#processing trauma instructions

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Another Clone Danny au, but the twist is he's basically reincarnated. CW shoved his core into a soulless LoA Damian clone to keep the halfa from completely dying after his original human body was destroyed in his og dimension. Danny is currently mute, too. Be warned, this is long. [Pt 2 here]

Danny had become completely aware in his new body after about a month of barely processing what is happening. The trauma of everything that's gone wrong in his life putting him in a disassociative state while his body's creators train and test him for something. It takes a while for him to realize he's not their first clone, but is the first to not be a soulless husk. These people talk too freely around him, but rarely each other, confident in his inability to understand anything outside of orders. So he decides to play along, learning about this hell hole and what little of the outside world he can. He takes the latter with a grain of salt, he can smell how delusional his creators are.

"Hmm, something is defective with this clone." A tall, beautiful woman says while glaring at Danny's eyes, "Damian's eyes are Juniper. This thing's eyes have been fading to a bluer colour every time I see it. Someone has made a mistake.... no matter. Beloved and my son shouldn't notice it's eyes are pine if we send it now. It is ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Give it its instructions and get it out of my sight."

And this is how Danny learns he's been made to attempt to kill his template or die trying. He gets the full feeling that they expect him to die, like the, apparently, dozen before him. (He hides his amusement when realizing he can truly relate to Dani now.) Too bad for his creators, he's not like the rest and fully intends to not do any murder once he's out of this godforsaken lab.

Keeping himself from reacting gets a whole lot harder when he realizes they intend to put him in a crate to ship him to some place called Gotham, but he stays as blank and relaxed as possible. It's only once they unload him, inform him of his Template's whereabouts, and ditch him in the middle of what he assumes is Gotham, does he finally grimace and shake off the shitty shell persona he had going on. As he stretches out his limbs and thinks on how he wants to play this, he takes in how absolutely drenched in the smell of death the city is. It reminds him enough of Amity that he knows his ghost half would never go hungry here, but what to do with his human half? He wonders if his Template and his father would care for another sibling. He caught the tall lady and her father saying insulting things about how many strays, he assumes kids, his Template's father adopts, it's usually over how pissed they are that his Template isn't treated like God's gift for simply being blood related.

So with a bit of hesitant hope, Danny heads towards where he was told his Template was. He's hit with a wave of weariness when he finds a kid of the same colouring as him decked out in a hero costume and arguing with a giant man dressed as a.. bat? Danny has no idea what he's looking at and is a little scared of how aggressive his Template is. Aggression means he's probably going to have to at least dodge a lot.

Danny's awful luck strikes again when before he can even decide on how exactly he's going to approach this, he hears a light crunch that has him bolting several feet in the opposite direction before he whips around and into a defensive fighting stance.

"Shit, sorry, BB." A blonde woman dressed in a purple hero costume says to a small figure that looks like a creepier verson of the bat dude. Purple is standing where the crunching sound came from, and scarily, "BB" is almost exactly where Danny had been. "Shit. He looks like Demon Brat.."

"Calm.." "BB"'s voice is soft and feminine, and she(?) seems to be trying to project "we're not going to hurt you" and "let me near" with body language alone. Which Danny finds impressive but doesn't trust, Purple is too tense and is too ready to attack. So when his Template and his father climb onto the roof, apparently seeing a commotion, and they too look ready to fight, Danny just bolts. He's not dumb enough to test if he can fight 4 unknown trained fighters. He can see why all his predecessors instantly died if they just automatically started fighting and trying to kill people.

The fact he ran seems to surprise them and gives him a few seconds headstart. He ducks and weaves, avoiding everything they throw at him to the best of his ability without tapping into his ghost half. He REALLY doesn't want to out himself as a freak just yet.

"Kid! Get back here! I'm sorry for scaring you!" Purple yells, slightly out of breath and somewhere behind him to the left.

"I demand you stop running!" His Template sounds pissed and directly behind him, so Danny quickly rolls to his right, dodging a tackle. Which apparently BB was ready for, because she's right there and grabs ahold of him, taking them both to the ground. He's scared, trying not to hurt her, and absolutely stuck in her hold without his powers. He lets out an inhuman whine as he struggles. He hasn't spoken a single word in this body yet, he doesn't know if it has the ability yet, and something he hadn't realized would complicate this situation in the way it has.

"Safe" BB tries to soothe, but Danny can't be soothed, not when he can see and sense the rest of his pursuers closing in on them. BB seems to realize this and snaps at her people in annoyance. "Back!"

Danny flinches and trembles in her hold, not knowing if they'll ignore her and ... he's not sure what, but do something to him. But to his endless surprise, they listen and back up several feet. Close enough to help her if she needs it, but far enough Danny relaxes a fraction. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get his anxiety down to a more manageable level. And even though he thought she'd start questioning him now, she simply waits. He's still confused and scared, but slowly relaxes in her hold, an odd sort of trust forming against his will at her calm and "Please trust I won't hurt you" vibe she's yeeting at him.

"Safe." She says and releases her hold just enough to free one of her arms. She gently runs the hand through his hair and rubs his forehead and cheeks, just softly petting him. It's a gentle affection that reminds him of Jazz. He can't remember the last time he was touched kindly, and it's enough to make him tear up. She wipes away any tears that escape. "Safe."

Once he finally stops trembling and he's emotionally spent, she finally fully releases her hold and moves to sit by him so he can sit up. He feels so awkward when he realizes his Template's father and Purple are staring him down while his Template looks like he's trying to pretend to not be interested, but is glancing over too frequently to be believable.

Danny takes a shakey breath and gives a little wave, unconsciously trying to lean towards BB when he sees their body language all sharpen and focus harder on him.

"Who are you?" Bat dude demands, and Danny can see the resemblance between him and his Template, even while he's panicking to figure out how to communicate without his voice. He ends up pointing at his Template with a nervous energy. "Are you a clone?"

Danny is so relieved at the yes or no question, he almost forgets to be nervous about frantically nodding yes. Almost.

"Can you talk?" Purple asks next and he's trembling again as he gives a hesitant no. "Yes or no questions it is!"

He nearly jumps out of his skin when BB starts rubbing his shoulder in a soothing manage. He tries to subtly self-sooth by rubbing his thumb along the middle phalanx of the pointer finger on the hand hidden between him and BB. It's the first time he's done it while not completely alone. He's not sure what the LoA would have done if they'd seen, but he can't imagine it going well for him. He stops self-soothing at the thought. BB's vibes turn very sad next.

"Based on your outfit, the League of Assassins sent you, yes?" His Template growls menacingly at him and Danny winces for the guy's poor teeth the way he grides them at Danny's nod. "To kill me?"

Danny wants to bolt again, but BB is already pulling him into a hug, trapping him. The spike in anger at his nod sends him into a panic, but BB's hold is inescapable, so he ends up "hiding" in her arms. He curls up as small as he can while pressing his face into the front of her shoulder. He feels like a scared little kid.

"Geeze, kid..." Purple sounds sad.

"All of the LoA clones have been nothing but mindless shells. Why are you so different?" His Template doesn't actually sound like he's talking to Danny, but even if he was, Danny literally can't answer that with some sort of aid. Though, Danny doesn't trust these people enough to explain even if he could. "Father. I believe we should take him to the batcave."

Danny tucks himself deeper into BB. She's petting his hair and back the way you would a cat. "Safe."

"One more question." Bat dude says. "Are you planning on going through with your orders?"

Danny can feel BB get defensive on his behalf, even as Danny pulls away to look Bat dude in the face as he frantically shakes his head no.

"Honest. New brother?" Something seems to change in them when BB says this. Amusement and resignation are as easy to read as their weariness. He can't blame them. He's far from their first LoA clone, just the first to not be a mindless murder machine.

"Hn."

"Tt. Really, father?"

"Hn."

"Tt!" Danny blinks in fascination at the weird monosyllable conversation between his Template and his father. BB gets up before pulling Danny to his feet. She keeps a loose hand on his wrist, probably in case he tries to bolt again, but it's still nice. It does get awkward when she keeps her hold as they climb off the roof, and Danny needs a little help getting down with only one hand.

He tucks himself half behind BB when Purple decides to ask him a random assortment of questions while they wait for something called "the batmoble". He's a bit intimidated by her energy, it's so much like his parents'.

'Do you have a favourite food?' No. He hasn't actually eaten food yet in this body, just iv-ed nutrients. 'Favourite animal?' No. He doesn't know this dimension's animals. 'Flowers? Or plant?"No. Same problem. 'Are you hurt in any way?' Shrug. He's a little scratched and bruised, but it's not even in the top hundred of hurt he's been through. He's actually pretty happy this body doesn't have all his scars, his ghost half will have them, but his new human half is basically a blank canvas, and it's a glorious reprieve. 'Have you been anywhere besides the LoA and Gotham?" No. 'Did you at least stay somewhere nice in the LoA?' No? Does the lab count? It was a pretty nice lab all things considered.

Danny nearly jumps out of his skin when a black, sleek car shows up without a driver. He clings to BB when they climb in. He's nearly in her lap.

He can't help but wonder about how out of character he feels. He wonders if it's because this body is, at most, 2 months old, or if his time as only a ghost core kick started childish instincts, his ghost half IS only about a year old, or if the trauma of everything that happened caused a mental regression. He vaguely remembers Jazz talking about age regression as a coping mechanism, not enough to understand if that's what's happening right now, but it sort of feels like it. At least BB doesn't seem to mind having an overgrown toddler using her like a security blanket.

The drive is pretty smooth considering the speed bat dude is driving. Danny looks around "the batcave" in wonder when they pile out.

"Who's that?" A cheerful man in black and blue bounces over. Danny hides behind BB again and wishes he knew literally anybody's name. Currently, he just knows his Template's non-hero identity as Damian Al Gul. BB's hero identity of BB definitely means something, but all he has is what Purple called her.

"New brother!" BB chirps. Blue guy thankfully stops a few feet away while a tired guy about Purple's age wonders up.

"Why does he look like Demon Brat?" Tired guy sounds grumpy and on edge.

"The LoA apparently made a new clone of me. This one seems defective. Simply trying to run away and escape when Black Bat and Spoiler spotted him watching father and I." The new people tense, and Danny fully ducks behind BB, while Damian continues, "He did not throw a single punch and showed true panic at being caught. As you can see, he's been glued to Cassandra's side since she calmed him down."

"Likelihood of this one trying to kill me?" Tired guy asks. "I'm tired of new siblings trying to kill me."

"Unlikely. Kid ran like a scared deer the whole time we were chasing him." Purple, no, Spoiler? reasures tired guy.

"Well, if you weren't so stabbable." There's a teasing tilt to his Template's voice. Danny kind of wants to know what THAT means, so he peeks curiously at them. Tired guy just looks more tired when their eyes meet.

"Damian and Jason both tried to kill me, multiple times." Tired guy explains with a tone that'd be more fitting for a conversation about a sibling stealing a favoured toy in the past, not admitted homicide attempts on one's life. Danny's eyes dart at blue guy and Damian, wondering if they'll try to kill him too. Tired guy frowns before asking, "Do you actually know who any of us are?"

There's a whole lot of squawking when Danny shakes his head no and just points to Damian. Damian is complaining about how little sense it makes to only tell Danny a kill order. Spoiler is embarrassed and complaining about not realizing. Bat dude is giving off embarrassed vibes, even if literally nothing changed in his stance or face. Blue guy, tired guy, and Cassandra all seem very amused, but blue guy is also stressed and tired guy is just resigned.

"Okay, so introductions. I'm Timothy Drake-Wayne, just call me Tim or Drake. My vigilante name is Red Robin." Tired guy says before pointing to each of the other people. "Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, call her Steph. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Cassandra Caine is Black Bat, call her Cass. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Dam-"

"I am Damian Al Gul Wayne. I am the current Robin and the only blood son of Batman." Danny's Template cuts off Tim.

"Can't say you're the only blood son if we keep the clone," Tim teases and gets a knife thrown at him for it. He easily dodges it and continues talking to Danny. "There's also Jason Todd, who's not here right now. He's Red Hood. Barbara Gordon is our eye in the sky, better known as Oracle. Duke Thomas is Signal, he's our Day shift so he's asleep upstairs currently. And Alfred Pennyworth is the real head of the house and pseudo grandfather, even if he says he's just the family butler. There's more, but they're who you'll most like to interact with anytime soon."

Danny must look as overwhelmed as he feels because Dick(? Why is he named that?) steps closer, hands where Danny can see them. "You okay, little buddy? Do you have a name or something you want us to call you?"

Danny gives Damian, Steph, and Mr. Wayne a panicked look. Steph comes to his rescue.

"He can't speak. We're unsure why he can't, but he hasn't even tried to say anything. Only made a whining noise when Cass pinned him. We'd think it was another Cass situation, but he can understand everything we say."

"Oh.. Maybe he just never learned?" Dick wonders aloud before asking Danny, "About how old are you?"

Danny points to Damian. He's pretty sure his body is the same age as his Template's, who is about as old as Danny's whole existence. Unlike Dani, who was made slightly younger than Danny in body, but is currently only a year old in spirit.

"No, I mean, how long have you been alive?" Dick corrects gently. Danny blinks and figures the correct answer is how long his clone body has been alive. He can explain later when he can communicate better, if he feels safe enough to do so. He holds up 2 fingers. "2 years?"

There's grimaces when he shakes his head.

"2 months?" Danny cautious nods and startles when Steph gasps loudly.

"A Baby!" Danny pouts at that, but can't exactly refute it. He does move so Cass is more between them.

Cass unexpectedly decides to remove her creepy mask, making Danny stare in wide-eyed surprise at her short dark hair.

"Oh! The baby hasn't seen our faces yet!" Steph is delighted and pulls her own mask down. The rest of the group unmask, minus Tim, who's already in civilian clothes. Danny looks at them before circling Cass so he can see her. She's very pretty, some sort of Asian, and giving off happy and calm vibes. It reminds him a little of Jazz when they could just exist, no parents, school, or ghosts to worry about. It's nice. He likes that his new big sister has that peacefulness.

"You see?" Cass smiles and clarifies, "Language of body?"

Danny brightly nods. He had to learn to read body language or die the rest of the way. It wasn't a failure to read it that nearly got him killed.

"I'll teach you to read it even better and to hide your own." Danny is startled by Cass speaking a full sentence before he excitedly indicates he wants to show her something. He can see how absolutely horrified they all get when he slams his body language into the soulless husk both labs of horror he got stuck in wanted. He turns lifelessly to each person, taking in their reacts to it, only breaking character only when he turns back to Cass. He beams excitedly at her, wanting her opinion. "That was very good. Almost no one would be able to tell."

"I can see how the LoA wouldn't know you weren't like the others if you just behaved like that the whole time." Tim hums, seemingly more fascinated than horrified, unlike the rest. They look ready to jump him, so he goes back to hiding behind Cass, deciding right now that he's staying with Tim and/or Cass, until he either runs away or they're all more comfortable with each other.

"Be nice." He can hear the scowl she's giving everyone, but Tim. Tim edges closer with a fancy piece of technically that Danny's never seen before. It almost looks like a clipboard at first glance, but is clearly a sci-fi computer thingy. Danny noticed technology is far more advanced in this dimension, but hasn't had a chance to figure it out.

"Do you know how to work an ipad?" Tim doesn't give him a judgmental look when he shakes his head, just steps closer with clear intent to teach. "Okay, I'll show you. You can read, correct?"

Danny nods and cautiously steps towards Tim so he can see the device better. The others start to wonder off and change into civilian clothes while Tim gives him a crash course on everything Danny can do on this iPad. He does explain there's basically a child lock on it to keep Danny from accidentally going on an unsafe website. It's more for his safety as he learns. Danny accepts that reason, despite knowing that's definitely not the only one, because the other reasons don't matter. He's probably only going to be using it to look up everything he doesn't understand in this dimension and communicating with whoever is in front of him, at least for now. He feels a lot like a toddler with how out of his depth he is, which is honestly a good thing right now. Really sells the "I'm a harmless baby, protect me!" thing he has going on.

"Now that you can answer." Tim smiles a little, "Is there any you want to be called? It's okay if there isn't just yet. Finding your name can be difficult."

[Danny] Danny excitedly shows Tim.

"Danny? Not what I was expecting, but it suits you." Tim's easy acceptance is wonderful, too bad his Template ruins the moment.

"Absolutely not. You need a proper name. How about Daniel? Or maybe the arabic version? Danyal?" Danny throws his most disgusted face he can pull.

"That's a no." Tim sounds like he's barely concealing laughter.

"He needs a proper name. How about Dante?"

[It's better than Daniel, but I still don't like it.]

"How about we come back to this later? We can look up names that Danny can be a nickname for and he can pick from those once he's settled in." Tim basically orders when Damian opens his mouth. "Danny should shower. I'll grab him som-"

Danny grabs his sleeve. Cass isn't here, so Tim is his current security person. He doesn't feel safe with his Template yet.

"Nevermind, I'll get him showered. Could you grab him some clothes?" Tim adjusts to the quiet demand easily, glancing to Danny to ask. "Any idea of preference?"

Danny glances at the stiff outfit he's currently in before writing [Comfy?]

Tim nods and tells Damian, "You should snag one of Dick's hoodies and one of my fluffy pj pants. Alfred probably has some unused underwear somewhere with how many times a guest needed some."

Damian doesn't look pleased, but seems to follow Tim's lead. He does quizzically eye Danny one last time before he leaves. Tim gently leads Danny to what looks like a locker room. No one else is currently in there.

"I know he seems abrasive, but that was his version of trying to bond." Tim explains, "He's trying his best. Just say something if it's too much."

Danny nods and strips. Uncaring of Tim looking at him as he hops in the shower, he only seems to be checking for injuries, then he only glances over every once in a while to make sure "the baby" is cleaning himself properly and doesn't need help. He doesn't get any creepy vibes from the man. He's awfully familiar with the vibes to look out for since some of the scientists would bad touch him, claiming it's for science. It wasn't. Needless to say, being a labrat kind of murders shyness over being naked in cold blood.

Damian shows up with the clothes Tim requested when Danny is drying off. Danny makes sure to scribble a [Thank you!] and show it to him before taking the clothes.

"You are welcome."

"Alfred will be happy his newest grandchild comes with manners pre-installed." Tim jokes, and adds at Danny's curious glance. "The rest of us were feral. You'd think that I'd be an exception since I'm from high society, but I literally blackmailed my way into being Robin and then made a fake uncle to keep myself from being adopted."

Danny gives Tim an alarmed look, and Damian looks curious.

"Okay, so I used to stalk Batman and Robin every night because I lacked adult supervision. I was just taking pictures because I was a huge fan and had figured out who they were when I was 9. Then when I was 12, Jason died for a little bit." This makes Danny more alarmed, so Tim quickly adds. "He's alive and as well as he can be now, but he was Robin at the time, and Bruce, Bruce was devastated. He was taking it out on everyone. Purse snatchers were ending up in the ICU. So I first tried to get Dick to come back to Gotham, when they didn't work, I showed up on the doorstep with photographic evidence I knew everything and demanded I be Robin to keep him safe. I.. It was a rough time. He hated me with every fiber of his being for a while, but I couldn't let Batman die. We were partners, but not family by any stretch of the word. Then.. my parents died and I couldn't let him adopt me. I wasn't his son. I hadn't had an adult keeping track of me in years, hell, B barely tracked me as Robin, thinking it would make me stop. Jokes on him, I'm too stubborn."

"That's unfortunately true." Damian sounds exasperated.

"I hired an actor to pretend to be my fake uncle to keep Bruce from questioning my living situation. Clearly, that didn't last." Tim chuckles, "Steph compared me to a feral cat a lot during that time."

Danny has to pull up his (Dick's?) sleeves to use the iPad. [Are all of your lives so weird?]

"Unfortunately." Damian sighs, "Every single one of us has a different tale of how we came to be with Father."

"Kid, you're a defective clone that just escaped from a cult of assassins and are actively being adopted by the family of your target." Tim teases. "You fit in perfectly."

Danny flusters at that, but has nothing to say against it.

"I apologize if this is a sensitive issue, but I have to ask." Damian does look sorry. "Why don't you talk? I know a few of the Clones were instructed in the past to say things, so I was wondering why you can't."

[Never talked before. Don't know how to. Wasn't taught before mission. Tall lady didn't like my eyes and wanted me gone.]

"Tall lady? Probably Talia. But she didn't like your eyes? Why?" Tim tilts his head.

[Wrong color. Fading slowly to bluer color. Wasn't perfect copy anymore and getting less perfect by the day. Needed to die faster.]

"She wanted you to die because your eye colour?" Tim and Damian look shocked as Danny nods.

[Imperfections die. Barely good enough to be sent out instead of killed in lab.] Danny lays it on thick, but it wasn't untrue. He ended up seeing other "Imperfect" clones be terminated near the end of his stay.

"Well... actually, what colour do you think they'll end up? Now that I'm paying attention, I can see the difference. You think it's a result of whatever made you different?" Tim seems excited by the idea. Damian just looks thoughtful.

[Unsure. Changed from Damian's color to current in a month. Tall lady was very unhappy by it. Don't know why change happened.]

Danny suddenly yawns. He didn't get much sleep in the crate. Too scared to.

"Alright. We can talk more after you get some sleep."

"Alfred told me to tell you you're cut off from caffeine until you sleep a minimum of 6 hours, Drake." Damian looks a little too amused by Tim's despair over that news, before turning to Danny. "Your new room is next to Cassandra's. She apparently requested it while we were otherwise engaged."

Danny is delighted by the news, hugging his iPad to his chest. Tim and Damian lead him to his new room, pointing out things and whose room is who's while they walk. Danny's dazed look and slowly making a list of things to look up really sells his new role. He's also scared to even breathe on anything. Everything is so fancy.

"Getting you your own clothes and room decor will have to wait until tomorrow." Damian informs him apologetically before the brothers bid him goodnight. And Danny doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't feel safe in this too nice room. So he grabs one of the pillows and the thin extra blanket at the foot of the bed before cramming himself under the bed. He curls up in a ball under the head, the end tables blocking the sides, making him feel safer.

He wakes the first day to Cass laying on the floor nearby, but not under the bed. It's a very weird day for him, but Tim, Cass, and his Template are very helpful and mostly non judgemental to the mess he is. He does find a moment to naturally "discover" his obsession with space. Thankfully, it turns out this dimensions space is so different that he doesn't have to pretend to be clueless. Everything is so different and Danny kind of loves it. He's gifted so much space themed shit and books on space and alien culture throughout the week, he has to fight to keep from glowing in his excitement. He knows they noticed, but let him pretend to be normal for a bit. It's harder to hide his inhumanity in this body, but he does his best.

[thecherrypittttttt]

SOLID WORK; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 4,700+

content warnings: my minimal medical knowledge, doctor humor, abbot’s filthy mouth, some smut, fluff <3

notes: i am so beyond new to this fandom and to tumblr so please stick with me but i couldn’t not write this🫶

・❥・

”Solid work.”

My breathing slows as I start to process the complexity of the procedure I had just performed. I’d probably be blushing at Dr Abbot’s praise if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through me.

“That was your save. Not mine.”

Trust me - I am never jumping to credit a man with my work but that was the truth. I may have physically done everything but the idea and the instructions that made it possible were all Dr Abbot.

I look back down at the patient. I tell myself it’s to make sure this is all real. That I really just did that. But if I am being honest it’s to avoid Dr Abbot’s unwavering eye contact.

“Hey-“

He is not gonna let me. I look up to meet his gaze. So rock solid but somehow so warm all at once. He may as well be staring right through me.

He lightly rests his hand on my forearm to stop me from going for the suture. To stop me from giving him anything other than my undivided attention.

“-you are the smartest person in here. Take the win.”

I can’t help the exasperated smile that spreads across my face. He’s right. I’ve only got a couple months left of residency. I should just take the fucking win for once in my life.

Abbot, much to my surprise, smiles back. And he has dimples because of course he does.

He’s calm under pressure, he lies on official paperwork to get a teenage girl the abortion she has every right to, he’s the actual smartest one here, he’s kind to everyone in this ED regardless of the stress he is under, and…he still has his hand on my arm.

His hand. The veins there don’t hurt the eyes either.

We must both realize his lingering touch at the same time because he is clearing his throat and pulling away. He reaches for a surgical instrument he doesn’t need. Picks it up and then puts it down.

I swear there is a faint blush on his cheeks but if I think about that too long one will appear on my own.

“Let Whitaker stitch this up. Go home - get some rest. Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I love Whitaker but he is so slow we may as well let the wound heal all on its own.”

Dr Abbot laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs as we exit out of the trauma bay. So loud that Robby looks over and asks if he’s okay.

Don’t get me wrong. Dr Abbot has a wonderful sense of humor. A wicked one, actually. But it’s one of those dry, witty kinds. Not the animated, giggly kind.

I tell myself it’s not a bad thing that I’m proud to have gotten a good laugh out of him. That it’s not a bad thing that it gave me butterflies. That’s it’s not a bad thing that I am laying in bed wondering how the hell I am going to get him to do that again.

・❥・

Jack lets out a low moan as he recovers. His eyes are dazed, his head slightly tilted back but not so much so that he can’t keep eye contact with me.

His hand that held the makeshift ponytail in my hair starts to massage my scalp as the other hand reaches for my chin and tilts my head up to meet his strong gaze.

Once he’s got me where he wants me, his thumb travels from my chin to my lips, swiping what’s left of his release off of it.

“My good girl. So good for me, yeah?”

My thighs involuntarily clench together at his words. He knows it too. I nod as his thumb presses further into my mouth, my lips wrapping around it.

His mouth quips into a smirk, “Solid work, doctor.”

I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. Standing up from my knees on my own. Ignoring his arms trying to gently guide me up instead.

“That! That is exactly what I am talking about!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

Jack just laughs as he grabs my wrist, turning me back towards him. He’s quick to have me pinned up against our shower wall - his strong thigh spreading my own apart as he plants long slow kisses across my neck.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Back when I was a resident, otherwise known as a couple months ago, Jack consistently praised what I was doing by saying “Solid work.”

The way he did always made me dizzy. His voice would drop an octave and he’d look me straight in my eyes while he said it. There is nothing inherently sensual about the phrase but it took me a while to realize he was not complimenting the other residents like that.

Him saying it during sex started as a joke. Harkening back to when, as he puts it, I was so painfully oblivious to his flirting. To which I responded, “That was flirting?”.

He said it again to me at work the next day. Being completely and utterly genuine. I don’t even remember what I did but I did it well and he is always the first to acknowledge that. So he was confused when I just huffed in annoyance and peeled out of the room without so much of a glance at him.

I wasn’t annoyed at him. I was annoyed that now all I could think about was him. His hands, his biceps, his tongue. Everything. And I still had six hours of my shift to go.

He followed me into the on-call room I was going to find some refuge in. He locked the door behind him - closed the curtain for good measure.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

And then I felt bad. He thought something was actually wrong. That no way I’d ever brush him off like that when he was just trying to compliment me unless something was seriously wrong.

His eyes bored into mine, genuine concern and love pouring out of them. And here I was just being a brat.

I tried to be sly about the way my eyes trailed the veins bulging out of his biceps. I tried to be sly about the way I was imagining my hands tugging on his salt and pepper curls that were just slightly askew from a couple hours work. Unfortunately for me, Jack can read me like a book.

“Did you just stomp out of the ED because you’re needy?” Jack couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face at the realization.

“Well maybe if you weren’t always going Mr Christian Gray on me with the praise-“

“I don’t even know who that is but all I said was ‘Solid work’-“

Jack stops himself as he remembers the past couple nights. When he was saying the same thing in a much different context.

I can’t say I’m entirely innocent. Or innocent at all really. I love throwing in a ‘sir’ every now and again at work to tease Jack. So he does the same to me with other phrases - constantly.

And he said the same thing in that on-call room that he is saying to me right now, “But what I do know is how fucking wet you are for me. So stop pouting and let me taste you, yeah?”

He swipes a finger through my soaked folds before he’s the one sinking down to his knees as I try to keep mine from buckling.

・❥・

“Solid work, Dr Abbot.”

I smile down at my sparkling new engagement ring and then up at the love of my life.

“Seriously? You can tease but I can’t?”

“What’s that saying again? Happy wife, happy life?”

Neither of us can wipe the huge grins off of our faces. No one knows we’re engaged yet. Just how we wanted it.

A couple of months ago, right after I had taken an attending job at The Pitt, Jack had broached the topic of marriage. We’d talked about it before. We both knew we were spending the rest of our lives together. But we hadn’t actually talked about the timeline of it all - the logistics.

Jack was always extremely hyper aware about how our relationship affected me. He didn’t want it to interfere with my career or all of my hard work. So as much as he would’ve walked down the aisle six months ago, he wanted everything to be on my terms.

“Hypothetically - if I were to propose, say within the next month - would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically - if I ever say no to a marriage proposal from you - please get me a psychiatry consult.”

Jack laughed - in an airy way where you could tell he was relieved. I kissed him. There was no universe in which I ever said no to a proposal from him.

He pestered me with questions. He wanted direction but not so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised when the time came.

I told him I didn’t want anything fancy. No big party although I did want to have a small gathering with our friends and family at some point afterwards. A nice sized diamond but not gaudy. No grand gestures - just him being him is all that I wanted.

And he executed perfectly. Because when does he not. It was our first night in the new home we had bought. He said we could get a hotel while we waited for our furniture to be delivered. But I wanted to do one night with no furniture, an air mattress, some candles, and a pizza delivery.

“Like camping.” I had said.

“You hate camping.”

I laughed because he was right but he obliged me anyways. He carried me over the threshold and I made a joke about how he’s got to be careful - being old and all.

Then he carried me right over to the air mattress, said something like “Can an old man do this?” and went on to coax four orgasms from me - one from his fingers, one from his tongue, one from his thigh, and finally one from where I wanted him most.

When we were done, I threw on one of his old tshirts and a pair of boxers. He just had on an old pair of sweats and a white tee. We stared into each others eyes like two lovesick teenagers until he said “Come here - I gotta show you something.”

“Babe, the house is empty.”

“Get over here smart ass.”

Jack picked up a candle and lead us over to the fireplace. He set the candle on the mantle as I read what was now engraved into the stone ‘The Abbots - Est 2025’

“So this is why you were getting all of those random tools from Amazon.”

Ever the handy man he is. Then he was on his knee. His bad one. To which I told him he didn’t have to do that. And then he said he would even if it killed him. And I think I said something stupid like “Not on my watch.”

I don’t even remember what he said after that. He doesn’t either. We both blacked out from sheer happiness. All I really remember is him asking me to do him the honor of being his wife and me pulling him up off of his knee and saying ‘Duh!’ as fast I could before kissing him. Over and over and over again until that air mattress was just a deflated extension of the wood floor beneath it.

・❥・

Dana’s hand rests on my thigh gently. My leg stops shaking. My mind doesn’t stop racing though.

I'm not an anxious person. If anything, I can be relaxed to a fault. But I am an intuitive person - and something is wrong.

Where is he?

“Relax. When is that man ever late?”

“That’s why I’m worried.”

You would think I didn't have my own license or car the way Jack insists on driving me everywhere. He tells me it is to keep our insurance from being sky high. I may or may not be a bit accident prone when behind the wheel. I tell him it's because he's obsessed with me. He always huffs a laugh and murmurs something about two things being true at once.

The Pitt makes sense. Ever since Jack started taking on more day shifts to balance out our conflicting schedules, a lot of times we are arriving and leaving here together. But on the off chance we are not, he is still picking me up. Always with some kind of treat in hand - usually a McDonalds Diet Coke much to Jack's dismay.

Jack takes the saying 'If you're not early - you're late' far more seriously than anyone I have ever met. The day shift typically gets off at 7 PM which means he is usually here to gossip with Robby on the roof by 6:35 PM.

“Go - take a case! He’ll be here to pick you up before you know it.”

My dissents are quickly met with Dana shooing me from the nurses station and personally squaring my shoulders to the board.

I haven’t even read the first name when Robby appears at my shoulder.

“Where is your fiancé?”

“Say that any louder and you’re going to be my next patient.”

“Yeah because you two are so inconspicuous with the whispering and the giggling and the big honking rock on your finger and the-“

“-disappearing to 'clean' the on-call room.” Dana finishes Robby’s sentence as they both double over in laughter.

Dana, Robby, and Collins are the only people in the ED that know about Jack and I’s relationship.

Collins knew I had feelings for Jack before I even let myself go there. Robby knew Jack had feelings for me before he let himself go there. So they took matters into their own hands.

Collins had a $100 on Jack breaking first. Robby $100 on me. And he had an extra $100 to spare when he bribed Dr Ellis to ask me to take her night shift for a week. Oh, how that backfired on him.

Three shifts later and Robby was $200 in the hole.

Six months later, I was moved out of my city apartment and into Jack's house.

Dana offered to drive me home after shift one night. Because it was cold and rainy and my apartment was close by. My apartment that I no longer lived in.

Jack wasn’t picking me up - he was out of town at a conference. I insisted on taking an uber, the bus, walking - anything that meant not explaining to Dana why my new address was the same as Dr Abbot's. She wouldn't take no for an answer and yelled "Oh, I knew it! Bridget owes me $100!" when I finally fessed up.

One year later, almost to the day that Robby had to pony up on his bet with Collins, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

Tonight, after he picks me up, Jack and I are going to pilates together.

It was only a matter of time before Robby and Collins gave it another go and I bet Jack that Robby would fold before Collins.

What's the point in betting money when we share a bank account? Seeing Jack in the pink pilates grippy socks he does not know I got him will be priceless.

“Well, when you find him please tell him that he is late for our date on the roof."

"Stop dragging him up there - you already have a date tonight!"

"Yeah, one in which I need his advice on."

"Oh please, you're talking to the wrong Abbot if you need advice on how to woo Collins." Dana interjects. Not everyone in the ED knows about Jack and I but they do know Heather and I are best friends.

"Oh, I wasn't aware you two had tied the knot already. Do you want me to change your name on the board? I can do that right now actually. Does HR know? It'll just take a moment-" Robby teases.

I grab the remote out of Robby's hands as he laughs, "Okay fine - go have your little roof date but do not take long!"

"Well, we'd already be done if he wasn't late. Where is he by the way? He is never late for anything.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

I step forward, my elbows on the counter of the nurses station and my head now in my hands as I groan.

“Relax. It’s Jack - we couldn’t keep him away from this place even if we wanted to. Especially with you in here.” Robby squeezes my shoulder and is off to what I assume to be the roof.

I check my watch before I stand back up to scan the board for real this time - 6:50 PM.

Where is he?

I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s no new message from Jack lighting up my home screen but I open up our conversation anyways.

From Jack: I miss you

From Jack: I can’t believe Langdon is getting to hang out with you right now and not me

From Jack: If you stay at that damn hospital any longer we’re gonna have to start forwarding all these packages you order there

Little does he know one of those many packages holds his new pilates socks.

To Jack: Oh please - as if more than half aren’t all your little go bag gadgets

To Jack: And to think our colleagues think I’m the drama queen

“Incoming - Trauma 1!”

I’m happy for the distraction. I’m gowned, gloved, and ready to go before the patient is even rolled in.

The doors to Trauma 1 fly open - but not with a patient. Just Dana.

“I’m going to get Robby! You should not have to do this.” Dana is staring pointedly at me before she’s off. I don’t even get a chance to respond.

Weird. I know I’ve only been an attending for a couple months but Dana had more confidence in me on my first day as an intern than she did just now.

I now understand why as the patient is rolled in front of me.

There he is.

Unconscious. Cold. Clammy. And slightly bloody from a small cut on his forehead.

My world stops.

“Heart attack.” Langdon is here.

Somehow all I can think of is Jack’s text from earlier. I want to laugh but I can’t. What if I never get one again? I’m supposed to see him in pink pilates socks tonight. Not in a body bag.

“CLEAR!”

Suddenly all the pieces from the past couple days are coming together and I cannot believe I didn’t catch it sooner. Can’t believe he didn’t catch it sooner!

“CLEAR!”

His dizziness. The increase in massages of his amputated leg. The quick heart beat. The rash.

I hear the commotion around me. But I’m not processing any of it until it’s directed at me.

“I said CLEAR! Move!”

This cant be happening. So I decide that it’s not going to.

“No!” My voice comes out way more feeble than I meant. Way more feeble than anyone in this ED has ever heard me.

“Well I hope you enjoyed being Abbot’s favorite because you’re going to kill him and your career in one go.”

“Langdon - he is not having a heart attack.”

“Yes he is!”

“No he isn’t - take off his leg!”

“Take off his leg?! Okay, you’re literally going insane. And I’m supposed to report to you?! I know I went to rehab but oh my gosh - CLEAR!”

“I’m going to clear you out of this trauma bay if you do not get out of my way.”

You know how they say a new mom could lift a car off of her new born baby? I’m pretty sure that’s the phenomenon I am experiencing right now. I don’t exactly know what other worldly force is taking over me right now but I do not question it. I am watching myself from outside of my body as I spring into action.

I shove Langdon to the side as I lift up Jack’s pant leg to remove his prosthetic. The prosthetic that noone else in this room would’ve known he had.

He doesn’t keep it a secret but he doesn’t exactly advertise it either. Especially when he refuses to sit down on a double shift. Ironically enough, that’s probably why he is on this table.

I spot what I’m looking for immediately but Langdon is the one who speaks it out loud, “Pressure ulcer - he’s in septic shock.”

“Thanks for finally using your brain Dr Langdon but we’re going to be using mine from here on out.”

“Blood ox is 91.” Someone yells. I don’t know who. What I do know is that 91 is dangerously low.

“Scalpel.” I demand.

“What are you going to do?”

“We need to drain this fluid before his organs start to fail.”

The first and only time Jack taught me this procedure it was his save. Now it has to be mine.

I tell myself that one day we will be sitting in front of our engraved fireplace. Old. Like, actually old. Not the fake old that Jack tries to pretend he is. With kids and grandkids - telling them the story of how Jack saved his own life through the transitive property. So I better get to work.

“Scalpel. Now.”

Langdon slams the scalpel into my hand. I ignore the looks around the room. The looks that say ‘The only person qualified to perform something like this in an ED is the patient’.

“Your funeral. And his.” I ignore Langdon.

I must have cut the most perfect incisions of my life. Performed the most flawless procedure anyone has ever seen from me. I don’t remember any of it.

The loud beeping slows. His blood pressure rises. Then his blood oxygen. Then the bag I drained is full and being disposed of by Dana.

When did she get here?

Robby’s hand is on my shoulder, trying to pull me away.

When did he get here?

I hear him tell Whitaker to get a suture and close up the wound. Oh, the irony. Credit where credit is due - Whitaker has gotten much quicker under Jack’s patient teaching. Thank fucking goodness.

I think of the first real laugh I got out of Jack. My eyes start to tear up but I stop myself. I will hear that laugh again. Over and over and over again. So much so that I would get sick of it if that was even possible.

Robby is apologizing profusely into my ear. He has nothing to be sorry for. But I can’t manage any words. So I just let him move me out of Whittaker’s way but I do not leave Jack’s side.

I can’t seem to register anything beyond Jack’s face that I’m seemingly trying to force into consciousness with my stare alone.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

My head turns to Whitaker at his question but it swivels so fast back to Jack I think I give myself whiplash. Because I don’t speak - he does.

“Solid work, doctor.”

I’ve never been happier to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god.” My hand clamps over my mouth as my head dips to Jack’s chest, my arms wrapping around his shoulders.

My adrenaline tank plummets to zero and I am absolutely sobbing into Jack’s chest. Whatever was coursing through my veins during that procedure is coming out in what feels like gallons of tears and hiccups.

I don’t care who’s in the room. I don’t care that everyone is slack jawed and staring and so beyond confused. I don’t care that out of the corner of my eye I see Perlah slapping a $100 into Princess’s palm.

All I care is that Jack’s hand has found its way into my hair and when I place my shaking hand on top of it to make sure it’s real - it is. Even better - it’s warm and dexterous and alive.

He’s alive and he’s here.

He gently guides my head out of his chest. I lift my chin up to look at him - give him the eye contact I know he is seeking. That we both are.

“Baby - I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is as steady as ever. His heart beat matching it. The beat that was so faint what seems like moments ago.

I let it calm me down. I place a kiss to his chest and lean up to do the same to his forehead. My hand tangles in his salt and pepper curls as I hold his sweaty forehead to my lips and then bring my own forehead down to meet his. I close me eyes and breath him in.

He’s alive and he’s here.

“Welcome back, brother.” Robby manages to choke out through a couple tears of his own.

“Just wanted to make sure you guys weren’t getting lazy at the end of your shift.”

We all crack a smile but only Robby speaks, “Does this mean I have to work a double?”

“Not if you go park my car. It’s in the ambulance bay.”

I speak a full sentence for what feels like the first time in days, “You drove here?”

“We had a date. Plus, I wasn’t feeling quite right.” Jack nods down towards his amputated leg like it’s nothing but a minor inconvenience.

I dig into his pocket and toss Robby his keys. Robby calls for a CT and a room with a bed before ushering himself and everyone else out to give us some privacy.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling like I’d like to make the woman who just saved my life my wife.”

My hand immediately flies to the small cut on his forehead. The blood dry and crusty, “How hard did you hit your head? We’re already engaged.”

Jack chuckles, places his hand on mine and squeezes, “I barely hit my head when I fell out of the car. I’m fine - I just really don't want to live another moment without being able to call myself your husband.”

So we don’t. Not really anyways. I make Jack get every fucking scan in the book that I think we hit our insurance deductible in under an hour. He humors me by lying in the bed in one of the ER rooms as I pump a myriad of fluid and antibiotics into him.

After a few hours his blood oxygen is perfect. So is his blood pressure and his heart rate. I don’t think I’ve taken my eyes off of him once. Or my hands. Running my hands through his hair, caressing his forehead, squeezing his forearm. Just to reassure myself he is here.

He understands what I’m doing. Hears what I cannot say. He grabs my hand on its next pass through his hair and presses a kiss to every single knuckle before speaking, “Baby, I’m sorry I scared you. I scared myself honestly. But I promise, I am not going anywhere. Ever. And I am so sorry you had to go through that. You should have never had to operate on me. I don’t know how you did that. I mean if it was flipped. If I saw you come in like that-“

His voice falters, his bottom lip quivers and he pulls me into the tightest hug as we both begin to cry. I think if we could crawl into eachothers skin, we would.

We stay there like that for a while. Until Jack grabs my face, kisses every single part of it, then whispers “I love you so much but I think if you pump anymore fluid into me you’re going to water board me.”

As if on cue, Robby whips the curtain open, “To the roof we go!”

“You can’t be serious.”

Robby holds up some kind of certificate as Collins and Dana round the corner.

In the hours I spent nursing Jack back to health, I went to the bathroom one time. And only because I hadn’t gone the last four hours of my shift and I own a huge water bottle.

In that one bathroom break, Jack had managed to get Robby ordained online and enlisted Dana and Collins to ‘decorate’ the roof.

We’re still gonna have our wedding ceremony and the reception and the whole ordeal. But I agree with him - I can’t go another second not married to him. Not after today.

So we go up to the roof. Jack still in his hospital gown and me in my scrubs. Robby officiates, Dana sings because she can’t help herself, and Collins ‘witnesses’ which really means crying.

Jack is kissing me before Robby can even say, “You may kiss your bride.”

When we come up for air, Robby claps both of us on the back and says, “Solid work, you two.”

I just kiss my husband again. Because he is alive and he is here

[copperbadge]

Recently I ran across an article about an art center that was doing creative expression classes for people with disabilities. Not that unusual, I've encountered that and trauma-oriented art therapy before, but it was the first time I'd come across the idea since getting diagnosed with ADHD. While the class was aimed more at high-needs disabilities, it occurred to me that I could -- if I wanted -- make non-prose art about being disabled.

Outside of my work in scene design I've never been much of a visual artist because I've never felt I had the combination of "something to say" and "a meaningful way to say it", but I started to question how meaningful and complex I really had to be to just make some statements about having ADHD. I can do it in prose, after all.

So I started thinking about how you would talk, in visual language, about things like time blindness, shame stemming from undiagnosed disability, the shift in behavior that medication can induce. Ways to express my condition to people who don't experience it. I still didn't really know how to build the pieces but whenever I went to an art museum I'd think about how I might do a gallery installation. The centerpiece of my mental gallery was a pair of barcodes, one marked "Neurotypical" and one marked "Neurodivergent".

[ID: An interior view of a small booklet, with pages marked 1 and 2, showing barcodes -- on the left, labeled Neurotypical, and on the right, in slightly weirder configuration, labeled Neurodivergent.]

And then I thought, why not make a zine? Nothing you're thinking of couldn't be put in zine form instead of on a gallery wall.

[ID: The booklet continues to pages 3 and 4; on page 3 is a postage-style label reading AUTISM with up arrows on either side, and on page 4 is a QR code labeled ADHD. The QR code technically should work but it just dumps a block of text I wrote about having ADHD into a browser.]

I grew up with zine culture in the 90s and I always wanted to make one but much like with visual art, I never felt like I had the right kind of thing to say; either I had too much to say or too little, and anyway I wasn't confident that what I wanted to do wouldn't just come off as trite and obvious. But you can make a six-page zine out of a single sheet of paper, so I did: I made Helpful Labels For Strange Brains by idab zines, a division of Extribulum Press. (i--dab is a term for a cuneiform tablet that contains a royal communication.)

[ID: The last two pages feature the same image -- a cereal bowl with a spoon in it, the spoon containing a single Adderall pill. One image, however, is captioned "Wake up. Pour yourself a cup of iced coffee. Fix a bowl of cereal. It's going to be a good day." while the other is covered in a detailed ADHD-style step-by-step process for the same actions, culminating in "It's going to be a day like that."]

I'm pretty pleased with how it came out -- the art all looks intentional and it still has that "taped this together after school" aesthetic I remember fondly from the 90s. And the confines of six pages, each only a few inches square, offers a good structure to keep things clear, simple, and meaningful.

[ID: The cover of the zine, labeled "Helpful Labels For Strange Brains" in a kind of esoteric stampy font.]

Especially nice is that if you wanted to you could just hand out the flat sheet, and let folks fold it into a booklet or not -- there's instructions for folding it on the back of the zine. Additionally I have some sticker backed printer paper so I could print it such that you could literally turn the labels into real labels.

Anyway if you want it, here ya go. You can print it on a single sheet of paper and follow the instructions on the back to fold it. I thought about selling it but I do not have the spoons to do a bunch of printing and folding and shipping.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! Reader and their hair adventures

Route: recovered dove

Masterlist | previous part | next part (coming soon)

Author's note: I finally did it! All the requests about Joker's kid and their hair journey are here! Hope I`ve done good enough ;3 This week was valentines Day. I know I'm late for it, bu I hope it went well for you ^-^

Warnings: Grammar (as usual), psychological trauma, triggers

Adjusting to the manor, getting alone with family, building friendship with Chlory, and attending therapy : all of those things improved your mental health greatly. On one of your session your therapist brought up the idea that you should find a healthy way to express yourself, as any kid should try at least, that you can experiment and showing your personality through your appearance, and to find your own style and after soke thought you decided to give it a shot.

You could try to wear colorful clothes, but you liked dark color scheme that you've seen your family (except Dick) preferred to wear and which you also picked up , besides every time you see purple and green clothes you feel uncomfortable. As for the style of clothes, you liked them relaxed comfortable and soft, so your style,.if you could say so, was exactly that, relaxed. The thought of body modifications went straight out of a window, you had enough of experiments on your body and enough experience with syringes your body for now. Makeup was..  to hard, you were still adjusting holding crayons, what to say about brushed. Besides, makeup had so many things and rules, styles that you didn't really catch up with. And so you decided that you should try to dye your hair. You knew you would NEVER dye your hair green! You don't want to have anything connected to the nightmare of your life anymore. But you remember your mom had tips of her hair colored, one of which was pink.

So you did some research on how to dye hair, types of dyes, techniques, and all the things. Although you had some vague memories of how your biological father dyed your hair, you can remember how the process was painful, you remember your mom told you that when she dyed her hair it, didn't hurt. A few times, she was able to dye your hair instead of Joker. She did so without hurt. Maybe this memory also made you more inclined to dye your hair. Maybe this way, you would still have some connection to her. Back to your new perception of hair dye, it wasn't that hard since you caught up on chemical reaction in the root of the process quickly. After reading about different types of hair dyes and different ingredients in them, you found one that was a good choice for you. The problem was how to get them.

Although you already brought up the idea of dyeing your hair to Alfred, you did not introduce your dad to the idea, and you had no idea how Bruce would react. And although Alfred was supportive of your idea (he was happy to know you found a courage to express yoursekf and joked that he would be happy too see something bright and not dangerous at the same time in the manor) you were not sure of Bruce.

You told him about you wanting to try dye your hair on the way to your therapy session. Although he knew you had a decision about it with therapy, he was still surprised to hear it. He gently asked you for your reasoning, and to your surprise on the way back, he took you to buy few hair dyes that was good quality and safe (he did all necessaryr esearch while waiting you) and haircare products which was good quality and suited for dyed hair. After Alfred helped you cut your hair in style you wanted, you began the process of hair coloring. You diligently followed instructions, coloring your strands in the right order, trying not to mess anything up. After you washed excessive dye and dryed your hair, you got your result. Your hair was pink, but not as bright as you thought (you knew about hair bleach, but you decided not to risk it), but you loved it. It was a cute color and a bit peachy.

Chlory, who was first to see you, couldn't contain her amazement repeating cute and loud "I am Chlory" over and over. The second who saw you, was Damian, who heard how loud  Chlory and instantly went to check on you, hoping  that you are okay (thought he would never admit it), and when he entered your room he was startled. He remembers you having your natural color of hair, one which he was used to, so seeing you with new hair color was .... surprising. He had to stare at you for a few seconds until you turned to look at him questionably

- Are you trying to make a statement? - he asked, a sharper than intended

- uh - you hesitated - no? Why?

- your hair ... it's different.. interesting. - he said, staring a few more seconds and walking away, leaving you confused.

Your family learned about your adventure soon enough, and all of them were accepting. While Jason was more surprised (silently praying it wasn't connected to the rebel phase (he had one so bad, and he was concerned for yours would be worse)). Dick was happy to know you started expressing yourself. He showered you with praises, saying how adorable you were, and you really were since you seemed more happy now and helped you do various hairstyles. For him, your cuteness went higher up, and his awe with you went to new levels. He also was happy to discuss with you what hair color you should try next. As for Tim, he was the one who notced that now you opened your obsession, connected to having all color's of hair dyes possible (except green), and he kinda enables it, showing you new tones and limited collections, leading to your bathroom becoming filled with dyes. You seem happy, so he is happy for you.

As your pink hair began to fade, you decided to go with the next color your mom had in her hair - blue. And, at first, it seemed fine. Sure, color turned out to be more turquoise than on the label, but it was fine. What you didn't expect is for color of your hair to wash out so quickly and suddenly. At first, you thought nothing of it. But one evening after the shower, when you saw yourself in the mirror, you saw green in your hair. It suddenly was hard and painful to breathe. Your heart hurt your ribs. The bathroom seemed to get smaller. You couldn't tear your eyes away. You swear you heard him. You couldn't move. You couldn't run or hide.

You skipping dinner made family worried. And they all decided to check on you to find you sobbing hard, breaking down. Jason and Tim were the first ones to get what was wrong and what triggered you... green in your hair. While Bruce and Dick helped you calm down, they exchanged a quick conversation, which led you to the moment: once you calmed  down they acted instantly, knowing you don't need trigger (and they too), so here you were, sitting on the floor of Tim's bathroom with him next to you, and Jason on the edge of the bath . Tim is showing you blue hair dye, which fades to purple while instantly sending Dick to buy it, and Jason prepares your hair for the next coloring. You three spend the entire evening together (as a squad of kids who were danaged by Joker) working on your hair and leading it back to blue, and also talking lots. After that, and other's returning from patrol an emergency movie night was arranged starring yout favorite documentary, and while Bruce fall asleep holding you, few others went soon, leaving you and Damian to have a good and long discussion about film.

Your hair journey went on, featuring all the colors (even black for the connection with bats), different haircuts, hair dyeing done by all family, and more happy memories. You took the roud and you've certainly liked it

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think about my work! Hope you have a good day 💖

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Author's note 2 : it was only my first week back in studying field, but I alredy have so much work, I'm alredy tired, and I managed to get sick... I hope to post every week or every two weeks. Life is chaotic, but i will try my best to deal with it. And here i want to thank you all for your support, it means a lot to me 💖

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[orellazalonia]

Found some footage of unhinged!reader training rookies:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMS8vnswe/

(Hi! I love your works, you're amazing!!)

I’M DYING LOL AND IT WORKS SOMEHOW. So, that got me thinking how would she train them…. Now we turn it into a Drabble/blurb [Confession: I don’t know the difference between those two yet LOL] Happy reading! Also greetings! Thank you so much, always so nice seeing you around. Thanks for following along!!! :D

Unqualified, Unhinged, and Unforgettable

Summary: A bunch of excited, hopeful rookies have the absolute displeasure honor of being trained under you.

Word Count: 700+

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

The rookies were excited. Nervous, but excited.

After all, they’d been assigned to training with one of the Avengers. A respected, battle-hardened legend. Probably someone like Steve Rogers. Or maybe Natasha Romanoff! God, even Sam Wilson would be incredible.

“Wait,” One of them whispered. “Who’s that?”

You walked onto the training mat holding a stick of string cheese like a cigarette, wearing mismatched socks and aviators. You pointed the cheese at them.

“Morning, nerds.”

The recruits glanced at each other.

“…Are you the trainer?” One asked hesitantly.

You bit the cheese, chewed, and nodded. “Absolutely. Avengers’ top strategic mind. Fun fact, I have never successfully used a revolving door. You’ll respect me soon enough though.”

One recruit hesitantly raised their hand. “Why are you barefoot?”

“I fight better when grounded to the earth’s vibrations,” You replied. “Also I couldn’t find my shoes.”

And so began the most absurd training session in S.H.I.E.L.D. history.

-

Hour 1:

You paired them off. “First, pick a partner. Then pretend they just betrayed you in a high-stakes casino heist.”

They hesitated, looking around at each other as they tried to process the instruction. You shouted, “Feel the betrayal! Feel the drama! Slap them if you need to!”

One poor recruit started sobbing. Another screamed, “I LOVED YOU, TYLER,” and tackled their partner into a fountain.

You applauded. “Amazing. Raw and painful. That’s real combat.”

-

Hour 2:

You rolled a blender onto the mat with duct tape, Christmas lights, and three timers.

“This,” You announced dramatically, “is your bomb.”

“That’s a blender,” Someone whispered slowly.

You leaned in, deadly serious. “That’s what they want you to think.”

The rookies huddled, genuinely trying to figure it out. One made the mistake of cutting the red wire (which was actually a Twizzler). The blender turned on and shot glitter everywhere.

“That was a decoy,” You told them solemnly. “Now you’re covered in regret and sequins.”

-

Hour 3:

You took them on a “field simulation” which turned out to be a surprise shopping trip to IKEA.

“Navigate this labyrinth. Assemble a chair. Use only hex keys and trauma.”

Two recruits got lost in the kitchen model displays. One called you from inside a wardrobe. You refused to help.

“If you can’t escape IKEA,” You said, eating a meatball with your bare hands, “How will you escape Hydra?”

-

Aftermath

When the rookies returned to HQ, some crying, some covered in glitter, and one holding an emotional support fern; they were never the same.

But they were better, somehow. Sharper and unpredictable. Capable of disarming actual bombs and Swedish furniture with nothing but rage and a plastic fork.

Bucky found you later in the common room, sitting on the couch, eating marshmallows with chopsticks and watching a documentary on nuclear fission at max volume. You were also wearing his hoodie, which meant you were either thriving or about to cause an international incident.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You turned those rookies into emotionally unstable weaponized gremlins.”

You didn't look away from the TV. “I prefer the term ‘innovative prodigies.’”

“They challenged Sam to a duel using plungers and grief metaphors.”

“They need to learn how to weaponize emotion. That’s day three material.”

“They built a working trebuchet and launched my motorcycle onto the roof.”

You finally turned to look at him. “And did it not work?”

Bucky stared at you. “You trained them for one day.”

You gave him a slow blink, then gently offered him a marshmallow with the chopsticks. “You love me.”

“I love you,” He said flatly, taking the marshmallow. “I also think you might be a war crime in human form.”

You grinned. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He walked over and dropped his head into your lap with a tired sigh, arm slinging around your waist. “Next time you train anyone, I’m sedating you first.”

“Won’t happen but that’s fair,” You said, petting his hair with one chopstick. “But you have to admit… they’re kind of unstoppable now.”

From down the hallway came a loud bang, a screech of victory, and someone yelling, “FOR SCIENCE AND THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP!”

You sipped juice from your “World’s Best Trainer” mug and said softly, “My legacy begins.”

Bucky just groaned. “God help us all.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Ra's Al Ghul began to wonder why Damian always acted "odd" compared to when he was a child. He had difficulty making eye contact, struggled to follow instructions at times, found it hard to share his interests, and had trouble expressing emotions—not in the way Ra's was accustomed to.

Silent concern gnawed at him. He feared Bruce might be doing something wrong, and the thought that he was ruining his grandson's development troubled him deeply. He couldn't admit that he actually cared for the boy; showing any semblance of weakness in front of his minions or even to himself was unacceptable.

So, he confronted Bruce:

Ra's: I've stayed silent about this for far too long, you better start talking, Bruce!

Bruce (dryly): Hi, it's good to see you again. What do you need?

Ra's: I need to know how are you raising him? Better yet, what have you passed down to him? He's struggling to look me in the eye, it didn't come from my bloodline. Tell me what you did cause I don't want him to end up as dim as you!

Bruce: Rude. There’s nothing wrong with Damian apart from the trauma you put him through.

Ra's: Trauma, you weak willed people. Well, there’s definitely something off about him and you're going to tell me!

Bruce: Ra's, you were around him for eight years. You didn’t notice anything about his learning difficulties?

Ra's: Hm, he did struggle to speak for some time. He has a hard time making eye contact, and teaching him certain things was a challenge. Plus, he’s not the best with emotions. But most of that is normal in my culture.

Bruce (smirking): You don’t know, do you?

Ra's: Know what? What did you do to him?

Bruce: I got him tested a few months after he got here. Ra's, he’s autistic.

Ra's locked up, horrified. His ideas about neurodiversity were outdated. At one point, autism was believed to stem from mothers not loving their children enough, I'm not kidding. It was considered a disease back in the 1900s and earlier (and to some idiots, it still is).

Ra's glanced over at his grandson, who was listening to music and twirling a pen.

Ra's: Oh Allah, how did this happen? Can we… What did you do? What did you give him? My poor grandson!

Bruce (trying not to laugh): I saw this coming, and I admit it’s still kind of funny. Ra's, he doesn’t have a disease; he’s not sick. He has a neurodevelopmental disorder, which is not a bad thing. I just have to raise him a little differently, no skin off my bones, honestly.

Ra's: Are you lying to protect your own ass?

Bruce: Nope. I’ve raised three kids before him, and each one is different. Damian is fine, he’s a great kid and my son. If you treat this like a problem that needs fixing, you’ll end up waking up in the Pit.

Ra's: Alright, I’ll believe you for the time being. But if I come back after researching this autism and I’m right, you’re going to be dealing with me!

Bruce: Cool, you can go now.

Ra's left, uncertain how to process this new information. He did the one thing many parents today fail to do: he researched the disorder and learned that it isn’t a deadly disease or a sign of parental failure, but rather something that one in every thirty-six kids is born with, and that they can lead normal, fulfilling lives.

Ra's defends his grandson

[theeartuaist]

Sometimes, I don't know what is worse, a yandere who's so delusional or a yandere who's so self-aware yet engages in obsessive and possessive behaviour nonetheless. Walk with me.

Like the delusional ones are terrifying because they genuinely believe they're doing the right thing. They'll lock you in a room and be like "this is for your own good my love" while you're screaming and they're serving you breakfast in bed with a smile.

They are so deep into the rabbit hole they've convinced themselves the hole doesn't exist. They're the ones who'll leave seventeen voicemails saying "I just want to make sure you're okay" while standing outside your window with a crowbar. They've rewritten reality in their minds like a twisted Choose Your Own Adventure book where every path leads to "happily ever after... or else."

BUT THE SELF-AWARE ONES

They'll deadass be like "I understand that my behavior is possessive, controlling, and violates multiple boundaries" then proceed to install 23 tracking apps on your phone. They know it's wrong. They can recite chapter and verse why their behavior would earn them a restraining order in any sane jurisdiction. But that knowledge doesn't stop them—it amplifies them.

They're out here doing full psychological analysis of their own behavior pattern while simultaneously deepening the pattern. They'll be in therapy describing their yandere tendencies in clinical detail to their therapist, nodding along to the coping mechanisms, and then walking straight out and buying 15 more security cameras for your house.

They're literally like "I know I'm toxic and you deserve better... anyway here's the 200-page dissertation I wrote about why we're soulmates based on the fact that we both like the same flavor of ice cream"

They can ratio you in an argument so hard because they'll use actual psychology textbooks to explain why their obsessive behavior is actually a totally rational response to their deep-seated attachment issues.

Like bro you can cite Jung and Freud all you want but you're still wearing my hoodie that you stole 3 months ago and sniffing it while updating your spreadsheet of my daily routines

The delusional yandere is in a horror movie. The self-aware yandere is in a psychological thriller where THEY'RE the unreliable narrator, the author, AND the reader all at once.

God help you if you try to ghost these bastards. The delusional one will keep calling until the phone lines fray from overuse. The self-aware one? They'll explain, in terms so clinical they could be published in the New England Journal of Stalking, exactly why your attempt to establish boundaries is actually detrimental to what they've determined is your "necessary codependency dynamic."

They're out here weaponizing therapy speak:

• "I need to process my abandonment trauma through this tracking device"

• "My love language is gift giving" buys your entire apartment complex

• "I'm just looking out for your mental health" hacks your DMs to delete messages from potential romantic interests

The self-aware yandere invented gaslighting yourself because they'll literally be like "I am fully cognizant of the fact that I'm gaslighting you right now", even providing footnotes explaining the exact gaslighting techniques they're employing while you be standing there like 🧍‍♀️ what do I even do with this information.

I think what fascinates me the most about self-aware type of yandere is that they exists in a state of perpetual dramatic irony. It's like they are trapped in a play where the audience (themselves) knows exactly what the character (also themselves) is doing, yet the show must go on! Scene by recursive scene.

TL;DR: Delusional yanderes are playing a game where they don't know the rules. Self-aware yanderes are speedrunning social relationships while reading the instruction manual and deliberately ignoring it.

Pick your poison I guess?

[genderqueerdykes]

Is it true that T gel is not as effective as shots are and that you cannot truly transition if you get the gel? Asking as a transmasc whos deathly afraid of needles

hello there!

fortunately, nope, that's not true! that's misinformation that gets spread around like crazy. every single person on this earth will respond differently to medications- just because one person did not receive the benefits they wanted from topical hormone gels (estrogen or testosterone) does not mean everyone else will have the same reaction!

there are folks who will get nothing out of it at all due to certain health conditions, genetics, or other factors, but that does not make the medication wholesale ineffective. there are also people who do not respond well to or process injectable testosterone- every person reacts to medications differently. it's best to take it on a case-by-case basis, as some won't get anything, but some will see the full spectrum of effects. it just depends on your body chemistry and how you personally react to medications

there are many trans people who transition with T gel only! you can absolutely fully medically transition with T gel. you are able to adjust your dose as needed, so you can tailor it to your needs just like injectable T. i took topical T for a few years and it still gave me all the benefits of injectable! including stopping my periods

i think some people struggle with T gel because they do not follow the instructions properly. i've actually met a few transmascs who shower their T gel off RIGHT after they've put it on, thinking the medication absorbs immediately. it is recommended to not shower or swim for several hours (usually around the 4 - 5 hour mark) to make sure all of the medication absorbs. if you do this and are not showing results from your gel, this is why. please don't immediately shower your T gel off! a lot of people also apply their gel to the wrong areas of the body: if you start topical T, your specific formulation will come with a guide showing you where to apply it. applying it in other areas may not work as well

it's a completely viable option, especially for people with shaky hands, needle trauma, or are squeamish. i hope that helps! topical T is not "weaker" than injectable- your skin is actually one of the areas of your body that has the some of the highest bioavailability when it comes to medications, meaning that your skin is excellent at absorbing topical medications and getting as much as possible out of them. as long as you do not have a condition that makes it difficult for your skin to absorb medications, its should affect you just as much as injectable would.

this is not a guarantee, as everyone is affected by medications differently. you may not have a condition that prevents you from absorbing medication through the skin and still struggle. everyone reacts differently- genetics, body chemistry, there are a lot of factors that can change how a person will react. it will depend greatly on who you are as a person.

usually there's not really a way to tell if it will work for someone until they try, so your mileage will vary, but the topical T is not on the whole weaker, or ineffective. it's important to talk about how it doesn't affect some people, but it's also important to talk about how it works great for many. like any medication, experiences with it will vary greatly from person to person and that's not a reflection that the medication is bad or ineffective, that's just normal for medication.

hope that helps!

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

Authors note: Thank you everyone for all the love on this fic! I appreciate it so much! I’ll be taking a break from posting for the weekend to give myself a break and work a little on my next fic! Love you all 💜

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 10

Reconnections

Night had fallen by the time Mingi's condition stabilized. Yeosang had worked for hours, his movements precise and efficient despite the emotional weight of the situation. Though he'd said little beyond necessary instructions, his careful attention to Mingi revealed a deeper connection than mere professional duty.

"You should rest," he told y/n, who had stayed beside Mingi's treatment table the whole time. "Recovery will take days, not hours. Your presence, while appreciated, can't speed up the healing process."

His tone was gentle despite the practical advice. The concern in his eyes contradicted his measured words.

"I'm staying," she replied simply. "At least for a little while longer."

Yeosang nodded once, accepting her decision without argument. Unlike their childhood days when survival required constant negotiation, they could now communicate directly without calculation.

"You should at least eat something," he said, placing a plate of simple food near her. "Hard to keep a proper watch if you're hungry."

A hint of a smile touched his lips—a gentleness reserved only for those he truly trusted.

"Your medical wisdom is noted, Doctor," she responded with matching warmth. "I promise to follow your advice."

A brief softening around his eyes—the closest thing to a smile Yeosang usually showed—crossed his features. Without further comment, he turned to organize his supplies, his efficiency never faltering despite hours of intense work.

The medical bay door opened as Yunho ducked through the entrance. His gentle face showed both concern and tentative hope. He moved with unusual hesitancy, as if uncertain of his welcome despite the emotional confirmation hours earlier.

"Yeosang," he acknowledged first, respecting the doctor's authority. "How is he?"

"Stable," came the reply, notably warmer than Yeosang's typical professional tone. "The bleeding is under control, the wound is clean and dressed. His unconsciousness seems to be his body's way of recovering from the trauma, not something more serious."

Yunho nodded in understanding. "May I stay with him for a while?"

"Of course," Yeosang confirmed, his voice softening. "I need to prepare some additional supplies in the storage area. Call if anything changes."

As the doctor retreated to the adjacent room, Yunho approached cautiously. Though hours had passed since y/n revealed her identity, he was clearly still adjusting to the reality of their reunion.

"I brought this," he said softly, placing a small object on the shelf near Mingi's bed. "It was in his workbench drawer. I thought he might want it nearby when he wakes."

The object was a miniature wooden dolphin with the distinctive compass mark carved into its base—identical to the ones Mingi had asked Yunho to leave for y/n to find.

"He still makes them," she observed quietly, reaching to touch the small figure. "After all these years."

Yunho nodded as he settled into the chair opposite hers, with Mingi's unconscious form between them. "Every port we visit. He leaves them in places children might find them—markets, squares, harbor areas. For fifteen years, without stopping once."

"Like message bottles," Yunho continued, his voice growing softer. "Cast into a human ocean instead of water, hoping somehow one might reach you. That you might recognize his work and remember."

Y/n’s fingers traced the compass mark embedded in the miniature dolphin, identical to the symbol on her wooden sparrow and Yeosang's wolf. "I found one," she said, careful not to reveal too much about Yeosang yet. "In Blackwell's garden after a storm knocked down part of the wall. A friend found one too, it helped us through especially difficult times.”

Something shifted in Yunho's expression—wonder mixed with deep emotion as he realized what this meant. "He succeeded," he whispered in amazement. "His hope wasn't just wishful thinking. One of his messages actually reached you."

"I never knew who made it," she explained, still tracing the compass mark. "Just that it was beautiful, and mine, and worth protecting despite the risk. It became my talisman during the worst moments—proof that beauty could exist even within Blackwell's walls."

She noticed Yeosang freeze in the doorway as he listened to her explanation.

Yunho's eyes filled with tears, though his smile remained steady. "That would mean everything to him," he said softly. "To know he reached you somehow, even without you knowing. That his work gave you comfort when we couldn't."

For several minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, watching Mingi's steady breathing. Though unconscious, his strong presence remained obvious—the quiet strength that had defined him since childhood evident even now.

"Tell me about him," Y/n asked. "About the man he became after the boy I knew."

Yunho considered this thoughtfully. "He speaks more with his hands than his voice," he began. "Creates with precision what words can't express. His silence isn't emptiness but a different language—everything important communicated through what he builds rather than what he says."

The description matched perfectly with y/n’s memories of the quiet boy from The Crimson Serpent—his rare words carrying weight beyond their number, his carved animals expressing more than words ever could.

"He designed most of the ATEEZ's special systems," Yunho continued, obvious pride in his voice. "The hidden gun ports, the modified rigging that gives us better speed, even the speaking tubes that let us communicate throughout the ship. His mind sees connections others miss, possibilities where others see only obstacles."

Y/n nodded. "He always found solutions where none seemed possible," she observed. "Even as a child."

"That hasn't changed," Yunho confirmed. "Though the scale of his work has grown. Half the ports in the world have standing orders for his mechanical designs—mechanisms bought by merchants and naval ships alike despite our reputation."

This surprised her—that the quiet gunner's creations extended beyond the ATEEZ to influence the wider maritime world.

"But he's most himself when carving," Yunho added, his voice softening. "In quiet moments, between battles or storms, when survival demands ease up. That's when the real Mingi emerges—focused on creating beauty that serves no purpose beyond existing."

This aligned perfectly with her childhood memories—the quiet boy who turned scraps of wood into tiny animals during rare peaceful moments aboard The Crimson Serpent.

"And you've been beside him through it all," she noted, recognizing a partnership deeper than friendship. "Since The Crimson Serpent."

Yunho nodded, something vulnerable crossing his face. "We share quarters," he said simply. "Have since we could choose such arrangements. His nightmares ease when I'm nearby, though he'd never admit that out loud."

"He speaks more with me than others," Yunho continued, trust flowing between them despite their years apart. "Not just words but the thoughts behind them. When we're alone, he talks more freely than anyone aboard would believe possible."

"You care for each other," y/n observed. "Beyond friendship or loyalty."

Yunho's eyes widened slightly, showing momentary vulnerability. Then his gentle certainty returned, neither confirming nor denying her observation.

"We've survived much together," he said simply. "Discovered that connection matters more than convention. That real bonds go beyond categories others might try to impose."

Y/n nodded, respecting his careful response. "I'm glad," she said sincerely. "That neither of you had to face fifteen years alone. That you had each other when circumstances demanded impossible strength."

Something in Yunho's expression softened further, gratitude showing beneath his gentle composure.

"We all found ways to survive," he acknowledged, his gaze returning to Mingi. "Though some paths were lonelier than others despite us staying together."

For several comfortable minutes, they kept their shared watch beside Mingi's bed, connection flowing without need for constant talking.

"You should rest," Yunho eventually suggested with genuine concern. "I'll stay with him through the night. Mingi would want your well-being put before his own."

"We'll take turns," she countered, offering compromise instead of rejection. "You need rest as much as I do, especially after the battle and everything that's happened. Yeosang can help us set up a schedule that works for everyone."

Yunho's smile deepened at this suggestion. "Always the practical one," he observed with appreciation rather than criticism. "Finding balance where others might only see opposing needs."

Before she could respond, Mingi's fingers twitched slightly beneath her hand—the first movement since losing consciousness during battle. Both immediately focused on this change, hope rising in their expressions.

"Puppy?" she whispered, the childhood nickname coming naturally.

Though Mingi didn't speak, his fingers definitely curled around hers—weak but deliberate. The simple contact carried meaning beyond its minimal strength.

"He knows you're here," Yunho said softly, wonder in his gentle voice. "Even without waking, he recognizes you."

Yeosang emerged immediately from the supply room, his awareness of medical developments evident despite his apparent focus on other tasks. "That's a good sign," he said, his professional assessment not fully hiding his personal response. "It shows he's responding, even if he's not fully conscious yet."

Despite his cautious words, satisfaction showed in his subtle smile.

"He still needs complete rest," he stated, falling back on medical terminology. "Recovery requires physiological processes that consciousness might disrupt through pain awareness and subsequent stress."

The unnecessary complexity—his deliberate use of medical jargon beyond what was needed—contained subtle humor that only those who knew him well would catch. This was Yeosang's version of emotional expression, using clinical language to create distance while still showing genuine care.

"Translation: let him sleep," y/n interpreted with a gentle tease. "Even if he's starting to respond, his body needs uninterrupted recovery time."

"Exactly," Yeosang agreed with a small smile. "Sometimes I forget not everyone appreciates medical terminology as much as I do."

Yunho chuckled softly, clearly familiar with this dynamic. "We should set up a watch rotation," he suggested, returning to y/n’s earlier proposal. "Making sure someone's always here while still allowing necessary rest."

"That makes sense," Yeosang agreed with a nod. "I can take the middle watch from midnight until dawn. You two should get some proper rest before then. We can figure out tomorrow's schedule based on how he's doing and who's available."

"Sounds reasonable," y/n agreed, smiling at his thoughtful arrangement. "We can adjust as needed, depending on how he responds."

Yeosang nodded, showing a warmth in his eyes that most of the crew rarely saw. With her, he allowed his careful walls to lower slightly, the boy she had known emerging from behind the doctor's composed exterior.

"I'll tell the captain about Mingi's improvement," Yunho said, rising carefully to minimize disruption. "He'll want to know right away despite handling the ship repairs."

As Yunho left, a comfortable silence settled in the medical bay. Their shared watch felt natural despite fifteen years of separation, trust renewed through their common purpose.

Beneath her hand, Mingi's fingers maintained gentle pressure—unconscious confirmation of their connection. Around his wrist, barely visible beneath his bandaged arm, the faint scar of a childhood blood oath remained—physical reminder of a promise kept against impossible odds.

Dawn light filtered through the medical bay's ports when y/n woke from unexpected sleep. Despite her determination to stay alert, exhaustion had claimed her during the quiet hours—emotional and physical strain finally overcoming her usual caution.

"Good morning, little bird."

The cheerful greeting—and childhood nickname—identified the speaker before she fully opened her eyes. Wooyoung sat across from her, Mingi's unconscious form between them, his expressive face showing both excitement and uncertainty despite his typical animation.

"Woo," she acknowledged, the shortened name coming naturally. "How long have you been here?"

"Since second bell of dawn watch," he replied with unusual precision that suggested deliberate restraint. "Yeosang finished his medical checks and said it was fine for me to take over watching our sleeping beauty here."

The casual phrase revealed some of his natural exuberance, though he was clearly moderating his approach out of respect for both the medical environment and the emotional significance of their reunion.

"Any change?" she asked, returning her attention to Mingi.

"Continuing improvement according to our esteemed doctor's extensive and thoroughly boring medical assessment," Wooyoung reported, some of his natural animation returning.

"Though his exact words involved many more syllables and absolutely zero personality, despite my heroic attempts to extract human expression from his clinical vocabulary."

The familiar complaint—good-natured exasperation beneath theatrical delivery—created unexpected warmth in y/n. Unlike calculated performance, Wooyoung's natural enthusiasm remained genuine  

"I speak plainly enough. Misrepresentation of medical communication," came Yeosang's voice from the supply room doorway, a hint of humor warming his measured tone. "Just because you prefer dramatic flourishes doesn't make clear medical assessment unnecessarily complex."

Wooyoung clutched his chest in exaggerated injury, his expressive face arranging itself into practiced suffering. "You wound me, Doctor. After I accurately translated your seventeen-syllable medical pronouncements into actual human language for our recently reunited friend."

"Your translations often take considerable creative liberties," Yeosang countered, entering the main treatment area with his typical quiet efficiency. "Medical accuracy matters, even if you think it lacks theatrical appeal."

"Theatrical appeal?" Wooyoung gasped, his performance growing increasingly elaborate despite obvious self-awareness. "My humor is exceptionally well-regarded throughout maritime waters! Pirates literally pause mid-combat to appreciate my perfectly timed observations!"

"I'm fairly certain that's not why they pause," Yeosang replied with a subtle smile. "The crew mostly tolerates your performances because there's limited entertainment during long voyages."

The exchange—flowing with practiced rhythm suggesting regular occurrence—made y/n laugh, genuine amusement breaking through her remaining emotional guardedness.

"There it is," Wooyoung said softly, his theatrical animation pausing as genuine warmth transformed his expressive features. "I've missed that sound for fifteen years."

"Your laugh," he clarified when her expression showed confusion. "The real one, not the careful version you've occasionally allowed since coming aboard. The one from before—from The Crimson Serpent, when we had nothing but still found reasons for joy."

This observation affected y/n deeply. Unlike simple recognition based on appearance, Wooyoung had recognized something essential about her that fifteen years of captivity had suppressed but not eliminated.

"I taught you how," he continued, memory softening his usually animated features. "How to laugh silently when attention meant danger. How to find humor when everything around us demanded despair."

Y/n nodded, the memory surfacing with unexpected clarity. "You crossed your eyes and puffed your cheeks until I couldn't help responding," she recalled. "Then showed me how to laugh without sound—shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling, mouth open but no noise coming out."

"The sacred art of secret laughter," Wooyoung confirmed with genuine pleasure. "Most important skill for surviving in a hostile environment. More valuable than physical escape or strategic resistance."

This assessment—delivered with unusual seriousness despite his typically playful manner—revealed wisdom beneath Wooyoung's cheerful exterior.

"It helped," she acknowledged simply. "During the worst times, remembering how to find humor kept something essential alive in me. Something Blackwell couldn't touch despite his best efforts."

Yeosang looked up from his inventory task, genuine emotion visible in his usually composed face. "Finding ways to preserve your inner self often matters more than physical resistance," he observed quietly. "Creating a mental sanctuary when you can't escape physically."

"Did you use it too?" Wooyoung asked with unusual perceptiveness as he turned toward Yeosang. "The silent laughter technique?"

The doctor continued his methodical organization without looking up, though something in his posture suggested meaningful hesitation.

"I found my own version," he acknowledged finally, the personal disclosure clearly difficult despite their years of friendship. "Something that worked for my situation and personality. Different approach but same purpose."

Wooyoung studied him for a long moment, unusual thoughtfulness replacing his theatrical presentation. Then a genuine smile transformed his expressive features.

"You found your own way," he translated gently. "Different method but same purpose. Keeping your essential self alive when everything around you demanded its surrender."

Yeosang's shoulders relaxed slightly—a subtle response invisible to anyone who didn't know him well. Though his expression remained mostly composed, this minimal physical adjustment revealed significant emotional impact.

"Something like that," he confirmed quietly. "We all did what we had to survive."

Y/n watched this exchange with growing understanding. Beyond the surface contrast between Wooyoung's theatrical expressiveness and Yeosang's measured reserve, their interaction showed genuine connection disguised by apparent opposition.

"You two have become quite the pair," she observed. "Despite your seemingly opposite ways of communicating."

Wooyoung grinned, his natural animation returning. "Opposites create perfect balance," he declared with characteristic flourish. "His calm precision balances my creative inspiration! My theatrical presentation counteracts his clinical terminology! Together we form the perfect partnership of contradictory harmony!"

"Exaggerated assessment containing potential validity despite questionable delivery methodology, as usual," Yeosang responded, though genuine warmth softened his typically measured tone. "But there's some truth to it. Different approaches sometimes work better together than separately."

"Translation: we balance each other," Wooyoung winked at y/n. "Though he'd rather perform complicated dental surgery on himself than admit such emotional vulnerability in plain language."

"I express myself adequately," Yeosang countered, though a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Just because I prefer precision doesn't mean I lack emotional awareness."

Before Wooyoung could continue their cheerful bickering, the medical bay door opened to admit Seonghwa. Unlike his usual meticulous appearance, signs of extended work were visible—his uniform slightly creased, hair not perfectly arranged, shadows beneath his watchful eyes.

"Quartermaster," Yeosang acknowledged immediately with professional respect. "I was just about to send my latest report."

"Proceed," Seonghwa replied, his precise tone matching the doctor's formal delivery despite evident fatigue. His gaze swept the room with typical efficiency before settling briefly on y/n with an unreadable expression.

As Yeosang delivered his medical update, y/n noticed an unexpected distance in Seonghwa's manner—professional courtesy maintained despite obvious emotional withdrawal. Unlike Wooyoung's immediate warmth or Yunho's gentle acknowledgment, the quartermaster's response to her confirmed identity seemed deliberately restrained. The coldness in his eyes when he looked at her stung more than she wanted to admit.

The contrast was particularly striking given his previous thoughtfulness during her initial days aboard the ATEEZ. Before knowing who she was, Seonghwa had shown consistent consideration despite his professional reserve—arranging comfortable accommodations, ensuring appropriate clothing, facilitating her integration into ship operations. Now, with her identity confirmed, his manner appeared more distant rather than closer—controlled politeness replacing tentative connection. Each word he spoke felt like he was building a wall between them, and despite her years of learning to hide her emotions, she couldn't help feeling a sharp pang of rejection.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said when Yeosang finished his report. "Continue current treatment protocol with standard documentation procedures. Captain Hongjoong requests hourly updates through established communication channels."

This formal directive created momentary awkwardness in the medical bay's atmosphere. Rather than naturally progressing from professional assessment to personal acknowledgment, Seonghwa maintained rigid separation between operational necessity and emotional context.

"Seonghwa," Wooyoung began, concern evident beneath his characteristic animation, "aren't you going to—"

"Damage control operations continue throughout primary structural systems," the quartermaster interrupted, cutting off the personal inquiry. "Your assistance is required in supply management and crew rotation scheduling given extended recovery timeline projections."

This deliberate refocus created visible confusion on Wooyoung's expressive face. Instead of his typical theatrical complaint, genuine concern showed through his usually confident manner.

"But we've found her," he said softly. "After all this time, all our searching. Don't you want to—"

"Ship operations take priority during recovery phase," Seonghwa stated, his precise tone allowing no space for emotional response. "Vessel functionality and crew welfare require immediate attention regardless of other developments."

The term "other developments"—applied to y/n’s confirmed identity—created palpable tension in the medical bay. Seonghwa established a rigid separation between operational necessity and emotional context—as if fifteen years of searching carried no more importance than routine ship maintenance.

Yeosang's gaze moved between them with unusual attentiveness, his typical composure temporarily replaced by acute awareness of the interpersonal dynamics at play.

"I'll be in the galley shortly," Wooyoung replied finally, evident confusion giving way to cautious acceptance. "Just need to finish up here with Yeosang."

Seonghwa nodded acknowledgment, then turned to include y/n with careful neutrality. "The captain requests your presence in his quarters when convenient," he stated formally, his delivery containing neither warmth nor hostility. "Security escort will be provided given ongoing ship management concerns and potential complications."

"Thank you, Quartermaster," y/n replied, matching his formal tone despite the hurt that tightened her chest. Fifteen years navigating dangerous social situations had developed her sensitivity to emotional subtext—recognizing withdrawal that required careful response rather than direct confrontation. Still, after years of imagining reunion with her childhood protectors, his coldness felt like a physical blow. "Please inform the captain I'll attend him once Mingi's condition allows."

Seonghwa nodded once—a sharp, precise movement showing neither approval nor objection. "I'll convey your message," he confirmed, immediately turning toward the exit without further interaction.

As the door closed behind him, momentary silence settled over the medical bay—confusion flowing beneath surface composure as they processed the unexpected interaction.

"Well," Wooyoung said finally, his characteristic animation subdued beneath genuine bewilderment, "that was..."

"Unexpected," Yeosang supplied thoughtfully. "Not what anyone would predict, especially considering how long he’s been searching for you."

"Exactly!" Wooyoung agreed, grateful for the accurate assessment. "Not at all what anyone expected from Mr. Precise-and-Proper given recent developments and fifteen years of obsessive searching."

Y/n remained silent, processing the implications carefully as she tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart. Unlike Wooyoung's open confusion or Yeosang's measured assessment, her response incorporated analysis developed through years navigating complex power dynamics during captivity.

"He's protecting himself," she said finally, understanding crystallizing from observed evidence, though it didn't make his rejection hurt any less. "Creating distance because connection represents vulnerability he's not prepared to handle right now."

Wooyoung's brow furrowed with genuine puzzlement. "But why now? After fifteen years searching for you, countless false leads and disappointments, finally confirming your identity—why pull back when connection becomes possible rather than just theoretical?"

"Because theory is safer than reality," Yeosang observed quietly, his insight clearly drawn from personal experience. "An idea can't disappoint you or hurt you. But a real person, a real relationship—that involves risk that can't be controlled."

"He's spent fifteen years imagining who I might be," y/n elaborated. "Creating a picture of me in his mind, what our reunion might be like. Now that I'm actually here, reality is colliding with that image. The real me might not match what he's built up in his mind all these years."

Wooyoung considered this explanation with unusual thoughtfulness. "So finding you actually scares him more than losing you," he concluded with surprising insight. "Because your real presence requires him to adjust to someone who might not be who he imagined."

"Possible," Yeosang confirmed appreciatively. "The reality of reconnection is more complex than the idea of it. It requires adjusting expectations built over fifteen years of separation."

"He needs time," Y/n acknowledged, forcing herself to be rational even as her eyes stung with unexpected tears. She blinked them back quickly, unwilling to let the others see how much his rejection had wounded her. "Time to adjust."

"It might take him a while," Yeosang agreed gently. "Seonghwa processes things internally, and he's been emotionally invested in finding you longer than almost anyone."

"Which means," Wooyoung translated, his characteristic animation returning, "our perfectly ordered quartermaster currently resembles his personal nightmare—someone whose meticulously arranged reality has been completely disrupted despite getting exactly what he's been seeking for fifteen years."

This observation made y/n laugh, genuine amusement flowing beyond calculated response.

"There's a certain irony to it," Yeosang acknowledged with a small smile. "Achieving exactly what you've wanted most, only to find yourself unprepared for the reality of it."

Before they could continue, Mingi's fingers twitched more deliberately beneath y/n’s hand—stronger movement than before, suggesting increased awareness despite continued unconsciousness. All three immediately focused on this development.

"That's much stronger than before," Yeosang observed, moving immediately to check vital signs with practiced efficiency. "His body's responding more actively, which is an excellent sign. He might be closer to waking than I initially thought."

"He knows we're here," Wooyoung said with unusual softness. "He can feel us even before consciousness fully returns."

Y/n squeezed Mingi's hand gently. "Keep fighting, Puppy," she whispered. "We're all waiting for you."

As morning light strengthened through the medical bay's ports, casting gentle illumination across the room's occupants, their connection deepened despite fifteen years of separation.

As Yeosang continued examining Mingi, a gentle knock at the door announced another visitor. The door opened to reveal a young crew member—one of Hongjoong's personal messengers.

"The captain requests your presence when convenient," he said to y/n respectfully. "He's in his quarters."

The simple message, delivered without formal escort or rigid timeline, showed consideration beyond mere authority.

"I can stay with our patient," Wooyoung offered immediately. "Yeosang's expertise and my unparalleled entertainment value will ensure his continued improvement even in your temporary absence."

"Mingi's condition is stable," Yeosang confirmed, mercifully ignoring Wooyoung's self-proclaimed entertainment value. "Your brief absence won't impact his recovery. I'll send word immediately if anything changes."

"Thank you," she said, giving Mingi's hand a final gentle squeeze before rising. "I won't be gone long."

As she moved toward the door, Wooyoung called after her with uncharacteristic restraint: "He's been waiting fifteen years for this conversation. We all have, but him most of all."

Y/n paused at the doorway, turning back to face Wooyoung. The theatrical cook's rare moment of seriousness touched something deep within her.

"I've been waiting too," she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion building in her throat. "All those nights whispering your names in the dark, wondering if I'd ever hear someone call me by my real name again."

She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Wooyoung's with unexpected openness. "When you first brought me those honey cakes, I nearly broke right then. It took everything I had not to throw my arms around you and tell you who I was. But I had to be sure. Fifteen years teaches you that hope is the most dangerous thing you can carry." A small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "And yet I kept carrying it anyway, even when it felt like it would break me."

She glanced at Mingi's still form, then back to Wooyoung, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Tell him I'll be back soon. Tell him..." her voice wavered for just a moment, "...tell him his little shadow still remembers how to find her way home, even after all these years in the dark."

Without waiting for a response, she slipped through the doorway, the vulnerability of the moment too raw to bear any longer. But as she walked the corridor toward Hongjoong's quarters, her steps carried a lightness they hadn't known in fifteen years.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy

[pyrepostings]

Whumpee who needs a surgery but they have Trauma about being knocked out and things Done to them.

Do they get the surgery while paralyzed and numb, but awake? Is caretaker there to still walk them through what's happening to them?

Do they agree to go under full anesthesia but only if caretaker is there both when they go under and wake up, and very specific instructions about how they want to be treated during the process?

"Fine, just, can you be there when I'm waking up? And please don't judge me if I react poorly to you, I- I don't always know where I am when I'm coming out of it."

"Let me hold the gas to my own face. Don't touch me until I'm out. Make sure I'm dressed the same by the time I'm coming up. Do what you have to do while I'm out, I don't want to hear details about it unless I ask, just get it done."

[harridansibyl]

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

Does Silco Know?

I'm surprised by the number of people I've talked who believe Silco is unaware of what Singed is doing to Vander, that it is all happening behind his back. Here I wanted to go over the reasons why Silco almost certainly played a roll in Warwick's creation, and perhaps even ordered it.

Weapon of War

Silco needs terrifying, never-before-seen weapons if an overwhelmingly underarmed Zaun is to scare Piltover into submission- it's why he has shimmer created and why he instructs Jinx to create Fishbones. It is likely that Warwick is intended to be another one of these wildcards.

Money and Strength

Singed's funding comes from Silco, so it would be difficult for him to hide such an audacious project. Singed also doesn't have the strength to carry shimmer-Vander's corpse away to his lab, but Silco's thugs do.

Holding On

Silco's biggest flaw is his inability to let the past and his loved ones go, and the way he, like Jinx, destroys what he loves. Silco romanticizes the betrayal and reminisces of the time he and Vander fought together. He refuses to give up on Vander, even forgiving him for the drowning and trying to reconcile. Vander has moved on, he refers to Silco as "brother" only in the past tense, but Silco continues to call Vander brother, even after the failed reconciliation and his "death." When Silco finds Jinx on the bridge, he tells Singed to keep her alive, even insists that "she can't die," despite being warned that the process will be torturous and it would be more merciful to let her go. He can't bring himself to do this because he loves her too much, too selfishly, to give her up to death or topside. Would it be that much of a stretch to suggest he did the same with Vander?

Hallucinations

After the explosion, Jinx hallucinates Vi, Mylo, and Claggor because she knows she killed them or indirectly caused their deaths. Jinx's bomb also helped to bring about Vander's demise, and she saw Vander's corpse. Despite this, she doesn't hallucinate him- not until e9, when she is already in a severe psychotic episode and Vi yells his name. Plus, in the concept for her minigun, she has scrawled "THREE LIVES" into one of the barrels. Mylo, Claggor, and Vi, but what about the fourth? It seems that Jinx may be aware that Vander is still alive, but how could she know unless Silco also knows?

When she finally does hallucinate Vander, she hallucinates scribbles of Warwick on or representing him.

So, if Silco knows, why would he talk to Vander's statue and not Warwick?

A- Privacy

Talking to Warwick means talking in the presence of Singed, who we see in e8 Silco doesn't trust. It's bad enough before you remember that not only does Silco say that Vander, who the undercity turned against, was right all along; he reveals that he is in the same spot Vander was in and is going to make the same decision; he is going to choose Jinx over Zaun, the same choice that lead to Vander's downfall. Silco is not going to risk Singed knowing that.

B- Pain

Throughout the show, Silco disassociates from pain, both his own and the pain he causes others. You can see this from the way he romanticizes his trauma, flinches and looks away at the cat being ripped apart, and reacts to the death of Renni's child. You can also see this when he kidnaps Vander- the blank, distant expression on arrival, the way he looks down and away when Benzo dies and Vander is punched, and how his good eye shines on the verge of tears. But he doesn't cry and he never does, because in his situation, to feel pain and empathy is a death sentence- the perfect way to prove your weakness and turn your allies against you. After all, it was his empathy towards Jinx that caused him to love her, and it was his love for her that turned Sevika and the chembarons against him. If killing Vander's friend and knocking him out was that painful for Silco, imagine how much worse it would be for him to see Vander disfigured, barely alive and in a constant state of mind-shattering agony, being sliced open and pumped full of chemicals. Singed had to drug Silco to keep him from going crazy over Jinx's similar transformation. Silco simply cannot bear to face the pain that he puts Vander through.

Edit: Thank you everyone who brought it up, I completely forgot about him telling Vander "I'll show you what you really are" in e3. It's framed to suggest Silco plans to make Vander take shimmer, but that makes no sense when you think about it, especially considered how shimmer gives users increased aggression but they still have control. Given shimmer, Vander would simply break free and kill Silco, or at the very least escape. Silco knows what shimmer does, he is not stupid enough to give Vander shimmer.

Furthermore he makes it clear that his plan is to "disappear" Vander ("have you heard the rumor? Vander the coward fled town with his children, and they were never heard from again...") If Silco was really just going to kill Vander and that's it, why would he say "I'll show you what you really are?" He didn't want to kill Vander, he wanted to change him into something unrecognizable to all but him.

[copperbadge]

It is wild to me, not in the "I don't believe it" sense but in the "what must that be like" sense, that one of the biggest issues facing neurodivergent people (and people with trauma) in emotional regulation is naming your emotions and feeling them.

Like, this is a genuine issue, this isn't a metaphor or some kind of weird fakery, to the point where almost every psychological practice everywhere is like "Well the first step in managing your emotions is knowing what they are" and they give you like, "feel wheels" and emotions lists and stuff. We spent an hour solid on this idea in DBT class and I was genuinely baffled. I thought I must be missing a step, because I am always extremely aware of what I'm feeling for every excruciating second that I'm feeling it.

Like, surely there must be more than just saying "I feel [name of emotion]", I must be interpreting that instruction wrong. But nope, lots of people just have problems naming what they're feeling. And I get it! Lots of my friends have this issue, it is real!

But not one of mine. Which I guess makes me an outlier (again).

It's starting to become an issue in that there's no branch around it. Every guidebook to emotional regulation eventually cycles back around to "Name your emotion, allow yourself to feel it, connect with it in your body, and if none of that works, your therapist can help" but that last bit is like an offsides rule, everyone knows it exists but nobody knows how it works. And there's just...nothing else out there, when those don't work so you sidestep around them you're just in a field of static. There is only one real recipe for processing your emotions and if your souffle comes out flat you're just kinda fucked, I guess.

Disheartening. I can see why so many people self-medicate.

[jiuxyzx]

📲 YOU JUST GOT A MESSAGE FROM HNUH TRAUMA CENTRE!

while being a doctor in cardiology, the new arrogant but brilliant trauma doctor asked you and Yang Jae Won to be his fellow.

or in which— this is your day after entering the chaotic trauma center

🚑 HNUH TRAUMA CENTRE 🏨

The antiseptic smell hits you as soon as you walk outside your room, The night shift really made you look like hell because you can only get 2 hours of sleep and last night you walk like a zombie to your room.

"Doctor Ji, you wake up already? it's only been 2 hours, and your patient is stable right now," one of the nurses said when she saw you walk through the trauma center door.

You gave her a light smile, "Emergency usually calls on this hour, need to stand by because the soon we get them to the operation, their life percentage will also be bigger."

She nodded at your words, and not even 5 minutes later, a patient surged through the hall with a stab wound, and he's unconscious.

You ran as fast as you could to the TICU, and there you saw Jae Won with his EKG, checking the heart of the patient.

"He's having a cardiac tamponade. Let's do puncture first! Call on the cardiologist, tell them we have a cardiac tamponade patient!" You said, and the nurse gave you a syringe to take the blood from the heart.

Xiphoid Process, 45 degrees to the left.

"Doctor! They can't schedule an operation. They said it's already full," You can visibly see the desperate on Jaewon's face, "Tell them it's cardiac tamponade patient"

But the nurse have already asked that before, "They have a heart rupture patient," She said with worried attached on her face.

You sigh, "Well then, call Doctor Baek." The nurse acknowledged your words with a nod.

All of you tried your best not to disturb Doctor Baek kang hyuk because he's on a meeting with the whole department on hospital.

"BP is getting too low! It's 40!" That words make Kang hyuk take the stairs, after running with his whole strength out of the meeting room.

He instructed the nurse to call an anesthesiologist— Park Gyeong won, of course, and prepare the operation room.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

"You look like a zombie," Gyeong won said after you get out of the operating room.

You let a light chuckles, "Expect that when you only have 2 hours of sleep," you answer while washing both of your hands.

"Doctor Ji, why are you still doing here? i thought i told you to check the code black patient from last week?" You sigh at yourself, wanting to punch the man beside you until he passes out, but instead, you just smile at him and answer him with a quiet 'yes'.

Jae won only looked at your back with pity, "Don't you think it's too much? it's only a date"

Kang hyuk ignore him and just give both of them a sly smirk.

[litnerdwrites]

Rhys being the 'most powerful hl' ultimately hinders the story. If SJM wanted the nc to be underdogs, it should've been the smallest, most unstable court.

Historically, objectively bad or unmoral people can sometimes be the best rulers while objectively good or moral people can be terrible rulers. Take advantage of this.

Make Rhysand need to wear the mask of the cruel, ruthless high lord in order to prevent the CON and Illyria from rebelling. Make both of those places have a certain amount of political and militaristic power over him that would explain why he can't just force them to do as he pleases.

Have the NC be the court with the highest crime rates, and poverty rates and Rhysand be considered a ruthless ruler. One who 'lets' amren out on the prowl to steal wealth (preferably from greedy rich nobles) but they don't know that it's redistributed into running the NC, and looking after the people.

Have Mor actually help woman but drinking and visiting the con or other cities under the guise going there to flex her power and act tyranicle, but secretly leave money, medical supplies, tickets to boats/carriages, etc. Or even instructions to their library where sa survivors heal (maybe not in the how, but somewhere else, hidden or warded).

Have Azriel and Cassian push the limits of the Illyrians, not enough to incite war, but to keep them in line. If men clip wings, have Azriel either assassinate them or Cassian publicly punish or beat them but not reveal the reason why, so it comes off as tyranny.

Make them act like villains for a damn reason, and actually accomplish things in the process, even if it's small. Perhaps even have the land itself be dying (like the dusk court centuries ago), making food harder to come by too.

Maybe even have the concept of Velaris be a legend, of the Night Court's former glory, but in the current story, be a shell of itself. This would give the so-called court of dreams something to dream about and work towards.

Have the previous rulers of the nc be objectively moral people, that were bad at ruling and created the unstable political climate Rhysand needs to navigate, while Feyre gives him new perspective. Have Elain and Nesta come in later, and help teach Feyre about politics based on what they knew from their mortal lives. Give them dreams and aspirations of their own.

Give each of the Archeron Sisters something in the NC that would cement it as their home, if that's what you want to do. Have Feyre speak with the Illyrian women, teach them to hunt, learn of their issues, etc. Have her repair her relationship with Nesta over helping them, with Nesta using the training of her childhood to help the Illyrian women overthrow the corrupt lords that insist on treating them as lesser than.

Give Feyre and Nesta a chance to learn about each other, their childhood, how neglected Feyre felt and how abused Nesta was, before coming together to reach a common goal. Then, Nesta could become a diplomat that helped the nc repair their foreign relations, giving her the chance to travel that she always wanted.

Make the humans have innovative methods of agriculture, given they don't have magic. Have Elain want to help the people of downtrodden villages and towns, teaching them about those innovative methods, to help rejuvenate the land. Still let her have trauma, but let them have their own reasons to want to stay in the nc or not stay in the nc.

Making Rhysand 'the most powerful hl' doesn't make him unique or interesting. It makes it too easy to wonder why he won't do something when he sits in a seat of power and privilege, to do it. So, take away that power. Give him something to earn. Give the entire IC a dream/vision for what the NC could be and work to it, throughout the books, instead of handing it to them on a silver platter. Make them work for it.

[westanleovaldito]

I ❤️ writting super duper self endulgent things

Spencer x anxious reader

CW: Anxiety, talk of past trauma, heavily focused on symptoms

This likely will not align with other peoples experiences or manifestations of said mental illness, because i wrote this for myself.

If you like it, thats good! But this was mainly for me so please no hate

𓆏 You loved Spencer, trusted him. You may not always understand his thought process, but you'd follow his every word (even if questioning his reasoning while doing it).

He was always soft and patient, kind when you thought he had no reson to be. He tried his very, very best to compartmentalize his emotions. He liked to let his emotions 'reset' when he got home. Mostly because he could never bear the way you picked up on his stress.

You were a great profiler, even if you weren't in the BAU, you could pick up on the smallest changes.

He hated it, because it was likely due to trauma. He always noticed the way you went quiet when someone was upset. It didn't have to be directed at you. Simply having someone have a shift in tone could put you on edge.

He could even go as far to say that you were a better profiler than him, just in certain situations. You picked up on things in the worst way possible.

Today, he just couldn't start over at the door. He couldn't shake the stress in the way he set his bag down with a heavy sigh.

Normally, you'd greet him with a smile as you sprinted into his arms. You had the intent to, comming a few feet from him before you shied away.

Spencer sighed a second time as he gathered the way you shrunk, your eyes going wide as you quickly scanned every part of his body language, the way your hands curled near your chest.

He was going to say something, but you quickly went to the kitchen to start the kettle.

"Would you like chamomile?" You asked, your voice cracking at the start of the sentence, like you were trying not to go nonverbal.

He paused for a moment. He eventually nodded, kicking off his shoes. "Thank you." He murmured, coming up to wrap his arms around you. It was a gesture of affection, truly. But he couldn't deny that he was trying to see how tense you were. When you simply nodded, patting his hand as you prepared his mug, he felt the knife of guilt in his gut.

Spencer hated when you were afraid. He knew it was because you expected to walk on eggshells. But he had never done anything to put eggshells on the floor.

He hated the scilence that befell you. He hated that you shut down like this. He hated when you silently tried to please him. He hated that someone in your life reduced you to a jittery robot, rather than a person. Most of all, he hated that you always felt as if every single problem in the circle of people you loved was your fault to bear.

"Th-the uh- waters boiling," your voice broke through his thoughts. You didn't make an effort to move away, like your own mind stripped you of autonomy.

Spencer let go as soon as you said it. But he made an effort to beat you to reach for the kettle. He was trying to show you that it wasn't your responsibility to cater to anyone, really, much less a lover.

He gently grabbed your waist in an attempt to move you away from the hot kettle, and you merely stiffened as you followed his silent instructions.

You had wide owl eyes as you just watched. Someone usually make a comment like 'not a thought behind those eyes' but Spencer knew. Spencer knew that you had too many thoughts that combined to make a storm of self hate that sounded like static.

"You're okay." He stated softly as he poured the water. He set the kettle in the sink and looked at you like some kind of sad painting. "Just because I come home with a sigh, doesn't mean I don't want to be with you right now, ok?"

Upon seeing your absent nod, he sighed. "I said you, not the girl who's marinating incessant apologies." The man moved to cup your face carefully.

"I am not mad at you. This will not effect my opinion of you. I still love you. You are not an annoyance or a burden- and did I mention that I'm not mad at you?"

It was a subtle thing, but it was enough to make the corners of your lips quirk up when you nodded. A hesitant "Thanks, Spence." Escaped you before you were pulled into another hug.

It was warm and soft, like the simple comfort of his chin on your head was enough to give you strength to carry on.

Spencer may have hated- loathed your anxiousness, but he would always be there to help.