#professor albright

[king-of-thracia]

Cyrus Albright has a cane to help with the fact she leans too much on one leg that's causing pain in the leaned on knee. Like. Leaning on it to the point if you look at how she walks it's noticable. I've decided that and this and now it's true.

ALSO. SHE'S TRANSFEM. I WIN.

[estusknight]

Plus one!

[flagonofdragons]

I absolutely love this scene, firstly because it looks so epic. But also because in the very next scene you see the group at Los Soledad stepping out of Kevin's car...

...which they left back at Mr Smoothy.

So every time I watch this episode I love to imagine the group epically strolling halfway down the street before Kevin realizes he left his car behind and sprints back to Mr Smoothy at top speed while everyone else just stands around awkwardly waiting.

Also apparently they let Darkstar ride in the car with them. That must have been a super awkward journey.

[these-detestable-hands]

The best octopath characters are the sugar daddies fr

[secretlyajackalope]

[rolaplayor101]

thoughts on ben 10 omniverse?

I enjoyed it. First watched it when I was starting to write my first benrex fic back in 2019(??). I thought it was pretty fun, and I didn't mind the change in style at all. It still seemed very similar to UAF style except the heads were bigger and the eyes are different. I don't really see what people were so drastically upset about, style-wise. On the other hand, I did really miss the variety of the ultimatrix aliens. Every season of Ben 10, they introduce new transformations and neglect the old ones instead of having a healthy dose of them all, but since the ultimatrix is gone we never get to see those ones anymore, really.

Wasn't a fan of Rook. Gonna be honest, he wasn't a fave. He seemed kinda pointless and didn't add anything. He's not particularly funny, and his "not knowing stuff about the human world" shtick wasn't very interesting. But I REALLY loved Blukic and Driba. They're great, my faves, and legitimately carried the humor in the series.

I absolutely loved the fact that Hex became a professor and a good guy, and that Gwen and Kevin go on their own little adventures(also SO MUCH GWEVIN💕💕). Loved that Argit had more scenes cause he's just a funny lil creechur, a rat bastard;; but on the other hand, ive discussed that my favorite parts of UAF were the deep analogies to real world issues, and outside of Ben having a depressive episode over feedback, Omniverse didn't really do that for me. The rooter arc retconned one of the biggest things in UAF continuity, and making the Vreedle Brothers and Charmcaster bad guys again was a downgrade for real. And the new bad guys that were introduced weren't real threats! Trombozo, cat girl whoever, Fistrick, Billy Billions... They weren't interesting, not really, and three of them didn't have storylines. They just kinda existed. The only interesting storyline for me was the Chronosapien time bomb arc(honestly everything that has Professor Paradox in it is realllllllly good). But this show definitely showed how it was for kids. 7 - 11, I'm pretty sure; so of course it's not made for me.

Honestly i need to rewatch Omniverse again. I liked the slimebiote guy and the way Omniverse ended. I thought it all coming together like that was really naratively interesting. Also, loved all the signs of Ben being on the aro spectrum. That guy's Aroflux for real, he can't keep attraction to those girls to save his life like legitimately.

Kai could've been better, Elena should have had more than a cameo, good on Julie for getting a healthy relationship; nice seeing Jinx and Raven cameo in the University; the Halloween arc was p cool now that I think about it; Alan deserves a spin off one hour special at least; give Ben some therapy(he remade the universe, for Pete's sake!), and thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[gingerbreadmonsters]

cherry leather looker

or: you're a car, you're a woman, you're a drug!

gn!reader, explicit nsfw, vincent-typical after-school shenanigans. bank me like a millionaire, baby! it’s time for some last-minute summer fun, so you know what that means… my vincent is chinese, so don’t be surprised that he’s got a bit more physical description than i usually go in for. for the wonderful rae @sri-rachaa, mutual of my heart everything i do is for her - happy birthday gorgeous girlie!! all my love, and hope you’re having a fab day <3 inspired by sugar soaker by panic! at the disco, and i wonder if you can guess why…? vincent going off-road in just over 5300 words.

i’m aware that the byline implies fem!lovely, but that’s just because that’s how the song goes lol - lovely here is entirely gender neutral, and their body (including their, um, hardware) is basically not described at all.

this fic contains explicit nsfw content, and is very, very 18+. reader discretion is advised. minors dni. thank you. 

Ugh.

Studying.

Exams aren’t coming up for a while yet, but unfortunately that doesn’t mean you don’t have to study. DAMN loves to pile the work on, latent humanborns be damned, and it’s an absolute nightmare once deadlines start to roll around.

“Lovely!”

Sam’s been tutoring you every Friday for a few months now, keeping you hostage once a week for an hour or two after classes, and it’s awful. He’s not bad at it, he’s just kind of boring, you know? He’s so good at this stuff that he doesn’t really know how to teach it very well, so he ends up doing that infuriating thing where he just reads stuff out of the textbook, nods like of course you’ll have understood that, and moves onto the next thing. It’s infuriating!

You’ve got to be at his place in, like, twenty minutes - normally Vincent would come and pick you up, but he’s got some meeting in town with a client, so Sam’s coming to get you instead. It’s not fair! When Vincent comes to pick you up, he always lets you choose the music, and he brings one of the cars that’s fast enough to get you there in half the time, so he can make out with you in the back seat for ten minutes before you have to go. Sam? Uh, no thanks, for several reasons. Long story short, you’re really not looking forward to studying with him tonight-

“Tianxin!”

…Wait, what?

The car park isn’t full, but it’s certainly not empty. It must be, what, about half twelve? Quarter to one? You’ve just come out of your Introductory Mental Disciplines lecture and your brain is kind of fried - Professor Albright’s a wonderful teacher, but he can be a little… intense, to put it lightly - so it’s not exactly a surprise that it takes you a minute to figure out where that voice is coming from.

“Lovely! Over here!”

Hazard lights flash behind you, and a good handful of other students turn with you to see - ah. Yeah, okay. You really should have known. Vincent Solaire, the picture of romance, big round sunglasses perched amid gracefully-dishevelled hair, waving madly from the driver’s seat of a very red, very shiny, very expensive convertible.

“Get in!”

Well, he certainly doesn’t have to tell you twice.

He’s already got his foot on the pedal as you slam the door shut, chucking your backpack over onto the back seat, and he pulls you in for a breathless kiss while clumsy hands fumble with your seatbelt. As soon as he hears it click, that’s it - before you really know what’s going on, you’re racing out of the car park and down the road out of town, music all the way up and pedal all the way down.

“How did - where-” You’re still a bit dizzy from the speed of it all - how the hell is he here? “What happened to your meeting?”

“Got Alexis to do it,” he says breezily, one hand reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror before slipping down to sit high on your thigh. “I just about stopped Fred catching her and Christian having some fun in the dining room after the clan meeting a few weeks ago, so she owes me one.”

Ah. That would explain why Vincent couldn’t keep a straight face when Sam’s mate had asked if he knew why the dining room table was away for repairs the other day. You don’t really want to know what he told them.

“Actually, that reminds me!” Regrettably, he takes his hand off you to put his sunglasses on properly - only Vincent would be caught wearing sunglasses at night unironically, just because they look cool, baby, look! He does an awkward sort of wriggle as he fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, tossing it lightly into your lap. “Can you check if it’s on silent, please?”

“Yeah, hold on. It’s… no, it’s not.” It only takes a few seconds - you offer it back to him, but he shakes his head, so you just put it in the centre console. “Why?”

“Because…” Vincent’s grin gets impossibly bigger, laughing as you race down the A-road that leads into the woods surrounding Dahlia. “I’d know that old thing a mile away. Say hello, lovely!”

He flashes the hazards again, sticking two fingers in his mouth for a piercing wolf-whistle before flipping off the truck going the other w- hold on, that’s Sam’s truck, why’s he heading out now if you’re meant to be-

“Better luck next time, old man!” Vincent shouts over his shoulder, and there’s that vampire hearing - true to form, his phone lights up with an incoming call, the familiar piano loud as it vibrates. “Finders keepers!”

Twisting round in your seat, you laugh as Sam’s truck disappears when you turn the corner, leaning over to kiss Vincent’s temple partly in shock, but mostly in elation. “Breaking me out of prison, hmm?”

“For you, baobei?” He threads his fingers between yours, that lovesick look you know so wonderfully well, gently pulling your hand to press his lips to your wrist. “I’m stealing you all for myself.”

His other hand flicks the left indicator on, which is a bit of a surprise. Isn’t home in the other direction? “Are we not…?”

He scoffs theatrically, and it’s unfair that he can make it sound so cute. “Going home? No. What’d you wanna do that for?” Your phone starts buzzing, Sam clearly having given up on Vincent answering, but you both ignore it. “I thought we could, uh, go on a little adventure tonight. Just us.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” He flushes slightly at your tone, cheeks slowly turning pink, and your smile widens as he deliberately avoids your eyes in the mirror. “Last time we went ‘adventuring’, we ended up fucking up the suspension so much that even you said you were gonna have to pay someone to fix it. Sure you wanted to bring this car?”

“I - you-!” Flustered, he stabs clumsily at the centre console, pointedly turning the volume up even as his blush deepens and deepens with your wicked laughter. “ Just- just pick a song!”

The drive isn’t too long, all things considered - it’s only about an hour, maybe a bit more. It’s not like the roads are all that busy at 1am, you know? At first, you’re not really sure where he might be taking you, but about twenty minutes in he turns down onto the coast road, and it clicks.

“At this hour? It’ll be freezing!” He really thinks he’s slick, doesn’t he? And okay, yeah, he kind of is, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. Got to keep him on his toes, after all.

“Mmm, it will be, won’t it?” Up ahead, the lights turn red at the junction. Ever a man of opportunity, he wastes no time - the car’s barely stopped before he’s kissing you, one hand under your jaw and the other sliding down to rub teasingly over your hip. “Gonna keep - nnng - gonna keep me warm, lovely?”

“Haahh-” Soft, always so soft. Pulling slightly against your seatbelt, closer closer closer - ooh, is that strawberry chapstick? Between the fizz of his hands on your skin and the sweetness of his mouth against yours, it’s kind of hard to come up with a coherent response. “Yeah, mmm, yeah, just- hm?”

Unfortunately, he breaks what was shaping up to be a very nice kiss as a motorbike speeds past, straight over the junction. Oh. Right, yeah, the traffic lights. You’d sort of forgotten about that. Thank goodness there’s nobody else behind you. Vincent’s gaze meets yours, washed in green light, lips already slightly pinker than normal - you’re so tempted to ask if you can pull over. Come on, nobody’s looking. Just for five minutes?

(Well, maybe ten. Fifteen. Twenty? Maybe just a bit longer-)

The glovebox clicking open knocks you out of your pleasant reverie, watching Vincent rifle awkwardly through the mess of CD cases before extracting a half-empty bottle of chewing gum.

“Want some?” He rattles the jar towards you, popping two in his mouth before grimacing in surprise. “Wait, this-”

Pushing his sunglasses back up into his hair, he looks properly at the label this time, and you’re not saying his age is catching up to him, but… “Fuck, I forgot I ran out of strawberry.” Undeterred, he takes a third one before handing you the bottle, stepping on the pedal as you put it back in the glovebox. “I think it’s spearmint? Peppermint? Oh, I don’t know - the one Lexi had the other day.”

“Did she get it for you?” You’re surprised. When Alexis and Vincent buy things for each other, they’re normally one of two things: specifically designed to make the other’s life noticeably worse, or costing at least several thousand dollars. Somehow, you doubt that this particular jar of chewing gum was either of those things, but Alexis Solaire is nothing if not full of surprises.

“Nah. Nicked it off her desk,” he declares, looking far too pleased with himself as he flicks the indicator down. “She likes that awful cinnamon-flavoured shit more anyway, so really I’m doing her a favour.”

(Yeah, okay. That sounds more like the pair of them. You won’t mention the industrial-sized roll of tin foil that you saw her and Christian dragging into Vincent’s room at Will’s house.)

Humming along to the CD player, he turns off down one of the side roads - you know the sort, one of those that’s not really a road at all, just a sort of gap in the hedgerow. It’s just dirt, and it’s kind of bumpy, but it gives Vincent an excuse to go and fuss over his precious paintwork, so he’s fine with it. Sam complains about it every time he comes down here, but that’s what you get when the suspension on your truck is practically prehistoric, isn’t it?

“Wanna go inside for a bit? Or straight out to the back?”

“Uh…” As nice as the house is - and make no mistake, it’s really nice - you’d rather get straight to it. It’s not everyday you get to spend some time at a place like this. “Straight through?”

“Sure.”

The house belongs to William, but it’s not associated with the business as one of the actual, like, ‘Solaire Properties’. Really, it’s just for family or clan stuff - you’ve been down here several times before, mostly for birthdays or celebrations or whatever. Vincent’s never gone into too much detail, but from what you’ve heard about William’s life before the whole rich-vampire-king palaver, he’s always liked the sea. He loved it from afar, as Vincent puts it, but you gather that he never really had much of a chance to enjoy it.

That’s why he bought this place, apparently - a long-held dream fulfilled, and you’re not going to begrudge him that. It’s not very easy for vampires to really do beach holidays. Good on him for finding a convenient (if eye-wateringly expensive) way to do it.

(When she’d mentioned it to you the first time, Alexis had called it a nice little summer house. Your definitions of ‘nice’ and ‘little’ clearly aren’t quite the same. For starters, you probably wouldn’t include a multi-million dollar beachfront property in one of the most beautiful places on the California coast, but apparently that just shows how much you know. Turns out the dollar really is almighty, and William Solaire certainly has a lot of them.)

“Hope you brought your swimsuit, baby,” he says innocently, fiddling with his phone and unlocking the gates. His wry grin betrays him, though - he forgets every time that you can still see him in the rearview mirror. “Water’s nice, this time of year.”

“You little…” Oh, he’s going to be for it in a minute. “Who on earth do you know that brings a swimsuit to a Dreamwalking lecture?”

“My lovely, caught unaware? Surely not!” He gasps in faux surprise, now not even trying to hide the smirk spreading across his face. “I reckon you had this planned, you know.”

“Yeah?” This should be good. “And how did I do that, hmm?”

“Oh, it’s very simple,” he proclaims, free hand gracefully pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them in his shirt pocket as he turns down the drive. “You’ve lured me out here with your effortless charm and stunning good looks, with the promise of getting to take a swim all alone with my gorgeous lovely, only to turn on your heel and deprive me of the one thing I’ve been looking forward to all week.“ It’s unfair how cute that stupid pout of his is, sighing plaintively as he laments your supposed scheming. "You’re so mean to me, you know that?”

“Am I, now?” It’s always fun, playing along with him. “I’m sorry, my love,” you say mournfully, leaning across to press a kiss to his cheek and smiling as he tries not to blush. “However could I make it up to you?”

“Well, I do know one way we could make this work…” he says, valiantly ignoring the flush slowly spreading across his face at the absolutely shameless once-over he gives you. “I mean, you don’t have to be wearing anyth- hey!”

“Nice try, loverboy,” you announce, haughtily settling your newly-acquired sunglasses atop your head. “Like hell you’re getting me in there with nothing on - it’s fucking freezing!”

Vincent sighs, plaintive and airy, like it being 1am and pitch-black outside shouldn’t matter. Ooh, he’s lucky he’s so pretty. “Too bad, sha gua, too bad. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to get you w- okay! I’m st- I’m stopping!”

Bastard. One-handed, he bats away your hands from his hair as he pulls up by the sand, fingers flexing on the wheel when you manage to get just close enough to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Rude.” He huffs, giving you that stupid, cute pout that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “I thought that was pretty good, actually.”

You give him a look. “I’m not sure pick-up lines have ever been - hey - waitwaitwait!”

You’re never going to be used to that vampire strength, are you? The angle is ridiculous, but his hands lock around your waist before you can protest, and somehow he manages to manoeuvre you over the centre console and into his lap without too much fuss.

Vincent opens his mouth, smug as anything, but he only manages a sort of garbled half-noise before your hand quickly shuts him up.

“That does not count as a pick-up line!”

He stares, cross-eyed, down at your hand for a surprised second, before petulantly trying to lick your palm in retaliation. Luckily, you’re wise to his tricks by now - you pull your hand away just in time and fix him with the best glare you can muster, although it’s probably undercut by the fact that you’re trying really hard not to laugh.

Undeterred, he smirks up at you, brushing the hair out of his face with a satisfied flourish.

“Yeah, but you thought it was hot.”

Fuck. He’s right. You stutter into an excuse for a second, but it doesn’t come - instead, you just slide your hands up his chest, over his shoulders and up to his jaw, before just leaning down and kissing him. It always works.

True to form, he melts into your touch, letting you kiss the mint-flavoured smirk right off his face with a pleased sigh. Quick fingers twist into the fabric of your shirt, and you’re just running your tongue over his bottom lip when-

“Wait - just - just a sec-”

He pulls back unexpectedly, reaching over and fumbling around in the glovebox for a second, one hand holding your hip to keep you balanced in his lap, before extricating an old receipt. Neatly, he drops his gum into the paper, folding it in half to stick it to itself before depositing it into the cupholder to throw away later.

“Okay!” He grins up at you, blindingly beautiful, and you almost have to blink away the sunspots in your eyes. “Where were we, again?”

This time, you don’t bother trying to hide your laugh - instead, you just muffle it in his shoulder, letting him nip affectionately at your neck against the gentle sound of waves lapping at the sand. “Hate you.”

“Yeah,” he replies airily, and you don’t need to look to see his smile. “Hate you too.”

You pull back and he ducks his head slightly to kiss you again, tongue brushing lightly against your lip until you tilt your head slightly to - yeah, that’s a better angle. Vaguely, you’re aware of him guiding your legs around his waist, and you can feel him standing up and getting out of the car, but most of it is forgotten as the warm haze of his kisses swirls through your brain and makes your fingers go all tingly.

Although your eyes are closed, you can tell that he’s walking somewhere from the movement of his body against you, the sound of sand under his feet, but where’s he going? Into the house? Cracking one eye open, you can see the dark shape of the garage in front of you - so he’s heading towards the water, then. Wait, but why would he - oh, no fucking way-

“Mm - mmf!” Swallowing a giggle at his stunned face, you wriggle out of his arms with a sharp twist and a burst of vampiric speed, before turning and scrambling away across the sand. Shocked, he’s not quite quick enough to grab your arm as you dodge out of the way, and he laughs in surprise as you make him chase you further and further towards the sea.

“Oh, I don’t - I don’t think so-!”

“Catch me if you can!”

As fast as you’re going, it’s basically no distance at all until you’re splashing into the shallow water. Spray kicks up around your ankles, soaking into your shoes and socks, but it can’t weigh you down. You dance out of his way regardless, heart pounding giddily as adrenaline rushes through your body, dipping your hand down to flick water at him whenever he looks in danger of getting slightly too close.

“Still - fuck! - still too slow!” He almost manages to snatch the back of your shirt, and you stick your tongue out at his wounded expression as you back up into the slightly deeper water. “See, I told you I was faster…”

“You - get - get back here!”

He lunges for your waist, but he’s too slow - with a splash, he topples through the space where you used to be and goes face first into the freezing water. Luckily, it’s deep enough that he doesn’t just hit the ground, and you wade gingerly towards him as your body starts to register the cold.

“Lovely!” Spitting out a mouthful of seawater, you’re met with the distinctly-bedraggled shape of a very wet Vincent Solaire, blinking the salt out of his eyes. The shock of the cold water forces the breath out of him, but for some reason it can’t make him any less unfairly attractive. You don’t bother to hide your satisfied smirk at the sight of him raking his soaked hair out of his face with one hand, white t-shirt now slightly see-through and clinging to his chest.

“You - you!” he gasps, pointing accusingly at you with as stern a glare as he can muster. “Oh, when I get my hands on you, I-”

He’s cut off by your gleeful kiss, throwing yourself through the waist-deep water at him and knowing that he’ll catch you. Mmm, he’s such a sucker.

“Yeah?” you say between kisses. “You’ll what?”

“I…”

After a pause, he shrugs half-heartedly and gives in to let you kiss him again. “Probably - mmm - yeah, uh, probably that…”

Moonlight sparkles on the water as he clutches you tighter, drinking in the familiar taste of you. Cold currents come and go, but neither of you really notice, far too swept up in each other for it to matter - besides, the warmth of his body against yours is more than enough to keep you happy.

After a little while, he moves to kiss slowly down your neck, leaning you back slightly in his arms to get a better angle. Your fingers tangle in his hair, dark and dripping, and he sighs happily against your skin when you pull slightly, just the way he likes.

“Tianshi…” he murmurs, fangs digging gently into your skin because he knows it makes you shiver. “You shouldn’t tease, you know.”

“Mm, you started it,” you reply. “Whose good idea was it to go swimming in the middle of the night, again?”

“Hm.” You can feel him pouting, muttering quietly into your shoulder. “Like ‘m giving up my lovely for some stupid tutoring.”

He makes a good point. This is much nicer than whatever boring textbook questions Sam was supposed to be making you do right now. In your magnificent generosity, you reward your saviour with a benevolent kiss to his temple, before your hand trails down over his neck, his shoulder, across his-

“Did you-?”

“Hm?” Tilting back just a little, he looks down at himself like he’s as surprised as you are that his shirt has disappeared. “Oh, yeah.”

Biting back a laugh, you smack his arm with a quiet slap. “Now who’s the tease?”

“What? Do you like wearing wet jeans?” he asks smugly, smirking as he hears your heart speed up - the dark water comes up to about his waist, so you dread to think what other bits of clothing he’s got rid of while you weren’t looking. “That’s what I thought.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, patting him on the shoulder in consolation. “Remind me to send him flowers when we get back.”

“Who said he taught me? You don’t know! I could’ve, um-”

His cry of indignance is swiftly cut off by your flat stare. You know exactly where he got this from. After a brief stand-off, he sighs in apparent defeat, bending down slightly to scoop you up so that he’s properly carrying you. “Yeah, it was Gavin.”

“Knew it!” you sing, cheerfully kicking your legs as he starts to walk back out of the water, up towards the sand. “You think I haven’t seen him trying it with Freelancer before?”

He pretends to sulk, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “And here I thought you were looking at me…” The sand crunches quietly underfoot as he carries you towards the car, and the slight breeze is pleasantly cool against your warm skin. “What do I have to do to get your attention, hm?”

Sneaking a downwards glance, you raise an eyebrow. Turns out he wasn’t lying about the jeans. “I could think of a few things.”

“Only a few?” He scoffs, before leaning down to press his fangs to that sweet spot just under your jaw. “Keep up, tianxin, and you’ll get more than that.”

A burst of magic fizzles over your body, warm and crackling shivers from head to toe. Before you can blink, you’re both completely dry, and one look at him tells you exactly what you need to know - ooh, he’s been practising that one. He preens under your gaze, tossing his head proudly to flick his now-dry hair back out of his eyes.

God. He’s so pretty.

The walk back to the car isn’t far, but he doesn’t put you down - instead, he opts to lean down and lay you gently back against the hood, kissing you down against the warm, smooth metal. Back arched slightly over his arm, it’s a little uncomfortable, so you have to shift around a little bit in order to-

“Mmm…”

Maybe he thinks it was on purpose, or maybe he knows and he just doesn’t care - whatever the case, he rocks his hips back down to meet you, and that’s when you notice that he’s got rid of your clothes, too.

“Haah - Vincent!”

He doesn’t even have the good grace to look appropriately chastised at your muffled shout, just grabbing your wrists before you can try to slap his side and pinning them above your head with a devilish smile. Any protest you may have had quickly disappears when he grinds against you, thin cotton all that separates you, melting into a soft moan that drips off your fangs and runs down your chin.

“What - nnng! - what’s the matter, lovely?” he says, breathless. “Having second thoughts about your study session?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Lost in the heat and the hardness of him, it’s getting more and more difficult to put words together. “Think you - mmm, think you should persuade me…”

You don’t have to tell him twice - the world blurs around you as he lifts you up, depositing you on the passenger seat as he slips down to kneel in the footwell, and you hastily grab his shoulder in surprise as he presses the little button on the seat, sliding it back to give himself a little more room.

“We have - fuck! We have a bed in - inside!” Your half-hearted protests go ignored in favour of strong hands impatiently tearing the rest of your clothes away, shredded fabric littering the floor beside him. God, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

He lifts one dark eyebrow, challenging, although he can’t quite keep his eyes on your face. “You want me to wait?”

“No, no, this is - no, this is fine-!”

Words melt away as he eagerly grabs your hips, pulling you forwards to the edge of the seat and burying his face in you with a long, drawn-out moan. Mmm, he really doesn’t waste any time - your fingers unconsciously find their way back into his hair again, twisting and tugging with every flick of his tongue, sloppy, sticky kisses that make your cheeks burn and your insides twist with need. Your nails digging into his scalp only seem to encourage him, wonderfully warm as he licks a slow, burning trail all the way down before speeding back up until you’re shuddering in his enthusiastic hold.

“I - oh, I - ahhh…”

Almost too fast for you to notice, a tiny burst of magic swirls around his fingers - oh, you definitely remember Gavin teaching him that one. Gently, he eases his middle finger into you, stretching you ever so sweetly, and you have to clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle what you’re sure would be an embarrassingly loud whine.

“Baby…” Vincent clearly disagrees, though, nudging your legs up over his shoulders and nipping at the soft inside of your thigh in disappointed reprimand. “Wanna hear!”

A graceful hand runs blindly up your body to tug your hand away from your mouth, depositing it firmly back in his hair where it belongs. You can’t complain - and even if you wanted to, the high-pitched keen that fills your mouth as a second finger slips inside you leaves no room for objection.

It doesn’t help that even like this, he’s still so fucking beautiful - crescent-moon eyes closed, groaning in pleasure at the taste of you, achingly hard but refusing to let go of you even for a second. Your head falls back against the headrest, back bowing as you roll your hips slightly, and the change in angle lets his fingertips press just right - fuck, just right against that spot inside you that makes your breath stick in your chest and your eyes go all blurry.

“Yeah?” The look he gives you is wicked, filthy grin all smeared and sticky. Fuck, he sounds absolutely wrecked, words lazy and languid as he kisses the words into you. “Right there, xingan?”

You nod frantically, nails scraping harsh lines into the tanned skin of his shoulders. He hisses with the pleasurable sting, and you watch them fade and heal over almost as fast as you can make them. “Mm-hmm, mmm, yeah-!”

It’s too much - deft fingers curling and stroking, the vibrations of his voice thrumming over you, all warm and wet and messy. Fuck, it feels like your whole body is burning, trembling in his grip, skinbuzzing like a livewire. The leather underneath you sticks and catches as you writhe under Vincent’s attention, and a flood of heat rushes through you at the reminder that you’re just out here in the open, entirely at his mercy.

“I - oh, fuck,” you gasp out, curved forwards over him as your body greedily tries to pull him impossibly closer. “It - ahh, it’s-”

“I know, baby - I know,” he chokes out, sounding almost as desperate as you feel. “Come on, come on, lovely - nng, please!” Mouth full, sentences all slurring together as he buries himself in you, it’s enough to make you wail with each breath, the delicious stretch of his fingers and the sharp tease of his fangs. “Please, want it, I wanna see-”

He strokes his thumb over your thigh, silent question obvious as he looks pleadingly up at you - you must nod, or tell him yes, yes of course, because the next thing you know is the white-hot ecstasy of the bite, needy and glittering, and all of a sudden you’re falling apart. Legs trembling, eyes slammed shut as you sob through your orgasm, all you know is the familiar kiss of Vincent’s mouth on you, strong hands trailing warm, comforting patterns over your skin, and the distant sound of your own cries.

For a long moment, you’re floating, a joyful balloon on a satisfied string. Vincent takes you in his hands with a soft smile, and slowly pulls you back down to earth.

When you finally blink back to yourself, you’re slumped loose and heavy over Vincent’s shoulder, flopped forwards against where he’s kneeling up in front of your seat. He hums quietly as he feels you stir, one hand smoothing comforting circles into your back, and you nestle your face into the side of his neck with a pleased sigh.

“Back with me, baobei?”

“Mm,” you say eloquently. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He kisses the side of your head before tenderly nudging you backwards a little bit, giving himself a bit more room to clamber out of the footwell. He almost manages it, too - the effect is ruined slightly when he trips over the lip of the floor, stumbling awkwardly into the open door and nearly smacking his face against the handle, and you giggle at the indignant glare he shoots at the side of the car.

“Ooh. Smooth.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbles, though there’s no heat behind it. “Only the best for you, xiaogongju.”

You take his offered hand with a flourish, letting him guide you up and out of the seat and onto shaky legs - after a few steps, he decides to take matters into his own hands and just lifts you up into his arms like a bride, your head back on his shoulder. From here, you gaze idly out at the dark line where the sky brushes the sea, just barely visible even to your enhanced eyes, and let yourself rest in the gentle sound of the waves.

(A quick look back shows you - oh, that’s going to be a bitch to clean out of the leather. Whatever. It was worth it.)

“Love you,” you murmur through your hazy smile, fingers brushing back and forth over the dips and hollows of his collarbone. “Gonna get you back later.”

“Love you too, baby.” Waves lapping at the sand, salt and heat and happiness, the chill of the breeze. “I look forward to it already.”

He catches your lips in a short kiss, sweet and soft and painted in moonlight. Vincent carries you into the house, closing the door behind you, and all you can think is that this is much, much better than a study session.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[susandsnell]

Ooooh, Becky Albright + College for the headcanon meme (Hiiiiiiii <3)

send me a character + thing if you wanna know my headcanon for them and that thing

Got a bit long, so below the cut!

Becky's college experience at Gotham University was - well. It was hard to be much worse than her high school experience was (though elementary gave it a run for its money), so it was an improvement. It wasn't quite the fairy tale she'd promised herself to get through the worst days, but she'd like to think she's mature enough to have not been disappointed with that. People would talk to her in class and not call her names, at least not to her face (though enough too-long stares and microaggressive comments kept her away from most social events). She was even asked out a few times, although it took a while for her to actually show up to a date given how many times she'd been subjected to boys pretending to ask her out as a cruel prank. Some were even— well, nice—but connecting with people while contending with fractured trust and a tendency to seclude herself in her studies was a tenuous prospect at best.

Friends were about the same; there were people she spoke to, and some she even shared interests with, but a grimace or a missed invitation were enough to make her withdraw again for weeks at a time. Likewise, so were continued medical complications. It was around this time that she adopted her puppy, Harper, for some consistent - and easier - company.

During her undergraduate degree, Becky double-majored in criminal justice and psychology. More schoolwork was always a boon for her; it gave her something to throw herself into, something guaranteeing results and instant validation through grit and dedication. Something a lot easier to navigate than other people, in other words. These were useful pre-law subjects, and she'd long had the plan to be a criminal defense attorney. (Do something useful, exercise her intelligence. Stand up for someone the way no one ever stood up for her.)

Interestingly, on more than one occasion in the course of her psychology studies, Becky did encounter a name on a few (hotly contested) publications that would later frequently intertwine with hers: Doctor Jonathan Crane, a former faculty member, who'd apparently left a few years prior under rather clouded circumstances.

Law school followed the achievement of outstanding grades (though a scholarship and a part-time job at one of the campus bookstores helped matters significantly), and while Becky was always a good student, nothing could have quite prepared her for its demands. The first half of her fall semester was miserable; an extensive and challenging workload was one thing, but coupled with the new lingo and the brutal competition between students, and Becky was left doubting her place in the faculty, or her future as a lawyer, the way she'd never doubted before. That professors often passed over her for cold-calling, and condescending academic advisors made comments about her "not over-exerting herself" while the disability accommodations centre warned repeatedly that "law school isn't for everyone" certainly didn't help matters; less than promising midterm results seemed to put a nail in the coffin.

But Becky's resolve to prove herself was stronger than that. She doubled down, sought out mentors and tutors, traded summaries, and stopped at nothing to succeed. The first thing to go was her social life, but this was nothing new; unfortunately, such rigours did have a ricochet effect on her physical health symptoms, which she wound up neglecting more than she should have. Harper was always well taken care of, though; the loyal pooch was as staunch a companion and study partner as there ever was, and even won over the affections of Becky's roommate, a cold and sharp-eyed but fair-minded LL.M by the name of Janet Van Dorn. (Janet would later help Becky improve her legal writing skills extensively.)

Becky's effort paid dividends at time; though her grades were not what they had been in undergrad and high school, she did manage to score a decent internship in her 2L year, as well as one-on-one mentorship from up-and-coming superstar prosecutor, Harvey Dent. (In Nolanverse settings, Becky attends guest lectures and mentorship meetings with GU Law Faculty alumnus Rachel Dawes.) She still never quite could get a handle on tax or property, but she passed, and despite the ups and downs, despite the aching loneliness that never quite went away, things actually seemed to be looking up for Becky Albright, just this once.

Then, just at the start of her third year, the Scarecrow unleashed his latest batch of fear toxin on Greenvale, a city in the Greater Gotham City Area. Becky happened to be visiting her family there for Labor Day weekend.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

(Thanks so much for sending this!!! Ily!!)

[eros-vigilante]

eros' favorite archetypes: autistic magic professor

Qifrey, Witch Hat Atelier - I love you.

Cyrus Albright, Octopath Traveler - One of my favorite characters of all time.

Osvald V. Vanstein, Octopath Traveler II - The only one who is a professor for only one part of his life/story.

Gale Dekarios, Baldur's Gate 3 - I'm sorry people are weird about you being a male victim.

don't have a way to concisely say the proof here but trust me. if you recognize one of them the other three are equally autistic-coded.

[larnax]

octopath 1 protagonists ranked by confirmed kill count

notes:

technically redeye is implied to be graham crossford in the postgame so you could bump her up to one but how the hell was she supposed to know that

it's not confirmed whether esmeralda dies or not but she never shows up again

ok, yes, alfyn does kill one guy, but in his defense,

yeah so i think people either forget or don't notice this but therion doesn't actually kill people if he can avoid it. gareth forcefully engages him in a fight to the death and therion defends himself, but other than that he leaves people alive even when it's actively dangerous for him to, mainly darius but also literally everyone else. i'm told his japanese battle dialogue makes it clear he doesn't even really like fighting, which is a lot more in line with his story/banter personality.

ophilia kills a guy but her story takes place in a childrens picture bible where killing is fine if the guy is ontologically evil so this fails to make her any more interesting

its so fucking funny to me that cyrus kills people. like a lot of people too, hes firmly on the same side of the "killing people" scale as primrose and olberic, the two people whose entire occupation revolves around killing people, and then sitting right next to the assassin is a college history professor. like sure they were all serial killers and two of them turned into big monsters but both of those two were people that he personally knew?? cyrus is the only motherfucker in octopath who takes direct action by killing his shitty boss and im invoking my "call a fictional character a communist based solely on me liking them" card for him. cyrus albright is an ML and we should all aspire to his willingness to cast triple boosted alephan's wisdom lightning blast on those who would keep the working class underfoot by trying to keep knowledge behind paywalls and exclusivity. also that one unrelated serial killer in quarrycrest but thats a freebie he was making people into blood crystals

yeah primrose kills people obviously. she pulls just ahead of cyrus by killing helgenish in chapter 1

olberic only kills one person in his story(werner) but he was a soldier and confirms in a travel banter with alfyn that he has killed thousands of people. neat-o beans

[viridiave]

so Octopath 1 is still really good

After having played through (almost) all of both Octopath games somehow I'm feeling nostalgic about the first game already

Octopath Traveler 2 delivered on all its promises of more interaction between the travelers - down to the battle quotes they have, acknowledging each others' help and contributions. The stories especially are improved upon so much that it's actually kind of amazing to see just how seriously Square Enix took the criticism from the first game!

But I also still just like to look back on the first game and the stories that I loved and with that overly long intro it's time for me to rant about my top 4 picks for the stories from the first game lET'S GO

There's actually a LOT that I love about the first game's stories even as they're contrasted by the stories of the second but I only have real thoughts about these top 4 picks - SPOILERS! FULL STEAM AHEAD!

4) Cyrus Albright (or, when static characters fucking rock when their philosophies are given generous nuance)

Starting from the bottom of these top 4 is Cyrus's story - but honestly the gap between his story and the bottom half of all 8 stories is pretty damn huge

I'll admit right away that Cyrus's Chapter 4 has elevated his story in my eyes over the others, but as far as I'm aware his story's climax is one that most of the fandom can agree is one of the peak moments of the first game. His passion and philosophy for education had everything going for it in terms of set-up and atmosphere and - can we like? Talk about the Ruins of Eld???

A secret, ruined library filled with tomes lost to history. Tables and chairs scattered in rooms like it was meant to be some sort of school once. And here's Cyrus - a professor with a deep love of history and knowledge, walking among its walls and witnessing for himself just how much was hidden from the world. How must this man feel, walking into this beautiful Eden filled of Trees of Knowledge. With its walls decorated with warnings of death, doom, and destruction. Knowing that the end of his journey is at the heart of this paradise.

Cyrus's story in my opinion is fucking amazing at telling us who he is, and this final dungeon is the culmination of that - down to the atmosphere of his dungeons. It doesn't start at Chapter 4 though, I'd argue it starts all the way from Chapter 1 - which I have. A very intense love-hate relationship with solely because of Therese - but it's just actually really good? It just frustrates the shit out of me is all

But Chapter 1 tells us that Cyrus is a teacher. It tells us that he's a really GOOD teacher, who is passionate about his profession and is beloved by his students for both his patience and his good looks. He's incredibly dense to that second part, and his colleagues understand that but it doesn't stop them from holding a grudge against him. He loves books and the idea of knowledge being free to all and is, in his own words, 'philosophically opposed' to the ideals of his superiors. He is stupid with women and romance and people use this to their advantage. He is incredibly forgiving towards his student who literally tried to ruin his life by accusing him of pedophilia and doesn't understand that she did it because she wants to hop on his dick.

And Cyrus is like this for the entirety of his story - a sort of static character that's really just on a journey to return a library book. Even then, just because his character doesn't develop (or at least in ways that would be immediately obvious to us), there's something to be said about the steadfastness of his personality despite all the atrocities that he encounters. Chapter 2 shows us what kind of people he trusts. Chapter 3 shows us his fury as a teacher who cares intensely for his students. Chapter 4, then, gives us Cyrus - raw, unfiltered, and passionate as he tears into Lucia for her egocentric and dangerous elitist views on education with both his words and his magic.

His story ends gloriously in a way that's very distinctly Cyrus. He comes across the terrible secrets hidden within the tome that he's been searching for all this time, wondering if even something as evil like this deserves to be shared with the rest of the world. Cyrus, the Scholar, says yes - if only so he could protect the bright future he sees for mankind. At the end of his story, he's back at the Academy to start working towards said future, starting his lecture with a TRULY great excerpt from Susanna Grotoff's Knowlegde is Light.

oh hey speaking of Susanna Grotoff!

3) H'aanit (or, simple stories are great actually! especially when the characters actually fucking matter!)

See, I'm one of the people who honestly did not mind the weirdass ye Olde English speech that permeates the bulk of H'aanit's story. I think it's a weird design choice, but I can deal with it. I feel like that's one of the reasons people really don't like H'aanit, or her story.

One of the other reasons I think people don't like her story too much is because it comes across as too simple - almost Tressa-esque in its depth, because when you boil it down H'aanit's story literally is just to hunt a monster. It's a veritable eldritch horror of a monster sure, but the game also doesn't really tell you what the true significance of this act is until you beat try beating its postgame that's structured like ass. It's a woman with a weird accent and a snow leopard hunting down a quarry.

But I'm a firm believer in 'just because stories are simple, doesn't necessarily mean they're bad or without substance', and though it doesn't have the same level of philosophy that elevates Cyrus's story from just 'guy trying to return a library book' - it more than makes up for it with the way it handles its characters.

H'aanit's story has bar none the best, most organic, and heartwarming character interactions in the game and I am VERY prepared to try and fight people on this. You don't have to go very far into her tale to see this - from the way that she speaks with Z'aanta and Eliza alone, you can form a pretty solid image in your head about what kinds of people they are. H'aanit is the straight-laced, stoic, yet socially-awkward apprentice to Z'aanta's eccentric and cheerful trickster mentor persona. Eliza balances them both out, being a responsible friend to Z'aanta and a laidback friend to H'aanit. In Chapter 2, we meet Natalia - and I realize Chapter 2 NPCs don't get a lot to them, but honestly I found Natalia to be the refreshing earnest everyman character in H'aanit's fairly noble quest of legendary quarries and lost masters. Natalia is a good friend to Z'aanta and is very kind to H'aanit, and even feels guilty that she can't do more to help her.

Then we get Chapter 3 and we meet Susanna Grotoff - who is CRIMINALLY fucking underrated. Susanna is the elusive scholar who Cyrus quotes at the end of his story, and is also apparently a Seer - which she admits right away to H'aanit is a load of bullshit. But H'aanit trusts her implicilty because of this admission, and oh yeah Alaic's here too. I'll admit I didn't really warm up to Alaic right away, until postgame happened and we get to see him open up to our Travelers about how he and Susanna met. Honestly I could go on for hours just describing these two but we still have Chapter 4 and - oh my god the King shows H'aanit such immediate trust and respect and he's a decent ruler I like him a lot

I think that's the key ethos here though - everyone in this story treats H'aanit with no small amount of respect and gravitas. Her reputation as Z'aanta's apprentice might precede her, but come Chapter 3 where she's bested a dragon and she has become his equal, and then defeating Redeye to surpass him - and she is viewed by others who know her with awe for her abilities.

Despite this level of prestige though, H'aanit remains much of the same. H'aanit remains a stoic and steadfast huntress who is still socially awkward, being hesitant to show and receive familial affection. At the end of her story, she comes back home satisfied knowing that her master is saved, and she begins to tell stories of her own. It ends with her beautiful piano theme in the background, sounding as though she's just gotten done telling the end of her story to the local village children to lull them to sleep - and not to worry, because she will be happy to tell it again. It's a very quiet resolution to a fantastical journey, and I think its celebration of stories and interpersonal relationships elevates H'aanit's tale over Cyrus's in my book by JUST a bit.

2) Alfyn Greengrass (or, when the break the cutie trope takes the broken pieces and reforges them into something stronger)

Ok look I'll say it right away - I know how divisively people feel about Chapter 3. Chapter 3's very existence hangs on stupid decisions made by the characters, like, Ogen, maybe just TELL Alfyn that Miguel is a criminal - and MIGUEL, M A Y B E DON'T DO THE HORRIBLE THING WHILE ALFYN IS STILL IN TOWN HELLO??? YOU COULDN'T AT LEAST W A IT ANOTHER FEW DAYS???

even with those feelings I still think Alfyn's story is great.

There's a lot that I can say about Alfyn that I wanted to say about Cyrus and H'aanit - and it's that this truly feels like a story that's tailor-made for him, to tell us who this guy is and how he deals with the bullshit he encounters. Alfyn's story is written almost episodically and it does kind of make sense given his motivation. He's just a guy who wants to go around and help people - it doesn't particularly matter where, just that he gets to do good. And we do! See him do that! Kind, studious, and well-meaning Alfyn sacrifices a lot for his patients as we see in both Chapter 1 and 2, and he's very passionate about his craft and is softhearted to the point that he forgets to collect payment for his treatments. He believes so wholly in his apothecary's ideal (formed by his own memories of Graham saving his life for no charge at all) that honestly? His Chapter 3 almost falls over backwards trying to destroy this idealism.

Miguel Twinspears has been memed to death and Ogen is questionable. Just to get that out of the way. To get more  stuff out of the way, I don't think the game really intends for its players to agree with Ogen and his cynical views about the weight of lives. This is the entire point of Ogen - to be a foil to Alfyn, who is naive, boundless, and indiscriminate in his generosity. Miguel, as cartoonishly evil as he is, is still VERY MUCH capable of existing in the real world. Alfyn hasn't yet fully matured, and both Miguel and Ogen were the story's solutions to making him croak. The best part about that gambit is that it worked - sending Alfyn into a depressive spiral until he finds a resolution in Chapter 4.

Miguel is unabashedly evil and takes Alfyn's kindness for granted - he is Alfyn's first taste of true malice. Ogen's cynicism forces Alfyn to question everything he knows about being an apothecary, and it's very important that these two concepts were introduced in parallel. This is the chapter that forces Alfyn to reconsider the implications of what it means to have the power to save lives - for god's sake a CHILD nearly died because Alfyn chose to help the wrong person despite the warnings around him. Here's the thing though - Miguel being a jackass isn't Alfyn's fault, and that's something that Ogen's philosophy neglects to account for. There's very real conversations to be had about accountability here but my god this post is getting way too long and I still have one more character to gush over

Chapter 4 picks up right where Chapter 3 left off, where we find Alfyn lost as to what he's meant to do. THEN we get Ogen on his deathbed and surprise it turns out he's not indiscriminate about his philosophy because he applies it to himself as well because yeah. murder is horrible. granted there's also conversations to be had here about horrible medical malpractice but that's WAY out of my expertise so -

now by all accounts, after the events of Chapter 3, would it have made sense for Alfyn to give in and let this man die for his sins? hell no. Because that's not who Alfyn Greengrass is - and as Alfyn asserts, it's also just not what apothecaries do. It's a powerful kind of acceptance that's fueled in part by Zeph's (homoerotically-charged) encouragement and the memories of the man who saved him - and this drives him to face down a creature of legend just to make a cure for a man with a broken soul.

can we also just take a minute to gush about how Alfyn's journey starts and ends with him trying to find a life-saving ingredient and how it has layers to it because Ogre Eagle feathers were the key ingredient to both his and Ogen's cures - lighting the spark in Alfyn and re-igniting Ogen's will to live - and apothecary is fighting a WALKING PANACAEA. THIS IS A COOL FIGHT GODDAMNIT.

i'll. gush more over Alfyn once I finish up my essay on Ophilia and Temenos. but for now we still have one more story.

1) Olberic Eisenberg (or, resolving a midlife crisis is worth it when I care so much about the sad old beefcake)

for those who know me, this might be mantit bias. And verily I say unto you, that's partially correct. for others, this might be Eisenbright bias. and you are also correct because I will admit that my appreciation of both Cyrus and Olberic's stories is elevated a considerable amount when I think about just how synchronized they are as role models when the future is concerned

(SERIOUSLY. PLAY THEIR CHAPTER 4s SIDE BY SIDE. THEY'RE IN PERFECT PARALLEL ABOUT THEIR OATHS TO THE FUTURE DESPITE BEING SO DIFFERENT AND BEING ON DIFFERENT SIDES OF THE HISTORY BEING WRITTEN - the person who writes the history and the person who lived it - AND THEIR DIFFERENT TALENTS AND ABILITIES AND-)

okay I'll be real and say I did not expect to care so much about the old guy so much going into this game, but I actually will. struggle to articulate how this story has made me feel, but I will say that Olberic's story is the only one from the first game to have given me any sort of extreme reaction that wasn't frustration over Cyrus's Chapter 1. I cried for other stories, but Olberic's had me genuinely at the edge of my seat and jumping for joy whenever I see Erhardt pop up in Riverford to aid him.

To be honest, I don't really know what it is about Olberic's story that I can call the edge that it has over the seven others. Cyrus's story had excellent presentation for both his philosophy and his character. H'aanit's was the perfection of simple storytelling. Alfyn's was thought-provoking and had me emotionally invested in his plight. Writing it out, I think I can say Olberic has all of the above - at least, in my opinion. I can't very well say he has much in the way of developing side-characters though -

- well okay. The blond elephant in the room is the glaring exception.

Erhardt is half of Olberic's story and is consequently his primary motivation throughout his journey. The introduction of Erhardt is through a recurring nightmare that Olberic has of the day Hornburg fell - culminating in the moment Erhardt fatally wounds King Alfred. Olberic's Chapter 1 does a very good job of telling us who he is, and where he stands in his story - he was once a renowned knight beloved by his Kingdom, until it fell due to the betrayal of his brother-in-arms. He is now in hiding at a humble farming village named Cobbleston, having kept his past and name a secret for 8 years. Olberic is brought low by loss, and is plagued by nightmares and grief that he doesn't share at all with the people he's now taking refuge with. It's also very clear at this point that Olberic considers himself as little more than a man with a blade - purposeless now that he has failed to protect what mattered most to him. It's not until a lead on Erhardt is revealed to him that he feels alive in any way, as Gaston notes.

As Olberic goes on his journey, he starts having doubts about his decision to avenge his homeland once he starts learning more about Erhardt. To Gustav, Erhardt was troubled, but warm to him and his fellow vagrants, as well as a trustworthy friend. To Wellspring, he is similar to Olberic - having found purpose in protecting the town from lizardman threats. These doubts culminate in what is - to my opinion- perhaps the single best scene in the fucking game.

Watch it in Japanese, by the way. It's only then that you'll get to experience the full brunt of the emotions and sheer burdens that both Olberic and Erhardt carry because Jesus CHRIST they went hard on the delivery for this scene.

After slaying the Lizardman Kings, Erhardt and Olberic meet back up again to have their long-overdue talk about why Erhardt decided he'd kill King Alfred. To most people his backstory isn't anything new, really - he lost his hometown to the fires of war, and King Alfred had failed in protecting it. Out of vengeance, Erhardt decided to join Werner's company and act as the mole in the ranks of the knights of Hornburg so he could bide his time until he could finally kill the King. The thing that sells this scene however, is the sheer agony and regret in Erhardt's voice as he tells Olberic everything - and tells him that he regretted living a lie, that all he could remember now was the times he spent with the knights and with Olberic as friends and brothers-in-arms.

Now what happens next is. Strange.

It's at this point in the story that the player feels TRULY disconnected from Olberic, where Olberic's own desperation comes to light as he demands to cross swords with Erhardt in the form of a Challenge prompt that you can't refuse. Olberic states very clearly that he finally understood why he wielded his blade, and you would think that was the end of it - that it wouldn't have needed to come to blows anymore. But Olberic is neither being a paragon nor a villain here - he's being human in the only way he knows how - in the throes of battle. Erhardt himself obliges, understanding that it's only through this that either of them could have closure from the events that changed their lives forever. They fight, all while Olberic's character theme plays in the background.

Now. This scene is interesting to me in a lot of ways. Erhardt had basically done to Olberic what he thinks the Kingdom of Hornburg had done to him - rob him of the only home he had ever known. He then assimilated himself into the ranks and despite his mission he came to see it as home too, soon enough. Despite that, it didn't stop him from killing the King - but seeing his revenge through only left him hollow. I could draw several comparisons here to both Primrose and Olberic regarding this stance on revenge, but right now just know that Olberic could have very well ended up like him if he were an angrier man. Olberic right now is simply a man consumed with grief and loss and left with no real way of dealing with it other than this. And by the end of the battle, Erhardt yields - and Olberic spares him, ending the duel and resolving instead to avenge his Kingdom through confronting the man behind Erhardt's machinations.

admittedly, I didn't think Werner was compelling enough as a villain - but I DID appreciate his horrifying pragmatism, clawing his way to the top by any means necessary and sacrificing an entire Kingdom in the process, and then going on to take over an entire district and host public burnings every month. charming guy. I do find it thematically interesting that Olberic's final opponent is a tyrant who just does not give a shit about the people he governs over though - you really couldn't get any more antithetical to King Alfred than this. Also fitting that he would be one of the key players of the revolution to free Riverford from Werner's reign and wOAH HOLY SHIT ERHARDT FUCK Y E AH

that. that was the scene I jumped out of my seat for, yeah.

by the way uh. so the line 'Your blade may be unbending, but did the man not break?' is extremely good. If there was any way to succinctly summarize Olberic Eisenberg before that climactic moment, that would be it.

this is gonna be the part where I gush about Olberic's resolve into looking forward to the future and - it means a lot more than just him vowing to continue using his sword to protect others. It means that he's finally starting to free himself from the hell he's been dealing with for the last 8 years. It's him finally accepting that he's MORE than the blade he wields. It's him accepting that he has somewhere to return to and protect and hold dear to his heart - and he realizes this while trying to help people take back their own homes with the support of the best friend who had lost his home twice -

i really like his story, and I really like Olberic. Him returning to Cobbleston for a while as he goes on a new journey and being embraced by Philip is incredibly satisfying. This man deserves his fucking rest and holy shit this post is 3800 words long

>>> tl;dr go play Octopath Traveler 1

[haggishlyhagging]

“From Anatolia and Iran, these [Indo-European] tribes continued to push southward into Mesopotamia and Canaan. According to Professor Albright,

There is both archaeological and documentary evidence pointing to a great migratory movement or movements from the northeast into Syria in the 18th century BC. As a result of this movement Hurrian and Indo-Iranian tribes flooded the country. By the 15th century we find most of eastern and northern Syria occupied predominantly by Hurrians and Indo-Iranians . . . Megiddo, Jerusalem and Ascalon [all in Canaan] are ruled by princes with Anatolian or Indo-Iranian names. The cranial type at Megiddo, which was previously Mediterranean in character, now becomes brachycephalic Alpine.

As the invasions were sporadic, they are difficult to follow and would probably require a volume on each particular area over a long period of time to be thoroughly explained. But historical, mythological and archaeological evidence suggests that it was these northern people who brought with them the concepts of light as good and dark as evil (very possibly the symbolism of their racial attitudes toward the darker people of the southern areas) and of a supreme male deity. The emergence of the male deity in their subsequent literature, which repeatedly described and explained his supremacy, and the extremely high position of their priestly caste may perhaps allow these invasions to be viewed as religious crusade wars as much as territorial conquests.

The arrival of the Indo-Aryan tribes, the presentation of their male deities as superior to the female deities of the indigenous populations of the lands they invaded and the subsequent intricate interlacing of the two theological concepts are recorded mythologically in each culture. It is in these myths that we witness the attitudes that led to the suppression of Goddess worship.

As Sheila Collins writes, "Theology is ultimately political. The way human communities deify the transcendent and determine the categories of good and evil have more to do with the power dynamics of the social systems which create the theologies than with the spontaneous revelation of truth from another quarter."

Judging from the production of religious mythology of the royal scribes and priests found in the archives of palaces of the Indo-European-ruled nations of the historic periods, often in the language of the conquered populations, we may surmise that political aims, rather than religious fervor, may well have been the motivation. The prevalence of myths that explain the creation of the universe by the male deity or the institution of kingship, when none had existed previously, strongly hints at the possibility that many of these myths were written by priests of the invading tribes to justify the supremacy of the new male deities and to justify the installation of a king as the result of the relationship of that king to the male deity.

The Indo-European male deity, unlike the son/lover of the Goddess religion, was most often portrayed as a storm god, high on a mountain, blazing with the light of fire or lightning. This recurrent symbolism suggests that these northern people may once have worshiped volcanoes as manifestations of their god, a factor I will discuss more thoroughly in Chapter Five. In some areas this god was annexed to the Goddess as a husband, such as the storm god Taru and the Sun Goddess of Arinna or Zeus and Hera. In some legends he emerged as a rebellious young man, who heroically destroyed the older female deity, at times upon the previously assured promise of supremacy in the divine hierarchy.

In many of these myths the female deity is symbolized as a serpent or dragon, most often associated with darkness and evil. At times the gender of the dragon seems to be neuter, or even a male (closely associated with his mother or wife who is the Goddess). But the plot and the underlying symbolic theme of the story is so similar in each myth that, judging from the stories that do use the name of the female deity, we may surmise that the allegorical identity of the dragon or serpent is that of the Goddess religion. The Goddess, the original supreme deity of the people conquered and ruled by the invading Indo-Europeans, was not ignored, but was symbolically included in such a manner that these supposedly religious myths allow us to trace Her eventual deposition.”

-Merlin Stone, When God Was a Woman

[king-crane]

INCURABLE / TERMINAL.

In light of more talk about Batman Beyond in the rpc (good, it's fucking peak), and talking with @2ndbat (FANTASTIC BLOG GO FOLLOW), I have revamped my Incurable/Terminal verses to go from just Old Man Crane to straight up Batman Beyond.

That said, I will be outlining the general setting and the differences in both verses here! Enjoy!

NAME: Professor Jonathan Ichabod Crane SPECIES: Metahuman AGE: 68 HEIGHT: 7’10” WEIGHT: 280 lbs. OCCUPATION: Professor of Psychology at Gotham University, Professional Therapist and Psychiatrist, Career Criminal (formerly), Supervillain (formerly) AFFILIATIONS: Gotham University (formerly and currently), Di Vaio Crime Family (formerly), Quorum (formerly), Secret Society (formerly), The Injustice League (formerly) PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: A veritable colossus of muscle, Jonathan Crane’s rehabilitation worked out far better for him than any could have ever hoped. After finally receiving proper treatment and diagnoses, Crane’s medications and fear suppressants allowed him to finally regain some sense of routine beyond getting up in the mornings and putting his body through Hell. Eating, sleeping, and exercising regularly has enhanced Crane’s physique, to the point where even at 68, the giant still seems to be in his physical prime… “seems” to be, that is. Though his hair has begun to gray and his face is showing signs of his age in the form of wrinkles and laugh lines, Crane is no less gorgeous than he was two decades prior. Crane has gone completely blind in his right eye, and still uses a prosthetic left arm and right leg thanks to injuries suffered when he was 30. MEDICAL INFORMATION: McCune-Albright Syndrome, Sleep Apnea, Asthma, Fibromyalgia, severe burn injuries, blind in right eye, missing an arm and leg, severe brain damage and nerve damage MENTAL DISORDERS: DID, Bipolar Disorder, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

BIOGRAPHY: After a lifetime of pain and insanity, Crane's reprieve, ironically enough, only came about when the foundations of Arkham itself were shook to their very core, and he was finally assigned a new doctor. Instead of approaching Crane as though he were completely sane, the new doctor, Mannfred O'Malley (who had experience with Crane) immediately diagnosed him with DID, Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Autism, and a slew of other diagnoses. CAT scans supported this, and Crane was immediately put on anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers, and anxiety relief medication. Crane had never been better in years, and at the age of 36, he was finally recovering. He began to sleep and eat much more regularly, and corrective surgery helped many of his physical maladies. Eventually, upon his release from Arkham, Crane stopped returning as frequently, and stopped completely once his prescriptions were moved to a regular psychiatrist in the city.

After 2 years living on his farm in good health, Crane gained an astonishing 100 pounds of muscle, no longer malnourished from his unhealthy lifestyle, and even had a growth spurt of 2 inches. Emboldened by his change, he applied once more to Gotham University, where he had taught so long ago, at the age of 40. It had been 15 years since his abrupt departure, but they still welcomed him back with open arms. At the age of 60, Jonathan Crane was now a tenured professor of psychology, winning multiple awards for his theories and experiments in regard to fear and the human mind.

And then, it all came crashing down.

On the eve of his 62nd birthday, Crane suffered from a horrible mental break - his hallucinations began to return, this time with a vengeance, and recognizing the pattern, Crane took an emergency leave of absence.

The news he received after returning to Arkham was horrid. After being physically examined, it became clear that Crane's spinal and cerebral implant, his constant companion for 55 years and a mark of Qorum's involvement in his life, had been spreading itself through his body, upgrading itself with cybernetic modifications. In addition, the fear toxin in his veins had irreparably damaged his mind, and he would suffer a complete and total cessation of brain activity soon. They could not give him an estimate of how much time he had left. Left only with the choice of how he would receive this news, Crane's path diverges.

INCURABLE.

SEEKING to prevent himself from repeating the mistakes of the past, Professor Jonathan Crane seeks treatment to prolong his life as much as possible, and experiments with the dosage on his medications, even against professional advice. Taking a sabbatical from Gotham University, Crane travels the world, looking for a cure for his condition. In distant lands, and lands not far from home, he dons the guise of a helpless old man, when in truth, he is far from it. After seeing the pain in the world, the same pain he once spent so much time contributing to, he dons the visage of "The Ward", a traveling alchemist seeking to protect the weak and the innocent, and to save problems. He frequently returns to Gotham whenever he can, even occasionally checking himself back into Arkham during particularly brutal episodes, but thanks to living frugally over many, many years, he has a good chunk of money saved up for his travels. Ironically enough, Crane is currently the closest he has ever been to activating his metagene, a feat which would completely halt his neural degradation and remove the implant, as well as halt his aging - if only he was even aware he was a metahuman.

ABILITIES: Vast intellect, resilient body, martial arts training, decades of experience, heightened awareness

WEAKNESSES: Frequent hallucinations, neural degradation, moves slow due to injuries and age

TERMINAL.

SOMETIMES it can be impossible to truly recover what one has already lost. Already cracked and fractured by his ongoing condition, Crane left his appointment with Doctor O'Malley a despondent and heartbroken man. Was this his reward, for trying to be better? He twitches, as though he can feel his body building itself up and breaking down at the same time. It isn't until his return to the city proper that he finds himself on the other end of a would-be-mugger, and he realizes nothing has changed. The Waynes, the di Vaios - even Zsasz's life had changed at the end of a blade. There was nothing to change for Crane, though. His hand shoots out before he can stop it. He breaks the criminal's hand - and then his neck. And he looks upon Gotham with a profound sadness. His past would only continue to haunt him, for as long as he let it. His mind fractures, and finally his metagene is activated... slightly. With enhanced strength, speed, and senses, but at the cost of his physical health and sanity, Crane dons the mask of Epimetheus, an amalgamation of all that he once was - Crane, Crow, Bones, Beast, and even Jonathan. He will slaughter his past, no matter how long it takes.

ABILITIES: Shapeshifting, heightened reflexes, enhanced speed, enhanced strength, semi-intangibility

WEAKNESSES: Complete loss of sanity, animalistic intellect, lack of higher thought (maybe)

[nomorerww]

There are two dominant cultural ideas about the role women play in helping other women advance at work, and they are seemingly at odds: the Righteous Woman and the Queen Bee.

The Righteous Woman is an ideal, a belief that women have a distinct moral obligation to have one another’s backs. This kind of sentiment is best typified by Madeleine Albright’s now famous quote, “There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help each other!” The basic idea is that since all women experience sexism, they should be more attuned to the gendered barriers that other women face. In turn, this heightened awareness should lead women to foster alliances and actively support one another. If women don’t help each other, this is an even worse form of betrayal than those committed by men. And hence, the special place in hell reserved for those women.

The Queen Bee belief, on the other hand, argues that in reality women just can’t get along. As Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant point out in their essay in The New York Times on the myth of the catty woman, this belief rests on the erroneous idea that there is something inherent to the female sex that causes women to undermine each other on the job all the time.

The idea of a Queen Bee syndrome dates to research first done in the 1970s. The syndrome encompasses a set of behaviors ranging from women disparaging typically feminine traits (“Women are soooo emotional”), to emphasizing their own “masculine” attributes (“I think more like a guy”), to seeing claims of gender discrimination as baseless (“The reason there are so few women at the top is not because of discrimination. It’s that women are just less committed to their careers”), to being unsupportive of initiatives to address gender inequality. The ultimate Queen Bee is the successful woman who instead of using her power to help other women advance, undermines her women colleagues.  

Although these two archetypes (one a model, the other a cautionary tale) seem to be at odds, they overlap in that they both further a double standard—that conflict between men is normal but between women it’s dysfunctional. When men battle it out, they are seen as engaging in healthy competition and vigorous debate. When women do the same things, they are Mean Girls locked in a heated catfight. These perceptions that women are backstabbing and conniving can lead people to believe that workplace disagreements between women are especially damaging. A study found that when a conflict took place between two women coworkers, people expected the consequences to be both negative and long-lasting, for example that the women would want revenge. In contrast, when the identical conflict was between two men or a man and a woman people thought that the relationship could be more readily repaired.

Thus, despite studies showing that men engage in indirect aggression like gossiping and social exclusion at similar or even higher rates than women, it is still widely believed that women are meaner to one another. Such beliefs are so pervasive that even preschoolers think that girls are more likely than boys to engage in relational aggression such as excluding others despite evidence to the contrary. Even the term Queen Bee is gendered. Of course men can be “jerks” or “assholes,” but there is no equivalent term for men who undertake the specific behavior of plotting against their male colleagues to keep them down.

Is there some truth in the Queen Bee stereotype? Are women nastier toward other women than men are to men or than women are to men?

Research on these kinds of behaviors have found instances in which that is the case. For example, a study by psychologists that examined how professors viewed their Ph.D. students found that despite having equal publication records and levels of work commitment, the female professors (but not the male professors) tended to believe that their female Ph.D. students were less committed to their careers than their male students. But this wasn’t uniformly the case. It turns out that it was the older generation of women professors, not the younger generation, who displayed this Queen Bee-like response.

What explains this generational difference? Could it be something about the environment in which the older women pursued their careers that elicited a certain harshness toward their women students? For that older generation, it was extremely rare for a woman to climb the ladder and become a full professor. By the time the younger women arrived, it was much more common. Thus, perhaps it was something about the context in which older women rose up the ranks (fewer women, more barriers, more sexism) that explained their behavior.

Subsequent research has confirmed just that. Queen Bee behaviors are not reflective of some Mean Girl gene lurking in women’s DNA. Rather, to the degree they exist, Queen Bee dynamics are triggered by gender discrimination.

Specifically, studies find that such behaviors emerge when two dynamics come together: gender bias and a lack of gender solidarity, for lack of a better term. When women for whom being a woman is not a central aspect of their identity experience gender bias, Queen Bee behavior emerges.

Here’s why: For women with low levels of gender identification—who think their gender should be irrelevant at work and for whom connecting with other women is not important—being on the receiving end of gender bias forces the realization that others see them first and foremost as women. And because of negative stereotypes about women, like that they are less competent than men, individual women can be concerned that their career path may be stunted if they are primarily seen as just a woman and therefore not a good fit for leadership.

To get around these kinds of gendered barriers, these women try to set themselves apart from other women. They do this by pursuing an individual strategy of advancement that centers on distancing themselves from other women. One way they do this is through displaying Queen Bee behaviors such as describing themselves in more typically masculine terms and denigrating other women (“I’m not like other women. I’ve always prioritized my career”).

The point is, it’s not the case that women are inherently catty. Instead, Queen Bee behaviors are triggered in male dominated environments in which women are devalued.

and I would argue that it's more likely that MEN/media perpetuate negative stereotypes about women to begin with, pushing women to disidentify from their collective struggle, as evidenced by these posts from the reddit manosphere:

the second headline was refuted in the comments:

[beantothemax]

As per the agreement with Yvon, Cyrus had not been in Atlasdam in forever. Six months and twenty two days, to be exact. He kept count of how long he was gone, eagerly awaiting the day he would return.

After paying a visit to Noblecourt, the group passed by Atlasdam and decided to stay there for a day. The days were at their longest and there was to be a festival that Cyrus had described as being fun. Of course his friends were curious to see it as well. They all listened intently as he described the beautiful melodies and immaculate pastries one could have the pleasure of experiencing at the festival.

But it quickly became annoying when they realized he would not stop talking after ten minutes. He spoke endlessly of the wonders of the Atlasdam summer solstice festival with a bright smile on his face. H’aanit placated him and asked as many questions as he had answers. Luckily, the rest of the group was finally spared of his endless rambling when they reached the city gate.

“Come with me, the archery contest is over here!” he beamed, taking H’aanit’s hand.

She happily ran after him with a laugh, followed closely by Linde.

The archery competition was nothing special. Every target was far too close to the start line. The organizer handed H’aanit a flimsy bow and poorly made arrow.

“Have you done this before?” they asked.

And H’aanit couldn’t help but laugh, “this is mine profession.”

Cyrus stared in wonder at her cocky smirk as she effortlessly got three bullseyes. The dumbfounded organizer handed her a slice of reward cake which she gladly accepted.

“Comen, Cyrus, you must showen me all before sunset,” she smiled.

He took her hand and led her to the next attraction.

Upon a stage, a band played Atlasdamish folk tunes. They were all sung in their native tongue  and though Cyrus had begun to teach H’aanit the language, she barely caught a word. Still, she put a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder and they danced and laughed until their feet ached.

When the sun had begun its slow descent, Cyrus pulled her aside. At this hour, a bonfire would be lit in the square. They held on tight to each others’ hands in fear of getting separated in the dense crowd.

Though they both struggled when there were too many sensations at once, with the familiarity of the festival and Linde’s comforting presence, neither felt unwell. Cyrus knew exactly where and when everything was and H’aanit trusted him fully. But in the crowd, his grip on her hand loosened and he let go without intending it. Before he knew it, at least a dozen people separated them and he could no longer see his partner.

“Professor Albright!” a familiar (but incorrect) voice called out.

Cyrus knew the city and its people but he only wished to see the former. Last he was there, people he once considered close friends said they hated him for his disgusting actions. Of course, those outlandish accusations were all false and merely fabricated by Therese.

She smiled at the sight of her old professor.

“Oh, hi Therese,” he muttered.

They stood by the edge of the crowd where there was no need to move with the current. Usually that was good, but Cyrus’ lungs seemed to fail him the longer he stood in the presence of that detested girl.

“How have your travels been?” she asked.

“I-” he started but his throat was dry and it could not produce a sound.

“Did a monster take your voice?” she laughed.

Gods, he wished he had an excuse that good. Unfortunately, it was only her. She had ruined his life and taken everything from him out of jealousy. Not of him but of another of his pupils. Why must it hurt him? He had done nothing wrong and yet she chose the worst possible accusation she could think of.

At that moment, a leopard’s head popped out from the crowd. Linde rubbed her head on his leg, affectionately circling around him. He instinctively reached down to scratch behind her ear. Her soft fur was among one of the most comforting feelings he knew and just her presence eased his anxieties.

Before Therese could question his fondness for the leopard, H’aanit appeared. She leaned down to give Linde a good head pat before looking to Cyrus, “who is this?”

“An old student,” Cyrus murmured.

“I’m Therese,” the girl smiled.

“Therese?” H’aanit thought.

Cyrus spoke at length about Atlasdam, especially to H’aanit. When they became close, he opened up about everything that happened, about the anxiety it caused him and the nightmares he had. He spoke of an experience he had as a child, how he thought it was behind him, only for every single unpleasant memory to come flooding back when Therese accused him of a crime similar to the one he had been a victim of.

“Ah, Therese. Cyrus speaks of you,” H’aanit finally said.

“He does?” Therese gasped.

H’aanit didn’t utter another word. She took Cyrus’ hand and practically dragged him away as he all but fainted at the sight of Therese. Linde could sense his uneasiness and stayed beside him. He rested a hand on her head and she purred under his touch.

“Where is thine home?” H’aanit asked.

Cyrus only pointed at a street as his voice hadn’t yet returned. H’aanit, though she knew not the city, took the lead and hoped Cyrus would stop her at his house. Lucky for them, this street only had homes and no establishments and it was quiet. The tension in his shoulders loosened as they got further from the loud crowd and Therese, who fortunately did not follow them.

“This one,” Cyrus muttered, pointing at a house.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and H’aanit snatched them. She opened the door and led him inside. He had scarcely removed his jacket and shoes before he ran upstairs to his bedroom. Once H’aanit had removed her out-clothes as well, she followed him to find him curled up on his bed.

A soft smile spread on his lips as he rolled around in his pile of blankets and pillows. He was in the safety of his own home for the first time in what felt like a lifetime and he never wanted to leave.

“It maketh me joyful to see that thou chose a bigger bed than thou needen. There is room for Linde and I,” she smiled as she crawled in.

She wrapped her arms around Cyrus and kissed the crown of his head as he yawned. All the tension was gone from his body and all it left was exhaustion. He needed to rest and recover after, not only seeing Therese, but also attending a festival. Fortunately for him, H’aanit loved him dearly and knew just what he needed in such situations.

The foot end of the mattress sunk under Linde’s weight. She was like a fire and warmed the bed in no time.

“I wish Therese could feel shame. I wish that bastard that hurt me got a life sentence and I wish he’d die,” Cyrus mumbled.

“I thought thou were against violence,” H’aanit replied.

“He deserves it.”

“I suppose so.”

Only half an hour passed before they remembered they had six other travel companions. H’aanit climbed out of the bed as quietly as she could, careful not to step on Cyrus or Linde.

“I will tellen our friends we will sleep here tonight. Haven thou room for guests?” she asked.

“Mmm… no. Tell them to tell the inn owner they’re my friend though, I tutored her son for a few years so she likes me,” Cyrus grumbled.

“That I’ll do.”

As silently as though she were on the hunt, H’aanit left. She slipped through the crowd and found her friends in no time, eager to return to her lover who needed her company.

had to stand up and just. walk around my room for a few minutes because ohhhhhhh my gosh. oh my gosh. th.

h’aanit and cyrus going around the festival was very fun! then I had a sense of impenetrable dread fall over me once I saw therese enter the scene

I REALLY loved how h’aanit just. drags cyrus away. the minute she finds out this is therese she goes ‘ok we need to leave this conversation as soon as possible’ and accomplishes that by essentially carrying him away from said conversation. if it works it works I suppose.

and…… the whole end………….. pie have I told you how good of a writer you are today. because. augh.

[forthegothicheroine]

If you're in the mood for asks just now, what's your favourite media with Jonathan Crane?

Oh man, I have so many favorites! ("So many" here means "cherry picked, because he doesn't get a whole lot of long-term arcs like the Joker".) I fell in love with him due to a combination of Batman Returns and then a collection of best Scarecrow comics (I think it's this one?)

Probably the best Scarecrow media, in my opinion, is Scarecrow Year One. It gets into the abusive childhood that taught him the meaning of fear, a journey of revenge that started out justified but ended up reaching innocent victims, and that actually had Batman contemplate how he and Scarecrow were two sides of the same coin! My fix fic was largely based on this, to do a bit of self-promotion. As a warning, though, there's a black character who speaks in very painful slang- he's a good guy who is a genius with chemicals and helps Batman, but I definitely winced.

Honorable mentions:

His first ever comic, where he gets fired as a professor and then becomes a supervillain to afford more books. You absolute dork, Jonathan Crane, that's a terrible motivation and I would do the same.

New Years Evil, a comic where he falls in love with Becky Albright and offers to make her his Mistress of Fear, and she says no and the Riddler laughs at him. Becky Albright only appeared in one comic but some of us have shipped them ever since!

Study Hall, a comic set in the Animated Series universe, where he tries to go straight but ends up fear-gassing his favorite student's abusive boyfriend. Batman reflects that he was genuinely trying to do good but only knew how to do it in an evil way, which is one of my favorite villain tropes ever.

Batman: Arkham Asylum, where he's the best villain in the game!

Big O, an anime clearly inspired by Batman, with the villain Alan Gabriel who seems to be inspired by Scarecrow, and gets treated as a serious and scary arc villain! (The anime as a whole has a famously unsatisfying ending, but I'd still recommend it.)

Batman Begins, where he's a very different character than usual, more of a smooth sadist, but he's very very pretty and very very dangerous! "My" Jonathan Crane is more gangly and awkward looking, but he'll always have Cillian Murphy's gorgeous eyes!