thrown you in and you catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time in...you don't know how long. The reflection shows you someone you don’t recognize - the girl staring back at you isn’t you. It looks like you, but her vicious predatory grin is bone chilling. This doppelgänger glares daggers at you, tilting her head menacingly as she mouths, “get out of me.”

You throw a punch at the mirror and shatter it as a blood curdling scream erupts from deep in your gut. Stumbling to the floor, you lay on the cold concrete and stare into the blank space of the solitary prison cell. You can’t even will yourself to cry.

I wanna go home…I wanna go home…

The thought recycled on loop, taunting the strength of your mental state.

I want to go home to mom, to Izuku, to Katsuki…anywhere but here.

You need to survive...

No. You will survive.

This will not kill you.

Day Twenty Five

"Y/H/N, we are going to proceed with a psychological evaluation."

Like you had a choice in the matter.

“Can you describe your experience from test 23?”

“Horrible,” you groan, the vision of your mother flowing to the forefront of your memory. “I saw a hallucination of someone that could physically touch me.”

You’ve learned in your time here not to ask further questions - answer as plainly as possible and move on.

The scientist clacked the keys on her laptop obnoxiously. “And it felt real?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Yes.” You turn your eyes to the floor as she proceeds to type whatever nonsense into the database. She retrieves a clipboard from the bag slung on the back of her chair, sliding it across the table to you.

"Can you confirm this report is accurate from your initial intake?"

You begin to scan over the form when the words "if you want to get out of here" catch your attention.

Y/N

Y/H/N

Subject 57 - Kinetic Energy

Do not speak or react this note, until specified, if you want to get out of here.

...What?

I'm an undercover hero from the United States. I've been here for six months, waiting for an officially ranked hero to come through the facility. I haven't been able to leave since my arrival and communication has been cut off from my agency. You're the first non-civilian they've captured.

Blink four times if you had a cellphone on you when you were taken.

You look up at her and blink four times - she shoots her eyes back down to the form, signaling you to continue reading.

Can you contact outside help? Could be the agency you belong to or co-workers.

Tap the table twice for yes and three times for no.

You tap the table twice, pretending to point to specific information on the page your reading. If you could get access to your cellphone, you might just be able to send your location to initiate a rescue mission.

"Thank you, Y/H/N," she says, grabbing the clipboard and returning it to her bag. "I'll take you back to your cell, follow me."

Following the standard protocol that you're used to, she slaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists before exiting the room. Once you reach your cell, she steps inside with you, removing the cuffs and motioning for you to come closer.

"I can look in the evidence chamber for your phone, more than likely it's in there with the other belongings after your decontamination process. Workers aren't allowed any communication devices, but they keep all of the captor's personal items guarded in one place."

You don't have time to ask her all the questions you're dying to know the answers to - how'd she get here, how did the USA know of the lab, what her undercover work consisted of, why no one came to find her...a plethora of unknowns.

But right now? She's willing to help you, that's all that matters.

"If you can conjure up enough energy with your quirk, can you charge it?" she asks faintly.

You nod in response, confirming the answer silently. Similarly to your classmate from UA, Kaminari, you were able to charge devices by converting kinetic energy into an electronic wavelength - a trick Eraserhead taught you back in Junior year.

"Here's the plan - In five days, I'll be the guard on night shift. I'll give you an empty shot of the suppressant to make it look like a realistic dosage. Once the others have dissipated to their quarters, I can lead you to the evidence stash and let you rummage through the bins while I keep watch. You grab the phone, I'll hide it in my uniform, bring you back to your cell and toss it to the floor. I'll patrol the hall while you get things set up and make contact with another hero or your agency."

She peers out of the glass cell and sees another guard making his way down the hall.

"Don't say a word. I'll be back in 5 days, and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she apologizes as she cracks you on the jaw with a hearty slap.

You know she had to fake it in front of the other guard to keep her cover - it still hurt like hell.

She shuts the door with a noisy clang of the door's mechanism, a high pitched beep locking it in place.

And thus, the countdown to freedom begins.

Five days until you finally make contact with the outside world - with someone.

Someone? No, you already knew who you were sending the information to - like it wasn't obvious who you'd choose to signal for help.

Day Twenty Nine

You've come this far, you can't back down now.

All you had to do was make your way back to the evidence room with the undercover hero lady, find your phone, and sneak back to your holding cell.

And force your quirk to activate.

...and not get caught.

The suspense of the plan succeeding was enough to keep you on edge as the nightly sedations were distributed. She appeared, just like she promised, and administered a fake injection to your arm. You put on a front for the other guards, fooling them into thinking you were properly medicated.

The plan's been set in motion - she'll be back in a few hours.

Day Thirty

You could feel the liberation in your grasp - the victory of sneaking your phone back to your cell filling you with exhilaration. All you had to do was wait for lights out to attempt your escape plan. You have no idea how deep the lab sits under Sector 42 and if you'll even be able to obtain a signal in your cell.

Focusing all of your willpower into the tip of your pointer finger, you hold it closely as sparks of energy softly crackle into the charging port of the phone.

Just a minute to charge, that's all I need. Enough battery to turn it on, send a call and a text and turn it back off.

You're beginning to feel lightheaded as your phone successfully powers on with a soft vibration and the logo appearing on screen.

Holy shit, it worked!

Hurriedly, you flip the silent switch before notifications begin to pour into the device, catching up on all the missed communications over the last month. Multiple calls, text messages, e-mails, the standard amount that you expected. The battery hovered at 7% and the time read 3:05AM. You glance at the date underneath the time - it's been an entire month since you disappeared.

A whole goddamn month.

There's no time to spiral over that right now!

Hunched over behind your cot, you proceed to open your messages to keep your plan on track. You're not shocked by the amount of missed texts from everyone; Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina...and Bakugo.

You had 127 unread texts from him, the last coming in less than ten minutes ago.

One hundred and twenty seven.

You freeze, a mixture of guilt, excitement, and panic surging through you. Shoving all that down - you've gotten too good at doing that - you clicked on the thread, catching the last dozen or so of his messages.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner [2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] and when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Tears are silently falling from your eyes, wide with astonishment at the words you're reading from him. There's no way this is real - you've got to be strung out from the quirk-drugs they've forced upon you. A delayed side effect of some sort? They've given you delusions in the past, it's not that farfetched.

He convinced himself not to love you? He's always loved you?!

He said 'I love you,' twice.

Twice!

You don't have time to read the rest as much as you're dying to catch up on all the potential sweet nothings he's sent to you over the last few weeks, but you do have time for one thing.

Before you chicken out, you click the "Call" button next to his name. The phone suddenly feels like a cinderblock in your hand as you shakily hold it to your ear. You think he's not going to answer until you hear faint rustling sounds on the other end of the line.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" You can't say anything - your body straightens, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. All of the misery you were holding on to, the trauma and terror, evaporated at the sound of those two words. Those two measly words wrapped around you and offered a warmth you haven't known in weeks.

You click the "End Call" button, hating that you probably gave him a heart attack, but you selfishly needed to hear his voice.

Before you forget your initial plan, you send a pinned location to Bakugo. You know he'll come running - blasting, rather - as soon as he can pinpoint exactly how to break into the lab. You have zero doubts that he can't figure it out.

[3:11AM] *location sent*

One last thing for good measure? You send an orange heart emoji.

Right as you're about to scroll up and read his past messages, your phone powers down with the empty battery symbol displaying on screen.

Your heart is racing, threatening to beat out of your chest as his words reverberate in your mind.

I love you like a stupid fucking amount.

You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment - that's so Bakugo of him to say.

At least your plan was a success and you were able to accomplish the small goal. Now all you have to do is play the waiting game - knowing Bakugo, and presumably Midoriya? That won't be long at all.

You lay back in your cot, smiling for the first time in ages, relishing in your triumph.

And for the first night since you've arrived, a peaceful rest welcomes you with open arms. You dream of home, running in the park under the glow of the sun and finding Bakugo under the shade of a nearby tree, waiting patiently for you in the summer breeze.

next up, we wrap back to the boys as they plan their rescue mission! and they're not going alone as they recruit their closest friends in their crazy plan to get you back. and don't worry, it won't be easy. tags: @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #☆.rei writes #✩.hollowheart

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