#A-Care Medical PA

[populationpensive]

Working in an ICU...

...Means that you meet people on the worst day of their lives.

A colleague of mine said this over the weekend, which was a very rough weekend for me in so many ways. My patients were complex and very sick. The families were challenging. So. Incredibly. Challenging.

I see the worst things that can happen to people. Every. Day. I am able to push it out most of the time. Some times, there is a true shit storm of circumstances that emotionally bankrupts me. That was this weekend for me.

I think it is sometimes easy to forget how vulnerable patients and families are in the ICU. It's easy to forget it is the worst day of their lives. And when these families can't control the illness of their loved one, I think they look for literally anything they can control. Sometimes that results in verbal abuse about policies, staff, and treatment. It can be so hard to deal with this. The amount of patience it takes is astronomical.

I will freely admit that I am very detached. You almost HAVE to be to a certain extent to DO the job. But even the most detached people have a breaking point.

It makes me grateful for every family that simply thanks me for my time. Every colleague that "gets it". Every person willing to listen to me when I am going home from work.

So, to all you health care people that struggle with this as I do, we've got this. Some how, we've got it.

[ktkat99]

Chapter 21

Timmy and Clark's daily routine, and the changes to come

[ivebeenmade]

I already knew that 'prior authorisation' policies had gotten out of hand, but it actually hit me personally today.

The doctor bumped up my Lyrica, a non-narcotic pain management medication, and when I called the pharmacy to ask if it would be ready to get tomorrow, they explained that it had hit a PA. The reason?

My doctor wants me to be taking 100mg in the morning, 50 in the afternoon, and 100 at bedtime. She prescribed this in 50mg capsules. The insurance "does not allow" for more than 3 pills of this med per patient per day.

Does Not Allow. As if an insurer understands the needs of a patient, or should ever have a say over a medical professional.

This means the doc has to send 2 different prescriptions in. One total 50mg capsule for the midday dose, two total capsules per day for the morning and night.

So I have to organise and remember two different pills for the same med every day; taking one bottle everywhere with me so I can take it around lunch, keeping the other home for my pill organiser.

What a giant pain in the ass. What a totally weird restriction.

What's even worse is that I literally just took my last full dose today, and this med can cause pretty nasty withdrawal symptoms.

I have 2 more 50mg doses I am going to space out for the next 2 days- *just in case* asking them to rewrite scripts in a way my insurance approves of doesn't get done in the hours the primary care office and the pharmacy are both open tomorrow.

[quillheel]

☕ (My Harry & your Kim)

Send me “ ☕ “ for my muse to drink tea uniquely flavored after your muse, and I’ll tell you what my muse tastes! // accepting!

When the thermos is passed, Kim is dubiously hesitant to sip its contents. Glances spared into the dark metal container where a thousand tiny lights reflect back up at him off the angles of glitter that seem to consume the liquid, bouncing off the sharp lines of his glasses, highlighting the ridges of his face; cheekbone meeting upper-eye meeting the crease of his nose between. He questions, and the answer he receives is likely as inane but incredulously trustworthy ━ which is to say, only Kim would trust it ━ and he is prodded to drink. A sigh, a murmuring of If you're trying to poison me, at least have an alibi… before it's raised like a chalice to the lips and, tentatively, he drinks.

He swears the glitter clogs his through the moment he does, and he chokes. ( although, the choking may not all be from the glitter. ) Like congealed blood, glitter clinging, he can feel the pieces cut micro-ribbons of flesh down his esophagus as it slides down in a wet mass, leaving behind it a terrible feeling of glitter lining the space between his lungs down, down, down. The taste is indescribable ━ sharp and salty and sweet and bitter and tangy all at once, apricots and rotten fruit and alcohol, the taste of sweat and iron and cinnamon, unpleasantly cold at first which becomes kinder as it soothes the roughness of the throat's wounds before the heat hits the way habanero in coffee does. like dark chocolate, like stale cake frosting, like pleasantly unpleasant soreness, sweet-sour wine, cloying cheap children's medicine, nausea-inducing cigarette smoke.

Indescribable the way cubic measurements of atmosphere containing updraft are indescribable, not indescribable the way metrics too large and too small become nothing. indescribable like space, like music, like sea.

Like God, he thinks, like Innocence. he corrects; Like God. Like Pale. Innocence is a dead language they've been trying to read, and neither of them, neither of them, were born enough to be that again. But maybe they were, once. Like Pale. Like dreaming. Like oblivion. ( Apricots still linger in it like fruit floating on saltwater, fermenting on waves, cracked wide as geodes and spilling guts, spilling light. Beneath it is an oil spill 300 kilometers long from a model of motor carriage that has not been made since the day he was born, mingling, separate, beneath, above. Like tainting it, like swallowing it whole, like becoming more by virtue of what he gives, by no virtue at all. ) Like God, he thinks, like Innocence.

Kitsuragi's composure returns to him, and with the embarrassment of a freshman being handed a drink he couldn't handle, he screws the thermos shut again, and passes it back with the more guttural-than-usual sound of clearing his throat. He pulls off a glove and swipes the flesh of a hand over his mouth, bottom lip coated in the shine of something like lip-gloss beneath the chunky square glitter clinging to it. Stubbornly, pieces remain regardless of how hard he scrubs it away, caught in the cracks between lips, before he sighs, slips a glove back on, and resolves to chew on the skin for the rest of the day, if only to hide it, until he can attempt to better extract it somewhat mournfully with the bristles of a toothbrush. A small part of him asks him to let it stay, and the rest of him refuses. A moments consideration, but little else ━ at least for now, anyway, at least for now.

As the flavor lingers on his tongue like an unwelcome guest, progressively, it shifts. never does it lose the sharpened edges, the quality of chaos, the almost fermented kind of age & simultaneous unblended freshness to it, all mixed together and separate all at once, but over time it mellows, perhaps, or maybe Kim just gets used to it. the acidic highs mesh better with the taste of artificial fruit and the heat lends itself as he considers it to the taste of cheap coffee and dark chocolate. grape sugar with the salt and bitter not better but a different taste than they would be alone, iron manageable with the undertone of something other than the blood ━ maybe it becomes more palatable the longer its in his mouth, accustomed like an acquired taste king of all acquired tastes, or maybe it just burns itself out the longer it's left to mix with something other than itself. Saliva like a neutralizer to however many medications he can feel, chalky, on the underside of his tongue.

The heat subsides and the bitterness erodes, slowly and fast all at once, and a smoother kind of flavor emerges from beneath all of it. soft lime and distant haze of honey and a kind of watered down cocktail, no longer sharp with alcohol, but cold anyway. like something hidden, like something suffocated, like something that couldn't afford to come out unless it knew, really knew, it wasn't going to be rejected. the craze of the rest does not die, but the aftertaste offers a different kind of kindness, like hangover medication after a bad night. charcoal pill, cool water, dimmed lights. ( acts of love, acts of not wanting to see someone dear in pain, acts of staying with them; staying with them; regardless of how wretched they were the night before. people cant get that sad, she said to you once, or you thought she did, but people will love you enough to kneel at your bedside and hold your sweaty hand and close the blinds so the world can't see you for just a little while more. people will love you and be loved and try to save you, and maybe you cannot be saved, no one can, there is no messiah waiting at the foot of your bed to cure you, the world just doesn't work like that, and you can't keep waiting for it, but people will love you enough to wash the stains out from your favorite shirt so you can keep it a little longer.

people who bring cold cloths when you are sick and sweet coffee when you need something to keep you warm, people who can't save you but can in the same strokes; where it's not saving you, it's giving you the means to save yourself. people who work you through it as you lift the stones you're building castles out of, hoping, praying that you don't smash them down again. people who stand proud for you at the checkmarks in the road, and tell you that you're doing good, and wait for you when you can't keep running, or even when you turn back and decide it's easier to give up than to sink in deeper. people you've treated bad before, and cannot stay forever, and cannot save you, but they love you enough to stay a little longer. they love you enough to hold you when you need it, and hold you down when you need that too, and make the hard calls you'll hate them for. they love you hard enough that it turns into hate when it's fed the wrong things, giving dogs chocolate, but they love you, love you, love you. )

it soothes pain of his throat, and Kim does not concede to the fact he finds himself wanting another sip, another shot of chaos and that sweeter smoother aftertaste, knowing what he's putting in his body and deciding to come back anyway, wondering, but he admits; quietly to himself as he holds the pieces of glitter in his hands like the shed skin of a disco ball in his little bathroom in the Whirling that night; that maybe the pain is worth the reward. that maybe he's crazy, but maybe they both need a little sanity, a little less, a little something else.

( kneeling at your bedside when you are too afraid to sleep, he traces the scars nickering your hands, and cleans his glasses, and slowly; slowly; the apricots stop mattering. as you notice a little more how the oil spill gleams on the crest of waves, as the oil spill becomes something different. )

-100 HP. +660 HP.

[populationpensive]

This is a great response. *claps*

While I did not attend medical school, the path to PA school (all the shadowing, patient care hours etc), and the school itself also forced me to grow up rather quickly.

Working in health care gives you a perspective that you don't normally appreciate. When you are training to make decisions, break bad news, and have tough conversations, you end up (hopefully) developing a certain kind of maturity level that makes living just a little more meaningful than it was before. That perspective is enlightening for the things that really matter. Sometimes, what matters isn't curing the disease but making sure there is a death with dignity - these are the things your schooling teaches.

I am personally happy I didn't get into graduate school until 27. I speak with so many pre-health people who are afraid of the gap year(s).

Don't. Fear. The. Gap. Year

That time helps prepare you for the emotionally bankrupting experience that can be graduate school.

I also agree with the introvert sentiment - you either earn to be a "people person" (big fucking air quotes there) or you need to find a specialty that supports your...no people mindset. Or you need to find a different path.

Hello Dr. Wayfaring, I'd like to ask in what special ways ,if any, your medical school changed you. (Besides instructing you!) Was there something in the environment,the faculty, the students,the physical setting?

This is a great question. I think, if anything, medical school made me more confident in dealing with people. I was always the kid who didn’t want to order the pizza or tell the waitress my order because it meant I’d have to talk to another human. My mother, on the other hand, will know the Walmart checkout lady’s life story before she’s finished bagging her groceries. I just don’t love talking to people I don’t know. I’m a deep introvert at heart.

Med school forces you to face that discomfort in talking to new people, and it does it on a daily basis. It’s no problem for me to talk to strangers in the office (although I still won’t strike up a conversation in the checkout line). I’m not a confrontational person, but med school also taught me how to handle difficult news or difficult patient encounters with grace and civility. So while I still don’t love confronting patients about their illicit drug use or their inappropriate behavior, I can do it without panicking.

Overall, I’d say med school forced me into adulthood. I went straight through from college to med school and graduated at only 25, so I was still not fully ready to adult at that age. But once you’ve watched some people die, a few get born, and have given bad news to a dozen or more people, you learn that you really can put on your big girl panties and do the things.

Medblrs, how did medical school change you?

[genderqueerdykes]

one of the most evil parts about me being told that i needed to lose weight before i could get my diseased gallbladder removed was that without telling me at all whatsoever, the physician's assistant who was responsible for my surgery consult silently gave me a referral for bariatric weight loss surgery. she told me that i'd have to get my gallbladder removal surgery with that department as well because they're used to working on bigger bodies.

she told me this, but that's not what she meant. she wanted me to get bariatric weight loss surgery all because i told her that i have poly cystic ovarian syndrome and that it's hard for me to willingly lose weight. when i called the bariatric surgeons about scheduling my consult for my gallbladder removal, they were extremely confused and were like "well is this for the bariatric surgery referral or the gallbladder removal referral?"

without my permission, without me asking, the physician's assistant silently signed me up for weight loss surgery that i never consented to. i never once mentioned wanting this surgery. i never once mentioned that my weight is affecting my health or bothering me. this person saw this as a mandatory step in order to get the surgery to remove my diseased organ. as if there were no other options. i never want to get bariatric weight loss surgery because i know it will completely devastate my health. this PA was so stuck on my weight. she could not get over it, she was literally obsessed. she did not care about my health, safety or well being, she was just obsessed with her hatred of fat people

she saw my weight as a higher priority than my diseased gallbladder. she was so stuck up her own ass that she was convinced that my weight was doing more damage to me than my gallbladder was. she wanted to keep blaming me for eating a high fat diet (i'm a vegetarian- i don't eat a high fat diet) and mocking me for being fat. she literally saw me being fat as a bigger issue than the fact that i had a literal rock stuck in the neck of one of my organs. if you ask me, if the surgeons and anesthesiologists have problems working on fat patients, that's a skill issue on them. that means you're a bad surgeon or anesthesiologist and you need to try to improve your skills. this is a literal skill issue, it's not the patient's fault that the medical professional fucking sucks at their job!

i can't describe to you how evil and insidious that is. the fact that she looked at me and went "oh my fucking god it's your weight that's the problem just go lose weight you fat asshole" just showed how much disregard she has for her fat patients. it's like she relishes torturing us or leaving us to be sick or die. there's no reason to behave this way. there's no reason to FORCE someone into weight loss surgery. my health is NOT being negatively impacted by my weight- gallstones are not caused by being overweight, and you can't give yourself gallstones. no matter how much fat you eat you can't give yourself gallstones- this is something that happens outside of your control

i hate medical professionals who are proudly fatphobic. they wear the fact that they let people remain sick and die as a badge of honor. like they're doing the world a favor. like staying sick or dying is better off for the patient. like the patient somehow doesn't "DESERVE" to be in good health. fat people DO deserve to be in good health. we DON'T have to "EARN" surgeries or life saving procedures. we are alive and human just like everyone else. this qualifies us for being cared for medically, no matter what. leave your prejudices at home. you can't just kill fat people because you don't like that we exist.

[onlyherefortheshowmances]

TW/CW: Suicidal ideation (without intent currently).

TL/DR:  I am trying to find a doctor anywhere in the state of Pennsylvania that accepts UPMC for You (medicaid) and is willing to at least try solve to my medical mystery. Preferably a family doctor with connections to a rheumatologist and possibly neurology and/or pain management. One that will actually listen and not give up and actually care that I'm in acute pain. I feel like my own body is trying to kill me. I have for a month or more. 

I want every single blood test you can do on a person. Every possible imaging study you can do. A sleep study. Another Holter monitor. LITERRALLY EVERYTHING because I am so tired of 'try this, try this' I want to know for sure exactly what is causing this.

At this point I just need a single doctor to either tell me I'm dying (which is what it feels like is happening) or one to tell me what's actually wrong and causing all this and how we can actually treat it while dealing with the immediate pain.

I'm tired of going to ERs every week. I'm tired of doctor's who are more afraid of the DEA than they are of their patient's dying. Because I don't want to wake up with this pain tomorrow morning. I cannot live life like this. 

This pain and the fact that no one in the medical field (other than my PT) seems to care about it at all. This pain that my current PCP respond to "I want someone to actually figure out what's wrong with me." by saying "We don't know." as if it is not literally her job to figure that out. I went through the entire appointment saying "What about the pain I'm in right now?" And all that happened was she took me off Lyrica which had side effects I couldn't deal with and prescribed Savella instead and told me to come back in a week once I titrate up to the correct dosage. What about that week? I don't have enough meds from the ER to last until next Tuesday ma'am. I was there on Saturday and they are legally only allowed to prescribe 3 days work of narcotics. He did give me 10 days worth of flexeril for which I'm grateful, but that on its own isn't enough, and my PCP won't give me anything at all. I literally told her my previous family doc only checked my TSH level not T3 or T4 (thyroid hormones). Did she order the additional tests? Has she ordered any tests at all in fact? NO. And she keeps saying insomnia when I tell her I have to take the oxy and flexeril to be able to sleep through the night. THAT'S NOT INSOMNIA. THAT IS ME BEING IN SO MUCH PAIN THAT I CAN'T SLEEP. At my appointment today I told her that almost every morning when I wake up in excruciating pain, I wish I wouldn’t’ve woken up at all; that death feels like a better option and that that thought scared me as someone with a history of suicidal ideation and attempts, and she literally did not care an ounce.

My Rheumatologist keeps trying to give me prednisone which DOES NOT WORK! And says take 2 Aleve twice a day. If Aleve worked for my pain do you think I would have been to the emergency room FOUR times since March 16th? I wouldn't have requested to see you sooner if Aleve did anything.

Not one person has cared about my sudden onset fatigue spells that keep getting more frequent to the point I'm hesitant to drive very far unless absolutely necessary because one of these times I'm gonna actually pass out. That's probably what it'll take for the medical professionals to care. Me falling asleep while driving. I think this may be POTS, because I also get random bouts of 'benign' tachycardia at the most random times.

They just keep slapping labels on things instead of just actually checking or even asking me half the time. I'm about 80% sure I have EDS, but apparently the closest person that will even test let alone diagnose someone over the age of 18 is in Philadelphia and I'd need a referral from my Rheumatologist to see that person.

[er-osion]

Stumble In(to my life)

pairing: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

summary: You tend to Red Hood after he’s mildly injured on patrol, he then sticks around a little.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: none, fluff

author’s note: you can find part 2 here

∾∾∘⋅∗⋄⋆⋄∗⋅∘∾∾

You looked up from your books to the soft thump outside your window. A normal person wouldn’t have heard the noise at all, but your ears had become accustomed to listening for it. It was late, far later than you should be up, but tonight was a night filled with studying and anxiety, so sleep evaded you. You put a bookmark in your textbook and closed it, being careful of your notes, and got up from your couch. You just reached the window as a large armored figure clamored through. Backing up, you gave the beast of a man space to gracefully tumble through your window and into your apartment. The sound of sirens off in the distance became muffled once again when the man closed the window tightly behind him.

Red Hood never said much. A man of few words you supposed, at least when he was injured —which was the only time you saw him. You couldn’t recall when this little arrangement between the two of you began, maybe around a year ago. The Red Hood crashed and stumbled into your life one fateful night, and had been doing so ever since. But only when he needed a patch job, and he never took off his helmet. Even when you could tell he had a head injury that needed tending, he wouldn’t remove the red helmet. You knew he trusted you, clearly a lot more than he trusted others, but a part of you was still a little hurt. You'd known him for so long and still yet to see his real face or hear his real voice unmodulated. Oddly enough, you’d call Hood a friend. Even if you didn’t know his real name along with many other things about him, and even if he knew very little about you other than the basics, you’d consider him a good friend. And deep down you’re sure he thinks the same.

Hood slumps down on the couch, but you notice he’s careful to avoid being anywhere near your textbooks and notes. You silently appreciate the move, since last time he got blood on your papers and you had to come up with a believable story for your professor explaining why there were blood splatters on your homework.

“Rough night?” You ask jokingly as you get out the first aid kit. Hood gives a ‘Hmpf’ in response and rests his head against the back of the couch. You move your school stuff off the coffee table and set out the supplies from the first aid kit. You let your eyes roam his figure to try and find the injuries you’d be taking care of tonight. You slyly take in Hood’s toned muscles as you look for wounds, taking the action as a less obvious chance to check him out. However secretive he may be, you can’t deny the man looks good. Actually, “looks good” is an understatement, his abs could cut diamonds.

“How many bruises are you gonna have in the morning?” You ask as you help him take off his leather jacket which is crusted with dried blood here and there.

“Too many.” He’s short with his words but by now you can hear the underlying exhaustion in them. His voice sounds robotic from the mask, but it still brings you a wave of comfort to hear.

“Anything I can’t see?” This phrase has become your way of asking where his most concerning injuries are, and whether or not he’s comfortable with you dealing with them.

“No, tonight’s just the obvious stuff.”

“Not any less painful I presume.”

“And as usual, you’re right, angel.” Your lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile at the nickname. You’ve started cleaning the gashes on his arms and wrapping them with gauze and bandages. Hood relaxes a bit more into the couch, tensing only when you start cleaning wounds with the cold water and saline solution.

As you’re working your mind drifts into thinking about the nature of your relationship with this vigilante. Part of you is proud, honored even, that the elusive Red Hood trusts you enough to seek you out for medical care. But another part of you, the part you don’t really want to acknowledge, is angry he only ever visits when he needs fixing. He doesn’t tell you anything about himself, not even ice-breaker facts, and he doesn’t really ask about you. He doesn’t drop by anytime he’s not injured and he never tells you when he’s coming, he just shows up at your window injured without warning. Your heart stings when you think that you might be dead last on Red Hood’s priority list, especially considering he’s first on yours. Does he really only think of you as a patch job? Someone who will treat him without asking any questions? Does he even have any interest in your life at all? Does he ever think about you when he’s not around, like you think of him? By now, you’ve lost yourself in the spiral of your thoughts and are blankly working out of muscle memory. You don’t even notice, but Red Hood does.

Jason watches you work through the eyes of his helmet. He can see the distance in your eyes and can tell you’re thinking hard about something else. But even as your mind wanders, your hands do not. You work efficiently and effectively on cleaning and wrapping his wounds. You take care to check for broken bones and remove any debris you find in his skin. He appreciates you. He’s certain he appreciates you more than you’ll ever know. He didn’t realize how lucky he was when he stumbled through your window all those nights ago. He didn’t realize that night that he’d gain a safe haven. He’s never felt more secure than when he’s with you in your apartment. Jason’s never felt more comfortable than when in your presence. He thinks it’s a little odd. You don’t know what his face looks like, hell, you don’t even know his real name, but his trust in you is an ever flowing river. Jason trusts you more than he trusts himself sometimes. Jason blinks out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in and focuses back on you. The lamps in your apartment provide the only measly light for you to work with, but right now they aren’t crummy. No, the lamps have painted your figure in a warm glow that has Jason’s heart stuttering in an unusual way. The homey furniture melts into the dim background and you're the only thing in focus in Jason’s vision. It’s moments like these when Jason is hit with a flurry of emotions he doesn’t understand. You finish wrapping his last bandage and look up at him with the most gentle but curious eyes he’s ever seen and Red Hood suddenly feels like he’s about to choke. His chest swirls with feelings and he can’t even begin to grasp what they are or what they mean. He wants to say “thank you, thank you for always looking after me even when I don’t deserve it,” but the words get caught in his throat. There’s a tranquil silence that follows where you just look at each other, of course, you can’t tell exactly what Red Hood is looking at but you can feel his gaze on you. When a minute passes you get up slowly and start to put the first aid kit away. Jason watches you from behind the safety of his helmet and moves to help you package everything back up.

Hood’s gloved hand picks up a roll of gauze and brings it over to the kit, but you quickly —albeit gently— put your hand over his to stop him and take the gauze yourself. “You don’t have to do that. You’re injured, rest.” You say with quiet authority and go back to cleaning up the table. Hood doesn’t say anything but leans back into the couch and doesn’t continue to help, though deep down he wants to. He feels he owes you, he knows he owes you. He wants to do something, anything to pay back the kindness you’ve shown him but he can never think of the right thing to do.

“You’re welcome to sit here for a bit, regain some energy before you head to wherever it is you hide during the day. I’ve just got some notes to finish for class.” You provide as you sit down in the chair next to your sofa, repositioning all your textbooks and papers. Hood just nods in reply. “Oh, and you can turn on the tv if you’d like, I don’t mind.” There’s a pause before you see the vigilante move to grab the remote and turn on your tv. You smile a bit at your papers, finding a small happiness in the fact he’s able to settle into your home so well. You secretly wish he’d come and watch tv with you just for fun, not because he needs to recover from a stab wound.

Every once in a while, Jason’s eyes drift from the tv screen to where you’re seated taking notes for your class. Jason does his best to memorize this moment and neatly pack it away in a safe little box in his brain. He wants to remember this quiet moment of togetherness forever. He wants to say something, he wants your beautiful eyes back on him but he also doesn’t want to disrupt the pleasant quiet that swirls around your living room.

Red Hood clears his throat and shimmies into a straighter posture. “Thanks by the way.” You look up at the vigilante and tilt your head in confusion at his remark.

“For what?” You let out a small chuckle, the confusion is evident in your voice. Jason’s lips quirk up in a small smile under his helmet at your confusion at his thanks.

“For all this to start,” Hood motions to himself “and also just for letting me in here. For letting me into your home without fair warning. Your patience with my bullshit seems to know no bounds, you deserve an award merely for that. So… thanks.” Thank you for letting me into your life and making me feel cared for, Jason wants to add on, but that seems a little too open about his feelings for the moment. He hopes you’re able to pick up on the subtext of his words, he hopes you can put together the puzzle pieces of his words that form the colorful picture of his appreciation for you.

You smile lightly, “Of course, Hood. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy having your giant smartass around.” You took a deep breath and let loose a shot in the dark. “I just wish you’d stumble in here when you weren’t injured sometimes, just to hang around.” You awkwardly divert your eyes to the floor and take a major interest in the small stains in the wood. Hood is quiet and unmoving and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad, you can’t tell if you crossed an unspoken line. Jason’s mind is reeling, trying to catch up with the implications of your words. Do you mean you want him around more? Do you mean you want a deeper friendship with him? Do you mean you truly enjoy his presence so much you want more of it in your life? You risk a look back up at Red Hood and when Jason sees the genuine look in your eyes he hopes the modulator in his helmet doesn’t give away the deep breath he had to intake to try and calm his heart.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to drop by more often then, angel.” Hood tries to play off the deepness of the moment with suave teasing, he has to retain at least a little dignity in front of you.

You smirk at his clearly playful comeback, “Just make sure you show up with takeout or some groceries. I can’t be providing everything for you all of the time.” Hood huffs out a laugh.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good.” You smile warmly at him and Jason mirrors you beneath his helmet. There’s a soft silence that follows where the two of you just look at each other. Then you go back to finishing your notes with the smile still plastered on your face. Jason is already planning out his schedule so he can drop in just for fun as soon as possible without seeming desperate to hang out.

“My cuts are pretty sore by the way and I’m quite fatigued so I might have to stay for a bit longer.”

“Hm, well if that’s what you need to do then I can’t deny you. I’m not going to kick Gotham's hero out of my apartment while he’s down.” You know he’s not really that sore or fatigued. You can tell by his body language or his tone of voice when he is. You know he’s just saying that to ask if it’s okay if he stays a bit longer than usual. Of course, you’d never say no. You’d offer him to stay the night but you don’t want him to get uncomfortable, though deep down, you’re desperate for his prolonged presence.

“Tch, that’s a relief. However, I’m afraid I might also need some moral support, as you can see, your poor hero of Gotham has had a rough night.”

You smirk and raise an eyebrow but don’t deny him. You get up from your seat and move to sit next to him on the couch. Your finished notes are left forgotten on your previous chair and you dial into the show Hood was watching on the tv. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing my hero of Gotham and I have a similar taste in tv —it makes giving moral support easier.” You feel Hood’s quiet chuckle through the vibrations of the couch, a feeling you want again and again. Jason tries not to think too hard on your use of the word ‘my’ or how it’s echoing in his head like a tantalizing mantra.

“A good thing indeed.”

“I didn’t realize vigilantes had time to pick favorite tv shows.”

“How else do you think we pass the time waiting for a store to be robbed during patrol?”

“I figured you just brooded the entire time, seeing as you costumed weirdos can never get over anything in your entire lives.”

“How rude, us weirdos do get over things, like buildings or cars when chasing down our enemies.”

“Hardy har har, I bet you think you’re clever for that one.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think, I know I’m clever for that one.”

“So arrogant.”

“Not arrogant, confident.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” The lighthearted banter between the two of you fills the room with the warmth of familiarity. Neither of you seemed to notice how close you’d gotten to each other on instinct. Your shoulders are just brushing his and you can feel his body heat seeping into your skin. You’re fighting the urge to press closer and unbeknownst to you, Jason is doing the same. Your body and heart is begging you to rest your head against Hood’s leather-clad shoulder but you push the thoughts down in fear of making things awkward or scaring him off. Jason’s mind is running rampant with internal pleas for you to rest against him, he wants nothing more right now than to feel the comfortable weight of you against his side. But Jason doesn’t act or speak any of these thoughts into reality, worried he’ll cross a line or make you uncomfortable. So the two of you sit there on your couch for who knows how long. Mingling on the side of cuddling but not quite reaching the threshold. Both of you sit contented with the closeness and security of spending what had been a rough evening together, but silently desperate for more. But more is for a different evening, another night when Red Hood stumbles through your window.

[urdreamydoodles]

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

You hurt yourself doing home renovations

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara & Wally West

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- Bruce notices the injury immediately; his sharp, calculating eyes miss nothing. “You’re hurt,” he says, his tone low but with an edge of worry that only someone close to him might detect. He takes your hand gently but firmly, examining the bandage with the practiced ease of someone who’s patched himself up countless times. “What happened?” he asks, his voice even, though his jaw tightens. You explain it was a minor accident during your renovation project, but he doesn’t look convinced.

- Without a word, Bruce retrieves a medical kit and kneels in front of you. His movements are efficient, his touch steady but surprisingly gentle. “This could’ve been worse,” he says as he rewraps the bandage, his voice tinged with a seriousness that makes your heart ache. “You need to be more careful.” It’s not just a suggestion—it’s a command born of a deep fear he rarely voices.

- “I’m helping you finish this,” he declares, standing and rolling up his sleeves. His presence is commanding, as always, and there’s no room for argument. Watching Bruce work is like watching a master strategist; every movement is calculated, every decision deliberate. Despite his seriousness, he pauses occasionally to ask if you’re okay, his concern manifesting in small but meaningful ways.

- As you work together, Bruce’s reserved demeanor softens slightly. He shares stories from his own mishaps at Wayne Manor, a rare glimpse into the man behind the mask. “Alfred still teases me about the time I tried to fix a chandelier,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It’s in these moments that you see the man behind the Bat—the man who loves you fiercely, even if he struggles to show it.

- That evening, as you sit in the newly completed space, Bruce wraps an arm around your shoulders. “You mean everything to me,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability. “I can’t lose you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and firm against your skin. Bruce’s love is steadfast, protective, and unyielding—a shield against the darkness that surrounds him.

Kal-El (Clark Kent) aka. Superman

- Clark’s face falls the moment he notices your injury. “What happened?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. His large, gentle hands take yours, his thumb brushing softly against the bandage. When you explain it was just a small accident during your renovation, his brow furrows in worry. “You should’ve called me,” he says, his voice warm but firm. “I would’ve been here in seconds.”

- He insists on checking your hand, his touch impossibly gentle. “I know it’s not serious, but even small injuries can hurt,” he says, his blue eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. As he examines the wound, his movements are deliberate, careful—a reflection of the restraint he always practices to keep his immense strength in check.

- “I’m not letting you finish this alone,” Clark declares, his easy smile returning. Watching him work is a sight to behold—his strength and speed make quick work of the tasks, but he’s careful to include you in the process. “You know, you’re pretty amazing for taking this on yourself,” he says, his admiration clear. “But maybe next time, let me do the heavy lifting.”

- Clark fills the room with his presence, his laughter ringing out as he shares stories of his childhood on the farm. “Pa used to say I could fix anything, but I don’t think he meant it literally,” he jokes, his grin infectious. His positivity is contagious, turning the task into a joyful experience rather than a chore.

- As the day winds down, Clark pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “You scared me today,” he admits, his voice soft. “You’re my world, and I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” His love is vast and unwavering, a force of nature as steady and comforting as the sun.

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry is at your side before you even realize he’s noticed your injury. “Hey, what’s this?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern as he gently lifts your hand. His blue eyes dart to the bandage, then back to your face. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he teases, but his worry is evident. “How’d this happen?”

- In a blur, he’s retrieved the first aid kit, his hands moving at super-speed to clean and rewrap your wound. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” he says with a wink, though his focus is absolute. Barry’s always been quick—literally and emotionally—but when it comes to you, he takes his time, ensuring every detail is perfect. “You’ve got to let me know when you need help,” he says, his tone soft but sincere.

- “Alright, you’re officially benched,” Barry announces with a grin. “I’m finishing this for you.” He’s a whirlwind of energy as he tackles the project, moving so fast that you can barely keep track. But he makes sure to slow down just enough to include you, cracking jokes and asking your opinion at every step.

- Barry’s lighthearted nature turns the renovation into a fun adventure. “You know, if this whole superhero thing doesn’t work out, I might have a future in carpentry,” he says, laughing as he perfectly aligns a frame in a fraction of a second. His joy is infectious, and you find yourself smiling despite the day’s earlier chaos.

- At the end of the day, Barry pulls you into his arms, his touch warm and reassuring. “You’re my lightning rod,” he says softly, his words carrying the weight of his feelings. “I need you safe, always.” His love is fast and electrifying, but it’s also deeply grounding—a steady current that ties him to you, no matter how quickly the world moves around him.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- Diana’s gaze sharpens the moment she sees your bandaged hand. “What happened?” she asks, her voice steady but filled with concern. She moves closer, taking your hand in hers with a warrior’s precision and a lover’s tenderness. When you explain the accident, she frowns, her lips pressing into a determined line. “You should have called for me,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

- She kneels before you, her hands strong yet gentle as she examines your injury. “Even the smallest wounds must be treated with care,” she says, her tone carrying the wisdom of centuries. As she cleans and rewraps the bandage, her movements are deliberate, each one filled with a quiet reverence for your well-being. “Your safety matters to me,” she adds, her eyes meeting yours with unwavering sincerity.

- “Come,” Diana says, rising gracefully to her feet. “We will finish this together.” She takes the lead with effortless strength and grace, her presence commanding yet reassuring. Watching her work is mesmerizing; every movement is precise, every decision thoughtful. “This is good work you’ve started,” she says, her voice warm with pride. “But let me ease your burden.”

- Diana shares stories of Themyscira as you work, her voice rich with history and passion. “On my island, we build with our hands and our hearts,” she says, her smile radiant. “Each task is an opportunity to honor the strength within us.” Her words inspire you, her belief in your capabilities unwavering.

- That evening, Diana draws you into a gentle embrace, her arms strong and protective. “You are precious to me,” she says, her voice a soft melody. “I cannot bear the thought of you in pain.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if to seal her vow. Diana’s love is fierce and enduring, a flame that burns brightly and warmly, illuminating every corner of your heart.

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- Arthur notices the bandage on your hand the moment he walks through the door, his sharp, sea-green eyes narrowing in concern. “What happened, love?” he asks, his deep voice steady but tinged with worry. When you explain the accident, he shakes his head with a low chuckle. “You’re as stubborn as the tides, you know that?” he says, though his expression softens as he takes your hand in his rough but gentle grip.

- “Let me see,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He inspects your injury carefully, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin. “It’s not bad, but you’ve got to be more careful,” he mutters, his voice filled with a protective edge. Arthur’s care is practical, but there’s an underlying tenderness that speaks volumes about how deeply he feels for you.

- “Alright, you’re done for the day,” he declares, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I’ll handle the rest.” Despite your protests, Arthur’s determination is unyielding. Watching him work is a marvel; his strength makes heavy tasks look effortless, but he’s surprisingly meticulous, his movements precise and deliberate. “This is easy compared to wrangling sea monsters,” he teases, flashing you a grin.

- As he works, Arthur regales you with tales of Atlantis, his deep voice resonating like the waves. “Did I ever tell you about the time Mera and I rebuilt the coral spires after a storm?” he asks, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder. His stories are vivid and captivating, his love for his home—and for you—evident in every word.

- That evening, Arthur pulls you into his arms, his embrace as warm and encompassing as the ocean itself. “You scared me,” he admits, his voice low and serious. “You’re my anchor, and I can’t bear to see you hurt.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to soothe away all your worries. Arthur’s love is as vast and enduring as the sea, a force of nature that surrounds and protects you.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- Hal’s easygoing demeanor shifts the moment he notices the bandage on your hand. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he takes your hand gently. His green eyes scan the wound, his expression a mix of worry and amusement. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with sharp objects?” he teases, though his grip tightens protectively.

- “Alright, let me play doctor,” he says with a wink, summoning a glowing green construct of a first aid kit. Hal’s touch is careful as he rewraps your bandage, his usual bravado giving way to surprising precision. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says softly, his tone carrying a weight that shows how much he cares.

- “Looks like I’m your personal handyman today,” Hal declares, conjuring a glowing hammer with a flourish. He tackles the project with his trademark confidence, his constructs turning the mundane task into something almost magical. “See? Easy,” he says, flashing you a cocky grin. “You’ve got the best in the business on your side.”

- As he works, Hal keeps you entertained with his endless banter and larger-than-life stories. “There was this one time on Oa…” he begins, spinning a tale that’s equal parts unbelievable and hilarious. His humor lightens the atmosphere, and his laughter is infectious, making even the simplest moments feel special.

- Later, as you sit together under the soft glow of his ring, Hal wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You know, you’re my reason to keep coming back to Earth,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t want anything happening to you.” His love is like his willpower—unshakable, glowing brightly and guiding you through even the darkest times.

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- “Whoa, hold up—what happened to your hand?” Oliver asks, his sharp gaze landing on your bandaged injury. Before you can brush it off, he’s already by your side, gently taking your hand in his. “You didn’t think to call me?” he teases, though his voice carries a hint of genuine worry. “I could’ve handled this in no time.”

- He grabs the first aid kit, his hands surprisingly deft as he unwraps and rebandages your wound. “You’ve got to be more careful, beautiful,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I can’t have you sidelined—you’re my best partner, after all.” His touch is light, but the protective edge in his tone makes it clear how much he cares.

- “Alright, step aside. The Green Arrow is on the job,” Oliver says, flashing you a trademark smirk. Watching him work is an experience in itself—he’s efficient and surprisingly skilled, despite his playful demeanor. “Bet you didn’t know I was handy with a hammer, huh?” he jokes, his grin lighting up the room.

- Oliver keeps the mood light with his constant humor and quick wit. “You know, I once tried to fix a broken bowstring and ended up snapping three more,” he says, laughing at the memory. His charm is irresistible, and he has a way of making even the most tedious tasks feel fun and exciting.

- As the evening winds down, Oliver pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. “You scared me today,” he admits, his voice low and serious. “I’ve lost enough people in my life—I’m not losing you too.” He kisses your forehead, his lips warm and lingering. Oliver’s love is bold, passionate, and unwavering, a constant in your life that leaves you feeling cherished and protected.

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- John notices the injury immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “What’s this, then?” he asks, his voice a mix of concern and irritation. He steps closer, taking your hand in his surprisingly gentle grip. “Bloody hell, love, you’ve got to take better care of yourself,” he mutters, his usual sarcasm tempered by genuine worry.

- He doesn’t bother with a first aid kit—instead, he mutters a few words in Latin, and a faint glow surrounds your hand. “There, good as new,” he says with a smirk, though his eyes linger on you with a rare softness. “Don’t make me have to fix you up like this again, yeah?” he adds, his tone light but edged with seriousness.

- “Right, let’s see what mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” John says, surveying the unfinished renovation. He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, grumbling under his breath but surprisingly competent. “Don’t look so shocked—I’m full of surprises,” he says with a wink.

- As he works, John keeps up a steady stream of sardonic commentary and darkly humorous anecdotes. “This reminds me of the time I tried to patch up a hole in my flat’s wall. Ended up summoning a demon instead,” he quips, his dry humor making you laugh despite yourself. His presence, though chaotic, is oddly reassuring.

- Later, as you both sit in the dim light, John lights another cigarette, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ve got to be more careful, love,” he says quietly. “I’ve got enough demons to fight—I don’t need to be worrying about losing you too.” His love is raw, messy, and laced with his own brand of charm, but it’s as real and unshakable as the man himself.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- Roy notices your bandaged hand the moment he steps in. “What the hell happened?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, though his trademark smirk softens the words. He takes your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against yours. “You didn’t think to call me? I’m literally a pro at making bad decisions—and patching them up after.”

- “Alright, sit tight,” he says, pulling out a first aid kit with a flourish. His movements are surprisingly precise, honed from years of taking care of himself and others. “This isn’t bad, but next time, maybe call me before you go all DIY warrior,” he jokes, though the worry in his eyes betrays his casual tone.

- Roy insists on helping you finish the project, despite your protests. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you do this alone?” he says, grabbing a hammer with an exaggerated show of confidence. His work is a mix of skill and chaos—he’s good at what he does, but his playful energy keeps things unpredictable.

- As you work together, Roy’s humor keeps you laughing. “You know, I once tried to fix a broken bow. Ended up breaking three more,” he says, grinning at the memory. He’s full of stories, each one more absurd than the last, but they’re all delivered with a charm that makes you forget about the mess around you.

- Later, as you both sit back to admire the (somewhat chaotic) results, Roy pulls you close, his arm slung around your shoulders. “You mean the world to me, you know that?” he says, his voice softer than usual. “Don’t scare me like that again, alright?” His love is messy but wholehearted, a constant reminder that you’re his anchor in a turbulent world.

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- Kori’s luminous green eyes widen in concern when she sees your bandaged hand. “Oh no, my love, what has happened?” she asks, taking your hand delicately in hers. Her warmth radiates through her touch as she examines the wound. “Does it pain you? Please, tell me how I can help.”

- She gently kisses your hand, her lips soft and glowing faintly. “On Tamaran, we believe healing begins with love,” she says, her voice filled with sincerity. She insists on tending to the injury herself, her movements careful and deliberate. Her concern is almost palpable, her love for you evident in every action.

- Kori is eager to assist with your project, her strength and enthusiasm turning what could have been a chore into an exciting adventure. “Let us work together,” she says, her smile bright enough to light up the room. Watching her lift heavy beams effortlessly and handle tools with childlike curiosity is both impressive and endearing.

- As you work side by side, Kori shares stories of her home planet. “On Tamaran, we build homes with our families, singing songs of unity and joy,” she says, her voice rich with nostalgia. Her passion for her culture and her desire to share it with you make the task feel meaningful and connected.

- At the end of the day, Kori pulls you into her embrace, her warmth enveloping you like sunlight. “You are my heart,” she says softly, her glowing eyes meeting yours. “I cannot bear the thought of you in pain.” She kisses your forehead tenderly, her love as radiant and boundless as the stars she comes from.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara’s superhuman senses catch your injury before you even try to hide it. “Wait—what happened to your hand?” she asks, her tone a mix of concern and mild panic. She’s by your side in an instant, her blue eyes scanning your bandage with laser-like focus. “You didn’t think to call me? I could’ve been here in a second!”

- She insists on checking your injury, her touch gentle despite her immense strength. “It’s not too bad, but I’m still worried,” she admits, biting her lip as she adjusts the bandage. “Next time, promise me you’ll let me help, okay?” Her voice is firm but filled with a tenderness that makes your heart melt.

- Kara takes over the renovation project with her usual enthusiasm, zipping around at super-speed to get things done. “This is so much easier than stopping meteors,” she jokes, flashing you a bright smile. Despite her incredible abilities, she makes sure to include you, asking for your input and slowing down to let you participate.

- As you work, Kara shares stories of Krypton, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and pride. “Back home, we had machines to do most of this,” she says, a wistful smile crossing her face. “But I think there’s something special about doing it with your own hands—especially when it’s for someone you love.”

- Later, Kara wraps you in a warm hug, her strength carefully restrained but her affection boundless. “You’re my connection to this world,” she says softly, resting her forehead against yours. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her love is like sunlight—pure, strong, and life-giving, a constant source of warmth and light in your life.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- Slade notices your injury immediately, his single eye narrowing as he steps closer. “What happened?” he asks, his voice low and commanding. He takes your hand in his gloved one, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examines the bandage. “You’ve been careless,” he says, though his tone carries more concern than reprimand.

- Without a word, Slade pulls out a compact medical kit, his movements precise and efficient. “You should have called me,” he mutters, his focus entirely on your wound. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” His care is methodical, almost clinical, but the way his fingers linger just slightly on your skin betrays his deeper feelings.

- Slade insists on taking over the renovation, his natural leadership coming through as he assesses the task. “Stand back,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. Watching him work is like watching a soldier in action—every movement calculated, every decision deliberate. “This isn’t my first time fixing something broken,” he quips, his dry humor catching you off guard.

- As he works, Slade shares fragments of his past, his gravelly voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. “This reminds me of when I used to build things with my son,” he says, his expression briefly softening. The glimpses of his humanity remind you of the man beneath the hardened exterior, the man who loves you in his own quiet, fierce way.

- Later, Slade pulls you close, his arm heavy and protective around your shoulders. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I’ve lost too much already—I’m not losing you.” He kisses your forehead briefly but firmly, his love intense and unyielding, like the man himself—a force that shields you from the world’s dangers, even as he battles his own demons.

Kent Nelson aka. Doctor Fate

- Kent’s piercing eyes behind the shimmering Helmet of Fate immediately fixate on your injured hand. “What have you done, my love?” he asks, his voice a blend of the mystical and the concerned. Without hesitation, he removes the helmet, his human side taking precedence. His hands, warm and steady, gently cradle yours as he inspects the wound.

- “This is a simple injury,” he murmurs, his voice calm but resolute. “But even the smallest wounds can lead to chaos if left untended.” A golden light surrounds his hand as he softly incants an ancient spell. The pain fades, replaced by a soothing warmth, though Kent remains watchful. “You must remember, you are precious to me beyond measure.”

- When he sees the half-finished renovation, Kent sighs softly. “It seems I have another task to tend to,” he says with a faint smile. With a wave of his hand, the room begins to shift and transform, guided by his mystical prowess. “Though I prefer to use magic sparingly, I believe this situation calls for a touch of Fate,” he teases lightly.

- As the room repairs itself under his guidance, Kent tells you stories of the endless mystic realms he has traversed. “In the realm of Amathur, they build their homes from living crystal, attuned to their souls,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of eons. His stories are mesmerizing, painting a picture of a universe far beyond your imagination.

- That evening, as the golden glow of his magic fades, Kent pulls you close, his mortal and immortal selves blending seamlessly in his affection for you. “You ground me, even amidst the chaos of the cosmos,” he whispers. “Do not let harm come to you, for you are my anchor to this world.” His love is profound and eternal, like the ancient forces he commands.

Rachel Roth aka. Raven

- Rachel notices the bandage immediately, her dark, violet eyes narrowing. “What happened?” she asks, her voice calm but laced with quiet concern. She steps closer, her fingers brushing against yours lightly. “You didn’t think to tell me?” she adds, her tone carrying just a hint of exasperation masked by worry.

- A soft, dark aura emanates from her hands as she murmurs a healing spell. “Let me take away the pain,” she says softly, her magic soothing the injury. “But next time, be more careful.” Her words are firm, but the tenderness in her actions speaks volumes about her love for you.

- Rachel insists on helping with the renovation, though her approach is unconventional. Using her magic, she levitates tools and materials, fixing everything with an eerie precision. “Why struggle when there’s an easier way?” she quips, a rare hint of humor gracing her usually serious demeanor.

- As she works, Rachel shares pieces of her past, her voice quiet but steady. “I used to dream of having a home like this—something stable, something real,” she admits. Her vulnerability in those moments is a reminder of the strength it takes for her to let you in, to allow herself to love and be loved.

- Later, as the room takes on a serene, almost otherworldly perfection, Rachel sits with you in the quiet. “I’m not used to caring this much,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you… you’ve shown me that it’s okay to let someone in.” Her love is deep and shadowed, like the magic she wields—powerful, transformative, and utterly consuming.

Zatanna Zatara aka. Zatanna

- “What’s this?” Zatanna asks, her sharp blue eyes immediately noticing your bandaged hand. She sets down her wand and takes your hand in hers, her touch warm and gentle. “You’ve been playing with tools without supervision, haven’t you?” she teases, though her concern is clear.

- “Let me fix this,” she says with a wink. She waves her hand, her words spoken backward as a soft, golden light surrounds your injury. “Esael ruoy niaP,” she says, and the pain dissipates. “Much better,” she adds with a playful smile. “But seriously, call me next time.”

- Zatanna insists on finishing the renovation with you, though her methods are far from ordinary. “Why use a hammer when you have magic?” she says, summoning tools and materials with a flick of her wrist. The room transforms under her guidance, every detail touched with a bit of theatrical flair.

- As she works, Zatanna keeps you entertained with stories of her performances and her magical adventures. “There was this one time in Paris where my spell accidentally turned an entire café into a circus,” she says, laughing. Her humor and charisma make even the mundane feel magical, her presence a constant source of joy.

- That night, as the newly restored room glows with a faint magical shimmer, Zatanna pulls you into her arms. “You’re my favorite audience,” she says softly, her voice filled with affection. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?” Her love is vibrant and enchanting, a spell that binds you to her in the most wonderful way.

Wally West aka. Flash

- Wally zips into the room and immediately notices your hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—what happened here?” he asks, his words coming almost as fast as he moves. He’s by your side in an instant, gently taking your injured hand in his. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve been here in seconds!”

- He rushes to grab a first aid kit, moving so quickly you barely see him leave. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says as he carefully rewraps your bandage. Despite his speed, his touch is gentle, his eyes full of concern. “Promise me you’ll let me help next time, okay?”

- Wally insists on finishing the renovation, his super-speed turning the task into a blur of activity. “This is easy,” he says with a grin, fixing things faster than you can even follow. “But hey, don’t blink—you might miss my best work!” His enthusiasm is infectious, making the entire process feel like a game.

- As he works, Wally keeps you laughing with his endless jokes and stories. “Did I ever tell you about the time I outran a black hole?” he says, his grin widening. His energy is boundless, his humor a constant source of lightness and joy in your life.

- Later, as the room stands perfectly completed, Wally pulls you close, his usual hyperactivity giving way to a rare moment of stillness. “You’re my world,” he says softly, his voice steady and sincere. “I can’t imagine life without you.” His love is like his speed—unstoppable, all-encompassing, and always rushing to your side.

[populationpensive]

Question to people who orient new providers?

What strategies do you use to assess what they know and don't know?

I have a fresh grad orientee who is super sweet but looks lost 98% of the time. Bare in mind, this person has next to no critical care experience. I ask a LOT of questions and try to get them think about stuff but I'm not clear on what is sinking in. I'm worried they aren't absorbing what they need to. Thoughts?

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Saving Money and Being Frugal

We’re all in this together. Don’t give up.

On food and groceries:

How to Shop for Groceries like a Boss

Why Name Brand Products Are Beneath You: The Honor and Glory of Buying Generic

If You Don’t Eat Leftovers I Don’t Even Want to Know You

You Are above Bottled Water, You Elegant Land Mermaid

You Should Learn To Cook. Here’s Why.

On entertainment and socializing:

The Frugal Introvert’s Guide to the Weekend

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Take Pride in Being a Cheap Date

The Library Is a Magical Place and You Should Fucking Go There

Your Library Lets You Stream Audiobooks and eBooks FOR FREEEEEEE!

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You Won’t Regret Your Frugal 20s

On health:

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke

Run With Me if You Want to Save: How Exercising Will Save You Money

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics

Why You Probably Don’t Need That Gym Membership

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On other big expenses:

Businesses Will Happily Give You HUGE Discounts if You Ask This Magic Question

Understand the Hidden Costs of Travel and Avoid Them Like the Plague

Other People’s Weddings Don’t Have to Make You Broke

You Deserve Cheap, Fake Jewelry… Just Like Coco Chanel

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Season 2, Episode 2: “I’m Not Ready to Buy a House—But How Do I *Get Ready* to Get Ready?”

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On buying secondhand and trading:

Almost Everything Can Be Purchased Secondhand

I Am a Craigslist Samurai and so Can You: How to Sell Used Stuff Online

The Delicate Art of the Friend Trade

On giving gifts and charitable donations:

How Can I Tame My Family’s Crazy Gift-Giving Expectations?

In Defense of Shameless Regifting

Make Sure Your Donations Have the Biggest Impact by Ruthlessly Judging Charities

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

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Ask the Bitches: How Do I Say “No” When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again? 

On resisting temptation:

How to Insulate Yourself From Advertisements

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The Magically Frugal Power of Patience

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On minimalism and buying less:

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Everything I Know About Minimalism I Learned from the Zombie Apocalypse

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The Subscription Box Craze and the Mindlessness of Wasteful Spending

On saving money:

How To Start Small by Saving Small

Not Every Savings Account Is Created Equal

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[miramelo]

A little Birdie told me...

It Made me so happy that a LOT of you guys liked my latest au!!

To answer a few questions in no particular order, Danny doesn't suddenly make Joker a better person. I based the Joker of this au in a few issues I saw where he shows a little bit of care or twisted love.

There's one issue where instead of killing a Man he just cuts a few fingers off since he met the guy's kid, there's one where he took in a monkey as his son and It looks like he mourns him when he dies.

I see Joker being a narcissist type of parent,he cares for Danny AND he DOES love him! But is not pure, Joker sees Danny as perfect, the kid he dreamed of.

They might snap at eachother but they end up playing nice at the bat of an eye

In this au Ace AND Joker JR are did happen, I figured he had a back up double that doesn't retain ALL of the old Joker memories so he doesn't remember Batman nor Robin identities

Danny has a lot of BIG mood swings, they can be blamed not only to trauma but also to "medication" he takes (Joker venon)

He has issues when It comes to the bats: thinks of Batman as his other dad because JR was created 'cuz Joker wanted to have a laugh at his dear ol' Batsy AND Danny was changed because he reminded Joker of JR. calls Batman Da' and Joker Pa'

He projects A LOT on the red haired librarian, she's so nice!! And makes him think of Jazz(sometimes he thinks she's Jazz when he can't quite understand what's real and what isn't)

A few early sketches under the cut

Tw for teeth and scars

[mamawasatesttube]

Hi!

Would you happen to have any fic rec that respect Kon (and Tim) as a character and don't write a totally other character with just the same name?

(I really do not have any criteria, i don't care if there is a romantic ship or not I really just want to read a fic with the least amount of mischaracterization as possible-)

I really like your blog so I thought that I would ask!!

hiya!! this is gonna be a short and noncomprehensive list because unfortunately i have a migraine today and braining is hard, but def check out my general #fic rec tag too!

chrysalis by @loisinherlane. its a superfam fic about kon and the concept of growing up and it makes me so 🥺 the kon & ma and the kon & kara bits in particular. oaugh

fill in the blanks by @mindshelter is just so cute. its temporary amnesiac tim looking at kon and immediately going heart eyes. great look at kon from an "outsider" perspective AND fun insight into how tim's ridiculous mind works!

practical applications of a memorized heartbeat by @comphetkoncass tim gets fucked up and kon gets to put his ttk skills to the test (i.e. life-saving medical ttk applications). i dearly love when kon is Competent!!!!!

i want your complications too by @loisinherlane is more about clois than kon, but he features here as a 7 year old clone that superman rescued from cadmus early and i die every time bc hes so Fuckigningngng cute. babby.

hand on my stupid heart by @misspickman gets me in the "kon you have fucking issues please get help buddy" (he will not) department. the smallville parts (lori!!!! my beloved!!!!) are particularly chefs kiss!!

within the rubble and the harvest by @radioactive-earthshine for. well! speaking of kon and smallville!!!! ahhghgh!!! KON and SMALLVILLE!!! im so fascinated by his adjustment period and his love for ma and pa and. ough. all the tiny details are so good too. i love u kon and smallville.

AND finally not to toot my own horn but in case you haven't already seen MY kon fics, a quick self-plug here:

the courage of stars by... ME!!!! a kon post-resurrection character study dealing with the overlap of internalized homophobia and all that suicidal ideation he's been carrying around from day one. what's a guy supposed to do when he's pretty sure he came back wrong, 'cuz he's pretty sure he was never supposed to come back at all, but no one else can see it?

[brucewaynehater101]

the empire starts noticing that their baby emperor will often be more than a little banged up when he comes to see them in person and they are very worried for their baby, competition to be the imperial physician is fierce but also very stressful for the ones with the position because humans aren't exactly new in space anymore but they're not precisely common either. The position of imperial chef and other positions that concern taking care of the emperor and the imperial consorts is even fiercer.

Previously the empire more or less figured that this mysterious "earth" where their baby emperor makes his primary residence is fairly peaceful and a safe place for him to grow. However, stories finally reach the empire, which started very far from earth and very out of the way of any earth related gossip, about constant invasions that target earth and the general chaos that earth faces on a day to day basis. In hindsight for the empire it makes sense that their baby emperor is from such a dangerous world since he himself is very dangerous despite being so young and adorable. No wonder he's been able to handle their own broken infrastructure and the increasingly large responsibilities that they've put on his little shoulders. There is guilt and there is horror that babies are facing this and, again given their relative condition when they visit the empire in person, obviously they are not being properly cared for.

Finally a delegation from the great Red Bird Empire (robins are an earth species with no equivalent in the empire but there are lots of birds and the color red is known) goes to earth, they arrive in their finest discowing formal fashion to petition the protectors of earth to allow a small group of them to make a base on earth to assist their royal family who has taken refuge on the jl protected planet. They are not there to battle anyone or anything. They are there to make sure their emperor and his consorts are fed, have proper medical attention, and access to an appropriate wardrobe as befits their stations. They might also try to persuade their emperor and his consorts to visit the empire in person more often. While he does a fantastic job of governing from a distance (and at this point Tim has arranged things so he really barely does anything except when a new planet joins and each planet is basically self governing) they miss C4 actually being there.

JL internally freaking out a little because apparently they've had an alien prince? princess? king? goddess? emperor? a royal alien family? somewhere on earth for ages and there could have been a huge diplomatic incident if anything had happen to this royal family, like the family being crushed by a falling building during one of superman's fights, or hit by a tsunami, or earthquake, or even just a stupid speeding car. JL is under the impression that the imperial family on earth fled this empire at some point because of political upheaval and this is a group of imperial loyalists that's only just now gotten enough power to come keep a proper eye on the hidden royals. JL is now worried about alien assassins after the hidden imperial family. At least some part of the JL would like this imperial family to leave earth please.

Based on the delegations costumes, at least one member of the league suspects that the hidden prince of the empire is Dick. This is further supported when the imperial keeper of the wardrobe somehow finds out about Discowing and fawns over Nightwing and goes on about their impeccable fashion sense and how they are revolutionary in the field of haute couture.

Batman may have a small aneurysm when he learns that the alien delegation first thinks to set up in his city. Tim might also panic a little because no, that's too dangerous for them! And instead the Kents suddenly have new neighbors on the farm next door. The Kents are also now on the list of suspected royal family of alien empire even though Ma and Pa are definitely human. Somehow the JL absolutely misses Tim and his life partners visiting the alien delegation and none of the C4 is going to actually admit to anything if they can help it. The delegation is also perfectly happy to keep their mouths shut about the identity of their emperor because it amuses their emperor and also admittedly amuses them. The delegates are frequently rotated with other people who fill their various positions, they set up a schedule, so they can return to the empire and compete to maintain their position as imperial caretaker or end up losing their position to someone else or so they can renew their credentials or even just spend time with their families back in the empire.

Fudge. The choas, miscommunication, and both the delegation and C4 being on board with messing with the JL are precious. Essentially, it turns into various members pointing at each other in suspicion. "Are you the hidden royal family?"

In particular, what do Arthur, Diana, J'onn, and Starfire think about all of this?

I'm also glad the delegation decided to rotate the position on earth. It's like a seasonal job.

I wonder how Ma and Pa Kent feel about their new neighbors. Can they even eat pie?

I'm curious what type of systems Tim sets up for the worlds. It's groovy that he's set the worlds up to be essentially self-sufficient. He probably helps them establish connections, rules, trade routes, etc. for interplanetary trade outside of his empire, but otherwise has set up free healthcare, housing for all, welfare systems, etc.

[stinkysam]

Serge "Frenchie" - Can't sleep love.

Warning : nsfw, dry humping, unprotected sex, overstimulation, choking, top!reader, bit of degradation, praise, pre-established consent on everything going on

Genre : smut

Synopsis : You can't sleep and your boyfriend suggests having sex to pass time.

Reader : male (you/yours)

A/N : Reader speaks French as well because I do. // Thought of this while I couldn't sleep. // All translations are at the end. // I'm really not sure about it 😕 there's barely anything for him (this is outrageous) so I can't compare with other people's work so idk if it's good.

Once again you couldn't sleep.

It's been a little more than a year now that you wake up multiple times, every night. You'd just wake up. And fall back asleep after 5 or 10 minutes.

You didn't know why and no medication would work, despite trying quite a few. Whether you were tired or not, going to bed early or late wouldn't change anything. You'd still wake up. Every night.

So here you were at 1am, laying in your shared bed with Frenchie fast asleep by your side. You knew you fell asleep around 11, or so you think, you're not sure anymore after ruminating as much as you were doing now. You kept turning and tossing, it's been longer than usual, making you annoyed, pulling the blankets up then pushing them down. Too hot. Too cold. Too hot. Too co-

“Mon amour ?” You hear. Shit, you woke Frenchie up with your constant movements.

“Yeah ?” You whispered back, turning to face him.

“Ça va ?” He scoots closer, placing a hand on your cheek. Worry evident in his voice. You grab it, kissing his palm.

“Non. Can't fucking sleep.”

“Again ?”

“Comme toutes les nuits.” You chuckled bitterly. “Normally I wouldn't care much, I fall back asleep after 5 minutes but it's been an hour and I'm still not asleep.”

He says nothing, listening.

“I'm so bored, it's pissing me off.” You add with a huff, ready to toss and turn again. A moment of silence falls as Frenchie thinks.

“Wanna fuck ? Pour passer le temps ?” He finally says with a cheeky smile.

You turn your head to look at him again though you can barely see his features in the dark. A moment of silence passes again as you thought.

“It won't work, y'know ?”

“Why not ?”

“I just know it won’t.” You shrugged but continued speaking after a second. “But pour passer le temps ?” You repeated. “Okay, d'accord. Pourquoi pas.” You weren't particularly aroused but at least you would be doing something instead of waiting for the sleep that refused to come. Still, you wasted no time as you climbed on top of Frenchie, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. He responded with as much energy, his hands slipping quickly under your shirt to touch you everywhere.

You kissed him everywhere on his face, your hands holding his head still as you pushed your knee between his legs, applying pressure on his growing hard on, making him moan lightly before biting his lower lip, earning a hiss as he grabbed you harder, pulling you closer at the same time.

His tongue in your mouth, dancing with yours as you shared more than sloppy kisses, but you didn't let that and his pretty noises distract you from massaging his dick with your knee, feeling it grow harder under your ministrations. Frenchie’s moans grew louder as his boxers felt too tight now, spreading his legs open as he bucked his hips against you to get more friction.

“Eager, are we ?” You said in between kisses. But truth be told, you were as eager as him.

“J'ai juste envie de toi, mon cœur.” He replied, pushing his lips back against yours.

He kept humping your leg, small moans leaving his mouth.

Your thumbs caressed his skin, feeling his light stubble and still fresh cut he got from a fight. Your knee never stopped pushing against his dick and balls, massaging them in a rough manner. The more you did so, the louder he became, not caring if the walls of your place weren't thick enough to contain his moans.

“Putain.” He breathed out several times in between kisses.

You continued like this ‘til he came in his boxers. You didn't give him the time to regain his breath as you pulled his boxers down, jerking his now sensitive cock.

“Attends- Wait ! Mon coeur-” Frenchie hissed, a hand flying over to yours in a weak attempt to stop you, but you gently slapped it. After all, he still hadn't said the safeword. So he closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting you do whatever you wanted to do as small moans began to leave his lips once more.

Your thumb caressed his dick roughly, not letting it go soft as you followed the veins to his balls before your other hand went under, pushing a spit covered finger in his ass. He hissed once more, clenching around your index before relaxing rapidly.

Your own cock was painfully hard in your boxers by now but you didn't mind. You were patient and had other plans. So you continued jerking Frenchie before adding a second finger, making scissor motions.

“You're not allowed to come.” You informed hom, watching him quickly nod through his moans. “Good boy.” You kissed his knee that was resting against you and his cock pulsed at your words.

You tormented him like that for a few minutes, jerking him rapidly then slowly then fast again while your fingers still worked his ass, occasionally tickling his prostate. His moans and gasps were like music to your ears, you wished you could listen to them forever. So you savored them instead.

“Ah ! Putain ! I'm- Can I come ? Please ?” He quickly asked, words rushing out. He really needed to cum.

“No.”

“But mon coeur…”

“I said no, slut.” You smiled devilishly as you knew he would obey, and it didn't miss. He whined but complied, his legs shaking as he tried hard not to close them and not to cum. Eyes shut tightly as more moans spilled from his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You heard him say under his breath, almost like a prayer while his hips moved in an erratic manner to match the pace of your both hands.

Pre-cum was leaking from his tip, coating your hand while your other one continued to finger him.

“You like that, huh ? T'es ma petite pute. Mh, Serge ?”

Frenchie nodded at your words, dick throbbing in your hand, more pre pooling out.

You could tell how much he wanted to cum and how hard he was trying not to with tears in his eyes. You took note of how this time he didn't wipe them, he knew you liked seeing them. You decided to be kind, knowing him, he wouldn't beg for it, not because he's above begging but because he wants to be good and fear you'd say “No.” for the hell of it.

“What a good boy.” You said with a smile, kissing his knee once more. “You can cum.”

And it didn't take long for him to come after your words, a sigh of relief mixed with more moans of pleasure left him as you helped him ride his second orgasm, cum landing on his shirt and lower abdomen. But once more, you didn't let him relax, pulling your fingers out of him to replace them with your aching dick after removing your boxers.

“Putain de- Ah !” He gasped, and you pulled him up, making him bounce on your cock. He wrapped his arms around you for more stability, moaning loudly in your ear as he planted his face in the crook of your neck. There was no way your neighbor didn't know what you two were doing by now, but you didn't care as you continued to plow into your boyfriend. His cock was rubbing against you, smearing pre and come all over you two.

His breathing was loud and erratic as he tried to calm down, without success. So he busied himself by kissing you again, holding you close.

Wanting to change position, but thinking the headboard was far enough you pushed Frenchie down and a ‘bonk’ was heard followed by a quick “Aie !”. He had hit his head against the fucking headboard.

You laughed, rapidly apologizing, kissing his forehead.

“You okay ?” You asked, hands planted by his shoulders as you peppered his face with kisses.

“Mon chéri, you need to do more than that to take me out.” He said with a smirk, though you couldn't see it in the dark you could hear it in his voice.

You snorted, kissing him once more on the lips before pushing yourself back in, soft moans escaping him again.

With one hand you held yourself up above him while the other one went to his throat, squeezing the sides to restrict his blood flow.

“Oh, putain...” He managed to speak, though his voice was a bit hoarse as he began to feel light headed after a few seconds. Each time you would release his neck, Frenchie would gasp for air, eyes half lidded, only for you to start again. You're careful as to not apply pressure on his windpipe, counting each second of when he can and can't breathe.

But while you're cautious with your hand, you're less caring with how hard your dick ram into him. Certainly bruising his prostate with each hit, earning pretty broken moans after pretty broken moan.

“What a good boy you are, huh ?” You said, leaning down, kissing him. He tried to kiss you back but felt too hazy to succeed. “You're doing so good for me.” His cock throbbed with each of your words, clearly enjoying them.

He grabbed your arm, not to pull your hand away from his throat but to warn you he was close to cumming again. Good, you were reaching your limit too.

“You can cum, pretty boy.” This time you made sure to choke him while he reached his climax, cum spilling on his shirt and a bit on you. His ears were ringing when you finally let go of him and his head felt bubbly. You finished quickly after, inside him, but you didn't pull out directly and instead waited to calm down from both your high and his.

Frenchie was panting under you, slowly regaining his breath, chest heaving up and down.

You both groaned when you pulled out and you quickly left the bed to get a cloth and a water bottle. You rapidly cleaned yourself, then Frenchie.

“Merci.” He said, grabbing the bottle before drinking some of it. You watched as Frenchie removed his cum stained shirt and threw it to the side. You did the same and went back to bed, cuddled against him under a thin blanket. You both closed your eyes and after a moment…

“It didn't work. I don't feel sleepy at all.” You sighed. He laughed

“It worked for me !”

“Connard.”

“What ? C'pas ma faute !”

“What ?! It literally is ! We fucked and it woke me up more than ever !”

“Oh, va te faire foutre !” He laughed and placed his chin above your head, holding you close.

“Comment vas ta gorge ? J't'ai fait mal ?” You asked, kissing his neck.

“Non, mon chéri. You didn't hurt me. I told you, you need to do more than that to take me out.”

“Okay. Good. I love you.”

It's not your first time saying these three words yet it always catches Frenchie off guard. After everything that's happened, his past and ex-lovers, he wasn't sure if he deserved these words.

“I- I love you too.” He replied after a little while.

“You don't have to say it back, you know. I know you do.” You kissed his forehead.

“Non, je sais, but I want to.”

“Okay.” You smiled.

While Frenchie fell asleep rather quickly after, arms holding you tightly, you had to wait once more, stuck in his embrace, unable to toss and turn anymore. And of course, it didn't miss, you woke up later that night. And once more at around 5 am without falling back asleep.

Putain de merde.

--

Translations :

Mon amour - My love.

Ça va ? - You okay ?

Non - No.

Comme toutes les nuits - Like every night.

Pour passer le temps - To pass time.

D'accord - Okay / Alright.

Pourquoi pas - Why not.

Putain - Fuck.

J'ai juste envie de toi - I just want you.

Attends - Wait.

T'es ma petite pute - You’re my little whore.

Putain de… - Fucking...

Mon chéri - My dear.

Merci - Thank you.

Connard - Asshole.

C’pas ma faute - It's not my fault.

Va te faire foutre - Go fuck yourself.

Comment vas ta gorge ? - How is your throat ?

J't'ai fait mal ? - Did I hurt you ?

Non, je sais - No, I know.

Putain de merde - Fucking shit.

[wallabywannabe]

I called the ENT office to leave a message to ask if I could get started on antibiotics or something because the pain is getting worse and I don't want to wait 6 days until my appointment, and the front desk person was like, "ok what's you're date of birth?" and I gave it to her and she kept trying to tell me happy birthday! And I was like oh yeah thank you that's very sweet but really not what I care about right now!

A diagnosis for my birthday? Could I be so lucky?