#the way I would secretly put on medical shows when no one was around and be completely horrified by what I saw for years?

[hermitsdump]

as a kid the adults at church kept telling me that I would be a brain surgeon because I had long fingers (which is stupid bc as an adult I'm always teased for having small hands??)

and it rly affected me, for years I was afraid that no matter what I wanted to do that I would end up in that field and that was too much responsibility

Anyway inside me are 2 wolves and one throws up and cries looking at diagrams of skin layers and hair follicles. the other wolf craves images and information of medical stuff.

[somanyideassolittletime]

To be loved is to be changed.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Summary : 3 ways you changed Jack, and one time Jack changed you.

Warnings: fluff, Jack is in love with his wife, language, grammar inaccuracies (maybe? idk), so much fluff I felt giddy writing this.

Author's note: I love Jack so much, enjoy!

| one

Jack, albeit all of his typical stereotypes people use to box him into, is secretly tech-savvy. It comes with the job, he supposed. Working in a field where technology is always evolving, he learnt to adapt, and he learnt to love it. It started with geeking out when the newest, most updated machine was delivered to the hospital, up to buying himself handheld medical pieces of equipment delivered to your door – he would wait for you at home before unboxing the most recent ‘toys’ he ordered, and he would talk your ears off about how cool and innovative it is. 

You loved it, you loved hearing him talk passionately, you love that even after all this time working in his job, he still finds wonders in it (it doesn’t help that he looked so hot with his forearms flexed, knife in hand, while opening the package).

He understands technology, he does. But he doesn’t get the idea of FaceTime. He wasn’t a big texter himself; nothing beats the good old phone calls, where you can get your point across without fear of miscommunication on both sides. Even when you dated, you never went as far as FaceTime; it was always a phone call with a promise of meeting each other, and now that you are married, sharing his home, he still doesn’t get it.

“Why do you even need to look at their faces when you call? What matters is what you say, y’know, besides, it’s awkward to call someone with your phone far away from your ears,” He once said while holding you tightly in his side, cuddling in his far too comfy leather couch. Both of you watching a movie, where the scene of people facetiming each other just finished. You laughed at him back then, nudging his sides, “Eh, don’t knock it till you try it, hon.” 

What a turn of events now for him, as you were called away across the country for a few guest lectures and seminars for two weeks. Away from Pittsburgh, away from him – that he finds himself thankful for whoever invented the damned thing. He’s sitting on his bed, currently deprived of your presence beside him, when he decides to try out FaceTime. 

 “Hi, handsome,” you pick up on the first ring, he’s greeted with the face he’s been missing for the past few days, smiling at him. He sighs in contentment, he finally gets to see your face. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

He can hear you rustling around, looking for something to prop up your phone before you settle on your water bottle. Your screen is now steady. You grin at him, “Finally getting the whole FaceTime thing now, huh?” 

He huffs, “Don’t wanna get used to it, i’d rather have you here.” he starts, “But yeah, thank god shit’s exist. Been so long since I've seen that face.” 

“I’ve been here four days and you turned grumpy, huh?” You tell him, referring to the text Dana sent you earlier, “Your husband is Mr. Grumpy. Med students scared to approach him all day” 

“What do you mean?” You’re still grinning at him, you’re afraid your cheeks might be too sore to talk to the faculty tomorrow. “Dana texted me, said you were being bad teacher.” 

He groaned, “I’m annoyed at everything, it seems.” he mumbles just loud enough for you to hear him on the other end. He’s holding the phone a little too close to his eyes, he squints to look at you. You noticed it, “Wear your glasses, hon.” He hates wearing his glasses, which you know, but he’s squinting so hard you’re afraid he’s gonna get a headache later on. He’s contemplating debating you, but he knows that you’re right; he’s getting too old to see something so close to his eyes now. 

“Ugh, fine. Wait,” he puts his phone in the bed, now his screen is showing the ceiling of the bedroom you share back home. A few rustling and groans later, you find yourself looking at Jack wearing his glasses. Your breath hitched. The sight of him in his glasses always gets to you, even after all this time. “Looking good, Dr. Abbot,” you joke. He smiles, “You’re Dr. Abbot yourself.” You frowned mockingly. “I was looking at my reflection, y’know.” 

He laughs, and your heart aches to be with him. You missed him as bad as he missed you, it seems. You lift your phone, standing up now, he’s curious, “What are you doing?” You reverse the camera now, showing your room. “I’m doing a room tour. Now shut up and listen to me yap.” 

He gladly obeys, he loves listening to your voice, he watches as you explain everything in your room, from the bathroom, the wardrobe, the bed, all the way to the balcony. His eyes caught something when your camera points at your desk, a familiar bottle of cologne – one he’s been wearing for ten years – so he decides to jab at you. “Is that why I can’t find my cologne in my bag?” You turn the camera facing you, and he’s glad now that he can see your face again. “I miss you. Sue me.” You stick your tongue out at him. How he wishes to wipe that shit eating grin from your face. 

“I’m suing you for that with a lifetime with me,” he says earnestly. You look at him fondly, “Jack Abbot, I didn’t know you get sappier the further we departed.” He puts his phone on the nightstand, angled so that you can still see his face, pulling the comforter up to his chin. 

“I miss you so much, baby,” you blegh at the nickname, phone now back at your desk, “You sounded like a teenager,” he chuckles, he looks at you putting on your glasses, the light from the laptop reflecting in your eyes. “Talk to me,” you say.

So he did, he tells you about the shift he’s had today while you’re typing away at your laptop, looking at him every once in a while. He tells you about the boy who went berserk, hands flailing around, making Langdon drop the scalpel in his hand, dropping it to his prosthetic feet, panicking the entire trauma room, only for him to be unfazed. You laugh fondly at him, eyes twinkling with the same mesmerization you only hold for him (and for a crazy innovation that you find interesting). 

He’s holding his yawn, but you know better. His eyes are glassy now. “Go to sleep. It’s late,” you say, he obeys you, taking off his glasses, relaxing into his pillow. “Don’t turn it off,” he says softly, eyes fluttering. You shake your head, “I’ll turn it off when you snore,” he huffs, “what? You snore.” you start, “But I need to hear you snore to sleep nowadays.” you explain. 

His eyes are half-closed now, and he finds himself relaxed, hearing your breaths on the other side, keys clacking softly. “I love you,” he whispers to you. You stopped your typing, now looking at his eyes fully closed, “I love you too, goodnight, hon.” 

For the next 7 days, he finds himself loving FaceTime, finds himself looking forward to FaceTime with you every night before he sleeps, and like other technology he once frowned at, he finally gets it. 

| two

Jack is not a man of pop culture, he never understands the appeal of it. He rarely watches movies by himself, let alone pop culture movies or series. But you loved it to no end, you often ask him to watch those movies with you, ranging from sci-fi, fantasy, to superhero movies, whatever you want to watch, he’ll gladly oblige. He’ll pretend to be uninterested in your series whenever you watch it alone with him moving around the house. But you always find him standing behind the couch, watching the show intently, before finding him beside you, starting to give commentary on what's happening on the screen. And slowly, he finds himself enjoying watching those movies and series with you. 

He loves watching you explain to him about the complexity of a character you like, loves hearing you badmouth a character you hate, and when you both find yourself watching sci-fi movies with futuristic technologies, he finds himself falling a little harder, hearing you explain to him the concept of the technology in said movies. “I don’t understand a single word you just said. Is this what you feel when I explain procedures to you?” he once asked you. You nodded, “Yeah, pretty much, but you’re hot when you’re explaining it. So I love it,” you said to him. And he agreed with you on that one. 

Jack was covering the night shift tonight, it’s Halloween night, so he’ll find himself drowning in patients in costumes, no doubt. You had dropped him off earlier with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to pick him up later in the morning.  

He’s talking to a ten-year-old kid in a yellow uniform, one he recognized as a Star Trek uniform when Ellis enters the room, “I got this, Abbot. You go ahead,” she says to Jack. Jack nods at her before saying, “You’re in good hands, kiddo.” Ellis looks at the boy in the bed, saying, “Well, what do we got here, Mr.Spock?” The kid was about to protest when Jack reactively says, “He’s Captain Kirk,” Earning a look from Ellis. He fistbumps the kid and leaves the room, fully trusting Ellis. 

The rest of the shift is pretty slow, filled with kids getting food poisoning from the candy being given away, typical drunks, and some OD patients from parties. It was now one hour left in the shift, everyone was either hanging by the hub or just doing a frequent check for their patients. He was charting when Shen and Ellis approached him.

“Hey, Abbot. How’s the stormtrooper guy?” Shen asks him. He’s currently scanning through his memory, not finding a single stormtrooper costume in his recollection of the night. “We haven’t got a stormtrooper,” He frowns at Shen. Shen points his fingers over Jack’s shoulder, he turns his head – now looking at a man in a Mandalorian get-up, his helmet on the chair beside the bed – he turns back to Shen, “That’s a fucking Mandalorian, good to go in a few hour, ” Shen doesn’t say anything, opting to look at Ellis beside him. Who, for the second time that night, gave him a weird look. He’s been doing medical procedures that might be crazy ballsy for some, but never once he received that look from either Ellis or Shen until tonight. 

“Okay, you know what, what the hell?” Ellis starts, “You corrected me earlier cause of a fuckin costume, and now, what the hell, man?” Jack shrugs, “What?” Shen points his finger at Jack, his voice accusatory, “Dude, you only ever turn your TV on for penguins games, now you tellin me you know fuckin sci-fi shit, now.?” Jack looks at him, “Wrong, I turn on my TV for the Steelers and Pirates too,” he says casually. 

“Ugh, you know what we meant. Since when do you even watch that stuff?” Ellis says exasperatedly. Jack crossed his arms, shrugging, “My wife likes that stuff.” He says that so casually that Shen and Ellis might combust at his tone. 

Shen laughs at him, “Holy shit, you’re whipped.” Jack smirks, “Yeah, I wouldn’t get married if I weren’t.” his hands find the ring in his necklace now. Fully smiling at Shen and Ellis, both of whom groan at him. “Ughhh, please be a simp somewhere else, not here.” Shen rolls his eyes. 

Shen and Ellis walked away from him before he muttered, “God forbid a man is in love,” smiling to himself with the thought of you in his mind. 

So slowly but surely, he understands the appeal now that he can see how your eyes lit up every time he referenced something. And like any other form of entertainment, he once cringed at, he finds himself enjoying and looking forward to the next time he has you curled up beside him, whispering theories he doesn’t get. Anything that makes you happy, it seems, makes him happy. 

| three

Jack is a man of many talents, but not of many coffee orders. He takes his coffee as plain as possible. Black, no sugar. He never ordered his coffee sweet, not before he met you at least. For him, coffee should be something simple, he doesn’t need extra flavor in his coffee, he just needs it to fuel him through the day. 

But you? You take your coffee as abstractly as possible. Though you do enjoy a plain black coffee once in a while, once the occasion calls for it, you actually prefer some flavor and sweetness in your coffee. 

“black , no sugar, please. What about you hon,” he asked you, ordering for himself to barista; he never ordered for you since he knew he would botch the task. “Uh, let me think. I ordered the almond latte yesterday. I think I’ll go with hazelnut today, please. Thank you,” you answered to the barista, who punched in some buttons. Jack tapped his card to pay before moving over to wait for your order. 

“Here, try this. You’ll like it.” you said to him. He shakes his head, refusing to take a sip. “Just try it, I swear” he takes the coffee in his hand, sipping on it. Fuck. that’s good. He thought. He bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile, not wanting to give you the victory. You pointed at him victoriously, “aha! You like it don’t you.” he shrugged, giving you back your coffee. “Eh, black’s still better.” though you know that he actually enjoys it. 

But now that it’s been a while since the two of you went on cafe dates, he finds himself missing your random coffee order. So when the opportunity comes for him to drink your coffee order, he’ll take it. 

“Hey, I’m ordering coffee, your usual?” Robby asks him, typing in his notes app to list everyone’s coffee order. Jack thinks for a second before answering him, “I’ll have a vanilla latte,” earning a raised eyebrow from Robby, who types it down without question before moving over to the others. Making a mental note to ask him later on. 

It was a while later when the order came in, and everyone stopped by the break room to take their coffee. Jack is greeted by Langdon and Robby inside, both holding their coffee. Langdon doesn’t even think before handing him a black coffee, one that Jack doesn’t take. “It’s not mine,” he says, walking over to the table, reading the labels in each cup before settling on his order. 

He holds it in a way that the label is visible to Langdon, who looks at him weirdly, “a Latte? Really? Vanilla latte?” Langdon asks him. Jack sips on his coffee before entertaining Langdon, “What? It’s good,” he answers. Langdon, who looks at Robby as if saying, dude, you seeing what I’m seeing???. Robby teases him, “Yeah, I don’t think that cuts it, brother.” 

Jack huffs, sipping some more, “Fine. My wife takes her coffee like this.” he wants to look annoyed, but he can’t bear himself to do it; not when he just drank your coffee order, being reminded of you seems to have that effect on him. 

“I’m a married man myself, but I never even order my coffee her way, man.” Langdon laughs at him. Robby smiles at him, putting his hand on Langdon’s shoulder, slightly leaning toward him. “I believe we are seeing Jack in love. What is it? To be loved is to be changed?” says Robby to Langdon’s who laughed at Jack. 

Jack wants to retort something smart as usual, but somehow, he doesn’t want to. So he opted to just smile at both of them before taking his coffee outside the break room. 

Because yeah, he might realize himself that his preference is changing, but what Robby said earlier was right, that he’s in love and that he’s loved – and he wouldn’t change that for the world. 

But the next time the two of you went on your cafe dates, he would still order his usual, not because he wanted it, he ordered it because for him, nothing beats the mischievous smile you gave him after asking him to try your coffee. (and it doesn’t help that he liked seeing your lip product mark on his cup after you drink his coffee, and that both of you just did an indirect kiss) Though that was a thought he’ll keep to himself forever. 

+1

“How do I look?” you walk into the living room, twirling your body to Jack, who is sitting on the leather couch, now looking at you. You were sporting a Penguins jersey with a big 87 on the back, CROSBY above it. You were offered a sideline ticket to the Penguins game by your friend, which you excitedly accepted. So here you are, getting ready for the game with the Penguins heartbreaker’s Jersey on you. 

Jack smiles at you. “Well, you look like you’re drowning in it, Mrs. Crosby,” he says coyly. You frown at him, walking over to him, “Jack, as much as I love Sid, I actually prefer being Mrs. Abbot,” you say to him, leaning down to give his lips a peck.

Jack puts his hand on your waist, capturing your lips on his. Pulling back, Jack let out a breathy chuckle, “Yeah? Say that after you see him, hon. You know I’m straight, but he’s hot as hell,” he jested. You laugh at his confession, about to say something when you hear a honk in the driveway. Jack walks you over to the door, opening it for you.

Jack pecks your lips once again before saying, “Stay safe, okay? I love you.” You smile, kissing his cheek, “I will. Love you too.”

It’s almost midnight when you come home, and the Penguins won, so it was a victorious night out in your books. You open the door slowly, not wanting to disturb Jack, who should be sleeping by now. You can hear the TV still turned on in the living room, so you decide to check it out.  

Jack was sprawled over the couch, the light from the TV illuminating his figure, his prosthetic placed by the table, as much as you want to move him to the bed because you know that his back would scream at him tomorrow if he spends as much as an extra hour on the couch, he looked so cozy you can’t help yourself, so you lay down on the couch, joining him. 

Your movement startles him at first, but upon seeing that it’s you, he relaxes, “Hey,” he whispers into your ear. “It was fun, wished it was with you though,” you confess to him. His arms now caging you, drawing soft circles on your back. It was quiet before you started.

“Jack,” you whisper softly, he hums, acknowledging you. You continue, “I think you broke me.” Jack stops his hand, pulling his head just enough to look you in the eyes. “What do you mean?” you snuggle further into his chest before saying, “I don’t find Sid attractive anymore.” 

“Huh?” Jack asks, You sit up, placing your hand on his stomach. “Imagine, I was that close with him, I could practically see his pores, Jack.-” You put your hand in front of you, in an attempt to emphasize just how close you are to The Sidney Crosby earlier. “But all I can think about is eh, he’s okay. Jack’s way more attractive.” Jack’s entire body warms at hearing your confession. 

He’s about to comment before you put your hand that was previously on his stomach to his mouth, not allowing him to speak, “No, you don’t get it. It's THE SIDNEY CROSBY, Jack. You know how much I love him, right?” he nods against your hand, now smiling as wide as ever. You lift your hand from his mouth, continuing your explanation. “I was supposed to be entranced by him, Jack. But I kept on thinking that he had nothing against you.” 

“You’re putting me on a damn high pedestal now, hon,” he says jokingly, though his eyes shows nothing but adoration looking at you. 

You lie back on the couch again, cuddling him. “Nah. I think I just love you too much that I find any other guy to just be….mid.” 

He chuckles, resuming his hand motion on your back. “I love you too, so much.” You don’t say anything after that, you're both snuggling, the TV playing softly as background noise – the intimacy of this moment has nothing against anything else. 

You both stayed that way for a while until you mentioned to him that you needed to move before you both fell asleep on the couch, so you walked over to the bedroom, Jack behind you, searching for the remote to turn it off, seeing the highlight of the day on the screen, with crosby’s goal earlier. He smirks proudly at the TV, remembering your earlier admission. 

Sid 0 - 1 Jack. 

[booksandteaandtears]

Sunday Kind of Love

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

A short fluffy piece because the weather has been lovely where I live and I'd like to spend it with someone. Also because Robby deserves some rest and peace and if the show won't give it to him then I will.

I hope you had/are having a lovely Sunday!

Summary: How you and Robby spend a slow Sunday

I really loved writing this one <3

(It's not grammatically correct at all, but ignore that please...)

Masterlist

Although Robby wasn't free every Sunday, you had perfected your routine for when he was available.

You'd start the day in bed, not awake so early that it felt like getting up for work, but not so late that you'd missed half of your precious Sunday rotting.

You'd usually roll out of bed first, your bladder forcing you. Robby had trained his during busy ER shifts. Afterwards you'd crawl back into bed, your head resting on his chest, trying to cuddle impossibly closer to him. His hand would draw figures across your back lazily, still half asleep.

You always snuck a cold foot in between his warm calves. You'd think he'd gotten used to it, but he was not really awake yet at that point and not aware enough to defend himself.

He'd suggested you use house slippers when you went to the bathroom, even buying some in your favourite colour for you, but you refused to use them. He secretly liked it as well, he liked feeling you try to warm up your body on his. It was your joke, your very own performance that made him smile every time.

He'd get out of bed to make coffee, whistling on his way down. By the time you had put on your socks and followed suit your cup was ready on the kitchen island. He always smiled when he saw you coming down the stairs in his hoodie.

You pulled a chair out and nestled yourself on to it. He'd start breakfast, usually something sweet. There was a little bluetooth speaker on the island, right next to you, there especially for this moment. You'd choose something soft and you'd hum along with the music, while appreciating the view of Robby's back while he cooked.

You'd move to the couch to eat, catching the news while you enjoyed your breakfast. Sunday mornings were the only time Robby was in charge in the kitchen, he relied on your superior cooking skills the rest of the week.

It was your task to bring the plates back to the kitchen and clean up. You would inspect the fridge and make a grocery list before flopping back onto the couch with Robby. He always pulled you closer to him and thanked you for cleaning up.

When the news was over you tippled back upstairs to grab your books. You were elbow deep in a Kirsten Hannah novel, Michael would switch between medical journals and, more recently, a couple of books about people struggling with their mental health. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was on his bedside table.

Robby was usually working on your second cup of coffee when you came down. He'd hand you a glass of water as well, always concerned you weren't hydrating.

You'd spent a couple of hours like that, just being next to each other, both wrapped up in your own book. The music was still playing in the background, occasionally one of you put your book down to tell the other an anecdote about the song playing, or cite a beautiful line from your books.

You'd get up at some point, taking the stairs up to your ensuite to start the shower. You'd wash your hair, and when you were almost done, your hair mask marinating, you'd hear a knock on the door.

Michael would join you in the shower, kissing your shoulder and singing sweets songs to you. He'd make you laugh. By the time you rinsed the mask out he was done as well and you'd get out of the shower together.

You'd dry your hair, get dressed and head to a nearby farmers market. You both loved the walk over there, holding hands, stopping to talk to the neighbours, pointing out what flowers had been growing in the gardens around your place.

You'd do a quick loop of the market before settling in one of the cute cafés around it, too hungry to focus properly on all the market goodness. You'd have lunch while people watching, pointing out cute dogs and kids. Robby would tell you about his week, about funny things that had happened, times he was proud of how one of his residents had handled a situation. He talked about some of the tougher cases that week, young kids that were ill, people saying goodbye to their loved ones in a brightly lit ER. You would rest your hand on his knee, showing him you were there, you were listening to him. He'd grab your hand and squeeze it, forcing a small smile back onto his face.

After that you'd take a longer time at the market, talking with vendors, buying a sourdough loaf with a new, interesting flavour (and always a backup in case you didn't like the exotic combinations). You'd look at jewellery, LP's, olive oil's, fruit and veg, meanwhile checking your grocery list for what you needed.

You'd drag Robby away from the stalls where someone was selling some bullshit miracle ointment for some ailment, not wanting to get into it on your calm Sunday. But you'd write down the name of the product and leave reviews online about the lies they were spreading. Michael would sign the reviews with John Carter, MD, a nod to an old TV doctor that he used too look like.

You would stop by the grocery store on the way back, making sure that you were all stocked up for another busy week. Usually you took that moment to fill each other in on what you'd be doing that next week, figuring out when the two of you would have time for each other, Robby mentally taking notes on what days you'd have difficult work days.

You'd make soup with your fresh vegetables when you were home, enjoying it with the loaf of bread. Robby would set the table and pour the wine. You always tried to keep the Sunday evening meal simple, a little full from lunch still, but you couldn't contain yourselves at the market and always came home with a bunch of cheese, olives and dips. And you couldn't possibly wait another day to try them.

After dinner it was Robby's turn to clean up. You'd hop onto the kitchen island, talking while he was scrubbing a pot, the speaker playing another playlist. You tried to take sip of wine while he made you laugh and you nearly snorted it into your own face. He laughed even harder at that.

You'd take a sunset walk after dinner, too full to do nothing all evening, feeling that some movement is necessary for a good night's sleep. He'd pull you closer to him when the air would start to cool, offering you his jacket. You declined, not wanting him to get cold and preferring to get closer to him for warmth, snuggling up into his side while walking.

You'd put on a film when you got back. Sometimes you had enough mental capacity for a good film, one you'd heard your friends rave about. Most times you just wanted something simple, so you'd turn on one of your trusted favourites, one that you knew almost every line of.

Michael almost always fell asleep halfway through the film. He denied it, but you could feel his heartbeat slowing down, his breath growing deeper. You'd snuggle up, watching the rest of the film. You'd wake him when the end credits would roll, telling him it was time for bed.

He brushed his teeth half asleep, somehow managing to look cute doing it. He'd be in bed before you, fighting to stay awake until you were in his arms. "I love you." He'd whisper when you planted your face in the crook of his neck. "I love you." You'd whisper back at him. He always smiled when he heard you say it, even when you could have sworn he was already asleep.

[keferon]

Did I spend two hours writing this? Ha! No, why do you ask. *lying through my teeth* anyway come here Mecha au Texaid enjoyers. come get yall juice.

———

Vortex isn’t sure when it started. Doesn’t even dare to try to pinpoint the when, why, where and how of it. Just that it exists. Some forgotten feeling stored in the deep recesses of his somewhat intact consciousness that has resurfaced. It burns him, tears down at the steel walls he had formed around himself. Makes him feel like he’s being broken down then built up again. 

It’s a wonderful, terrifying feeling that eats away at him the more ‘he’s’ here. The more that secretly unhinged medic-turned-pilot crawls into his cockpit, every time getting more comfortable with connecting with him literally and figuratively. With Aid slowly coming to not outright radiate hatred with every encounter. Sharing stuff like music, who they couldn’t stand, and answers to the most stupid questions like ‘wha’s your favorite color?’. Vortex had cackled at Aid for that one.

At first he rejects the feeling. Stops it at full force, imagining it going through a trash compactor or being incinerated to ash. He makes himself believe it’s a game. Empty threats, flirtatious behavior and cutting banter puts him at the top 5 of First Aid’s Most Annoying Motherfuckers to Ever Exist list. A tidbit of information he is proud as fuck of.

But that denial came to a stop the moment Shockwave had stepped into his hangar while Aid had been in his cockpit, his visor the only shield to keep that creepo from getting near him. Vortex may have been a homicidal maniac, but there had always been something about Shockwave’s presence that made him feel suffocated even back when he was alive. It took some silent processing to realize—and goddammit he hates himself for it—how afraid he had been. Not so much for himself but for the little flesh bag hidden away inside him. 

It had rocked him, that’s for damn sure. When Aid had asked what made him different from all the other pilots Vortex had disregarded and killed, he answered truthfully at the time. ‘You treat me like a threat, like I’m the one in control of this power instead of you.’ And while that still held some merit, it changed kind of. ‘Threat’ turned into person. And the power that he holds became more and more of Aid’s. How easily Vortex was swayed into giving into Aid’s requests. 

The first one being to dissect that Quintesson. He had reveled in the way it squirmed and screeched, trying fruitlessly to get out of their grip. Vortex considered to simply rip it in half for fun, until he felt something from the connection in the drift. A sort of fascination and curiosity quietly humming through the link. Took him longer than he’d like to admit to realize it wasn’t coming from him but Aid. A drive to know how this creature worked, how to best take it apart to examine its insides. And before he knew what he was doing, Vortex did, cutting it as neatly down the middle as he could manage. He remembers the shudder of excitement from the link, at how different that alien was, how this information could benefit battles in the future. The bombardment of information and feelings had shocked him, though he of course didn’t show it, but it also sent a thrill of wonder through him. ‘This freak’ he had chuckled to himself, feeling as Aid leaned out from his cockpit to examine the creature.

After that he realized how dangerous this was. The power Aid unknowingly held over him, and all he needed were his words. But he found that he didn’t care all that much. Especially not when Aid would sometimes fall asleep in his cockpit after a grueling mission, and Vortex would snap his visor at anyone who tried to get him out. Moments like that made him wish he still had a human body. To flick the nerd’s nose, to ruffle his hair, to playfully shove him. Thoughts like those made his non-existent heart throb, sickening himself with those sappy sentiments. He will never mention this to Aid, you’d have to rip it out of his cold, dead conscience.

Standing in the hangar, he’s not sure when he had decided this promise to himself. Doesn’t even try to pinpoint when. But he knows that if this little ant ever died, he wouldn’t stop destroying everything in his path until he either killed the one who had done it, very slowly at that, or deactivated with vengeance still roaring through his circuits. 

OH I LOVE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH KFKFNFKDNHDKRKTNRJRMT

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[thewitchblue]

"What are you doing?"

Damian asked you as you bandaged his wounds from patrol. You were knelt in between his legs with all the various medical supplies needed on a nearby table. You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tending to your wounds? Giving Alfred a break from fretting over you?"

He pursed his lips at your sarcastic questions before clarifying,

"Why are you kissing the bandages?"

You looked confused for a moment before remembering nobody ever kissed his wounds or really even bandaged him. He was required to learn his own first-aid.

"My family kissed the bandages to 'seal the wound.' It's a stupid way to wish for you to get better soon."

Damian seemed hilariously sceptical about the tradition, but you continued to kiss each wound despite his confusion. He wouldn't say it, but he secretly savoured each kiss. The location didn't matter. Every injury location got a kiss and a loving smile. He said after a few more kisses,

"You don't have to kiss my wounds."

You gave an acknowledgement hum, before you said,

"Well, I want to. You are going to be dealing with this for as long as I'm yours. You deserve the love, my heart."

You gave his hands kisses. He tsked to hide his embarrassment. He had never experienced this before. This was the first time you offered first-aid after a mission. You figured it would be simple after watching Alfred do it for months.

Damian frowned but allowed you to continue. He was still not used to your overwhelming unconditional love and all the warm fuzzy feelings that come with you around even after a year of dating. You were the first one to make the move and the first one who continues to guide him through the world of love.

"I suppose I'll allow it."

He grumbled. You both could tell he wasn't disgruntled in the slightest. He was just acting grumpy in front of his family as a defence mechanism. He had no family to fight with before he was brought to his father's and still struggles with making ties. He struggles to trust his family, which you both are working through together. He struggles at times to feel familial love after going so long without it. Jason, his most common enemy, is in the area, cursing at every stitch Alfred put along his ribs.

Damian snickered slightly. It was a completely avoidable wound. Todd was sloppy in his defence, and Damian was too far away to deflect the blade. Jason asked gruffly,

"What are you laughing at, demon?"

You gave Damian a look that told him to play nice, but he didn't want to. You tightened your grip on his thighs to prevent him from moving towards Jason. Realistically, there was no way you'd be able to hold him back, but it was a reminder to stay still. Damian relaxed back under your hands, but he still wanted to bicker, so he replied coldly,

"If you weren't such a reckless oaf, you wouldn't be in this situation."

You gently wrapped your arms around him, which made Damian tense momentarily. He felt bad for not letting it go for your sake, but he wanted to defend his actions. Jason snickered now. He mocked,

"Are you on a leash now?"

Damian debated for a long moment to cut off his hands for daring to insinuate you are holding him back. You've been nothing but supportive and loving.

His hands twitch at his side, nearing his sheathed sword, but you took his hands in yours to prevent him from drawing his sword.

"He's not worth it, my heart."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he relented. He didn't want you to see bloodshed over a sibling fight. He said,

"He's not worthy of my blade anyway."

You kissed him quickly and squeezed his hands lightly to show your gratitude for him dropping the metaphorical and literal sword. You always were good at calming him down while still making him feel like he wasn't broken for falling apart or exploding in anger.

He tried to fight off his smile, but he couldn't when he looked at you. He loved you with his entire heart. He's not one for PDA, but he was content with quick kisses and holding hands.

"You really are on a leash."

Jason snorted an amused laugh at his own words. Damian didn't particularly care that others knew how much he loved you. It was obvious to everyone. Damian scoffed and said,

"It's not a leash. It's called being loved, something you don't experience."

Jason looked ready to argue further, but Alfred gave them a disapproving glare that made them both shut up and drop the topic. You wrapped your arms around him.

"I love you."

You whispered it like a secret between you two with a growing smile on your face. Damian rolled his eyes at your antics. You are no secret. You are his, and he is yours. He grumbled as he pulled you to his chest,

"I love you, too."

[sunrisecaminus]

hello !! can i have some headcanons for starscream, knockout, breakdown, and airachnid (or any of them) with a human artist reader who follows them around and wants to draw them ?? thank you ><

Message - All four of these mechs are egotistical as hell, they would cherish everything their human made so this is perfect as headcanons.

Starscream/Knockout/Breakdown/Airachnid x Artist Reader Headcanons

Summary - Decepticons react to their human painting/drawing them.

Warnings - None

Starscream

Honestly he is the best mech for this type of thing. He LOVES when you draw him doing things that make it look cool. Sometimes whenever you draw him in a bad angle, he quickly tells you "Scratch it!" and watches as you quickly scribble the portrait and flip to a blank paper to restart. Starscream sees you as his secretary and pretends to order you around. "Y/n write that down!", "That is perfect for my new profile.", and "Draw me like this". If you couldn't draw him that day for being sick or being too tired, he would check up on you every hour from being so worried about you. He loves when you follow him like a puppy and doesn't want his human to die. He gets super protective about your work and would give someone a hard time if they said your art sucked. Starscream would hide you all the time from lord Megatron; he was never going to let his leader hurt the sweet little pet he got from earth. Look, Starscream understands you were a weak useless little bug for the war, and could never help them out when it comes to battling, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want you to feel alone like he use to feel, wanting you to stay safe with him and let you draw any of your masterpieces without insulting you. No he is not really good at drawing people, but after helping him learn how to draw, you realized he was very good at backgrounds.

Knockout

He has to be one of the worse people to draw, surprisingly. Knockout would go in position to let you draw him, but than thinks of a better position to draw and switches it half way for you to redraw him even though you were already focused on the first. The more the mech loves themselves, the worse it is for them to SIT STILL. Thankfully now you don't tell him when you are drawing him and secretly sketch him when he works. When Knockout sees the final portrait, he would give you compliments for the rest of the day. "My! You even got my fingers right. You flatter me~" Get ready for kisses of approval. If anyone said your drawings was shit, he would actually kill them during surgery or put them in the most torturous situations. For example, lets say a guy tells you in the face that the sketch looked like aft; If that soldier was ever injured after a battle, get ready for Knockout to just deny him his medical services. He treats you like an equal, but some would say he treats you like you were higher than Megatron. Anything you asked of him, he would answer. If you wanted something, it was his mission to give it to you. Nothing would stop him from loving you, now please give him more drawings of himself. If you taught him how to draw, he would be AMAZING at drawing people. He makes really good blueprints of Cybertronian frames and even can draw you very well. Honestly, you probably have a new drawing buddy.

Breakdown

This big boi gets so flustered every time you draw him. Breakdown can't believe his human looks up to him like that and cherishes you for showing him love in your own way. Every paper you give him makes him feel very nervous on touching it. Breakdown doesn't ever want to ruin your stuff. He will keep every single one of them and look at them in his Birth room anytime he felt stressed or angry about something. You were everything to him, wanting to protect you from the other rough soldiers he works with. Anybody that says your art is crap will get the beat down of a life time. People don't understand why he cares so much, but honestly he is one of the sweetest souls that could be with you. You mostly draw him when he is in action, taking in all the good angles of him smacking Autobots. Breakdown is proud of all the shots you got of him and pats you on the head for such good sketches. He understands you will be losing your supplies the more you sketch, so he tries to rob trucks going by to try and steal some for you. It is cool from how many different paint products he can find for you and it gives you a bigger variety of things for creativity. If you helped him figure out how to draw, he would be good at emotional paintings. Breakdown is good at making shapes and splattering paint perfectly where it should be on the canvas.

Airachnid

So we all know this freak would replace species heads with your art. She would force you to draw every species she was able to collect so she could have your achievements on paper forever. She loves it when you draw her, and hangs them everywhere on her ship. Airachnid is really good at complimenting or critiquing your work, being able to tell you where something needs to be fixed while also saying she doesn't care if you don't and still loves your style. No one would insult you for the mere fact that you are Airachnid's pet. No one would dare call your art a piece of scrap because Airachnid would murder them in front of Megatron, even if he tells her not to. Yes, she has little star stickers to put on the edge of your paintings to show which one she likes the most…yes she stickers all your art so you can't figure out which one her favorite is. Don't try to ever draw other people in front of her, she will get jealous and keep you hostage in her ship as punishment. If you had trouble finding art supplies, she would destroy a Walmart for you in no time. Her human will have a storage full of supplies, don't worry you will never run out. If you taught her to paint, she would be really good at graffiti style. Making animals or spraying bubble letter graffiti around where she killed to tease/anger the Autobots is her favorite pass time.

[hariboz]

PROMISE ME…!

“when you don’t tell your boyfriend you’re sick and still perform!”

pairing: idol!bf!ricky x gn!idol!reader

genre: fluff, tiny angst (?)

warning: mention of headaches, blurry vision, nausea and similar symptoms, softie bf!ricky, that’s it i think?

notes: ty to nonnie for requesting this!! i got a little carried away but i got into a pretty good flow writing it so i hope you enjoy 🥹🫶🏻 also!! this is my first time writing idol!reader so i hope it feels somewhat realistic…? as realistic as it can be i guess 😵‍💫

word count: 1.8k (😵‍💫 how and why…)

five, six, seven, eight.

five, six, seven, eight.

five, six, seven—

“y/n, are you okay?” the voice of your leader rips you out of your trance, your tired eyes meeting in the mirror. you nod and put on a bright, although fake smile in hopes of being reassuring, though you’re not sure you were being all too convincing — either way, none of your members pry, because they understand. they understand the need to push through, especially now with all these end of the year award shows happening; you simply can’t afford to be sick, to fall behind and to be absent from such huge events. so, you decide to push through the dizziness, nausea and pain. you’ll take some medication later, it’ll be fine. (at least that’s what you’re telling yourself when you catch yourself stumbling from the dizziness when you get ready to practice your solo entrance.) even though there is a silent understanding between you and your members, there still is one person you know you won’t be able to convince, no matter how hard you’ll try — your boyfriend and professional overthinker in regards to your well-being, ricky.

it’s quite cute, the juxtaposition of his public image and the way he tends to worry. did you eat? does your throat hurt from vocal practice? did you trip during dance practice again? (a question that’s especially annoying considering you told him about tripping once, roughly six months ago. he refuses to let it go.) he sends you teas and throat sprays to make sure your voice is taken care of, secretly checks the soles of your shoes to make sure they aren’t getting slippery, somehow manages to pack you little snacks you can munch on when you haven’t eaten anything before practice again. he’s very rarely stern, much too soft-spoken and gentle towards you to speak to you in a more serious manner when he’s worried, so he shows his care and love through these things — which makes you feel all the more guilty when you straight up have to lie to him when he asks if practice is going fine, if you’re feeling well, and letting you know how excited he (along with gyuvin, he mentions) is to see you perform in person up close.

you try your hardest to get better before the performance, you really do. well, as much as you can between hours and hours of practice and barely any sleep, at least. all your efforts seem to be in vain, though, because the day of the performance seems to be the worst day yet — if you had a choice, you would bury yourself under every blanket available and not leave your bed for at least a week, that’s how awful you feel when you and your members are picked up from your dorm during the wee hours of the morning.

unfortunately, the little perfectionistic gremlin that lives at the back of your mind refuses to let all these weeks of practice go to waste, so you muster up a brave smile through your shaking pupils and tell your worrying members that you have everything under control — you’ll smash this performance just like all the other ones, even if you have to do it while being a little dizzy. it’s no big deal, you’re a professional after all.

your stylists is making some last minute adjustments to your outfits when a gentle knock sounds through the room, a very familiar blonde head of hair popping in. you rush over to ricky, his arms snaking around you immediately. “hey, handsome,” you mutter as you observe his face, a small grin playing on his lips. “you’re not looking to bad yourself, hm?” his voice is smooth as he brushes some of your hair out of your face, careful to not interfere with your hairstylist’s hard work. you’re thrown off your balance a little when another dizziness spell hits you out of nowhere, the look on ricky’s face immediately morphing into one of concern, “are you okay?”

you muster up a smile and just nod, eyes blinking rapidly to dispel the black dots bouncing around in your vision, “yeah, i’m just a little nervous,” you reach up to adjust his collar to avoid meeting his worried eyes, “i’m fine. just freaking out a little, that’s all.” you can tell ricky doesn’t entirely believe you, but he trusts that you would come to him if there was something wrong — so he reluctantly lets the subject go. he steals a quick kiss to your lips, whispering a “good luck, i love you.” before he turns to leave to make any last preparations for his own performance.

your first wave of regret overcomes you when you stand ready beneath the stage, you and your members getting into position to perform the intro to your performance. your head feels like it’s about to split and your hands are shaky, but it’s too late to turn back now — as queen sunmi once said, the show must go on.

your second wave of regret comes when you’re actually on stage, all the lights, the music, the screams and your in-ear monitor feeling less like the dream you’ve worked so hard to achieve and more like your own personal hell. your group having your own amazing entrance with one of the stage elevators excited you at first; unfortunately, right now you’re preoccupied with managing your expressions to make sure you won’t let any irritation or discomfort slip.

your third and final wave of regret comes when you stand in the middle of the stage in this massive venue, tens of thousands of eyes on you as you start to perform your solo part of the song — your head is pounding and you can barely hear your own voice through your in-ears anymore, your steps are shaky and imprecise, your vision is blurry. you manage to push through, somehow, but it’s clear in the way your chest is heaving once the lights go out that you’re not well.

the atmosphere is very much tense in the part of the audience where your fellow idols sit, all of them having to cover their very obvious concern with faux excitement — you pulled it off well enough, but it’s clear to every single one of them that you’re sick and that you probably should not have performed. ricky especially has to keep his expressions in check, because the mix of worry and concern but also frustration and maybe a little anger is raging heavily inside him right now.

the worry and concern are obvious, the last thing he wants to see is you being sick, much less performing in that state. the frustration is bubbling inside him because he knows that you know better, that even the chance of you hurting yourself even worse by performing while sick is enough reason to sit out one performance. the anger is entirely directed at your staff and maybe some of your members, your leader at least — they must’ve seen that you were unwell, no? and they still let you on stage? is that not what managers and leaders are for, to take matters into their own hands and to know what’s best for their members? it all comes to a head when your members join the other idols in the audience while you’re nowhere in sight.

ricky is getting restless, his hands sprawling against his dress pants, occasionally pinching the fabric to keep his mind occupied. gyuvin and matthew both gave him little reassuring pats on his back but neither did much to comfort him, his mind entirely preoccupied with worrying about you and counting down the minutes to when he will finally be able to check up on you backstage.

it’s about an hour later when the award show is finally over, and for once ricky is the first one to rush backstage, a little ahead of all of his members. he swerves past staff and security and doesn’t even bother knocking on your group’s dressing room, ripping the door open to find your shocked but still very exhausted eyes staring up at him in surprise, “ricky?”

he’s in front of you in the blink of an eye, squatting down to meet you eye-to-eye, his hands gently cradling your face, “are you okay? for real, this time?” his brows are furrowed and you feel a little bad for thinking that he looks pretty handsome all serious like this. you nod sheepishly, apology ready to spill from your lips when he squishes your cheeks together to silence you, “shhh, you listen to me. never do that again, okay? do you know how scary that was, watching you perform like that? what if something had happened, you know you could’ve—,” he stumbles over his words a little, clearly worked up, “i don’t know, fallen off stage or something. you could’ve fainted! or you could’ve broken something or— i don’t know, just, promise me, don’t do that again.” ricky’s once so stern voice turns soft towards the end again, never really able to keep up his serious tone for long, especially towards you.

“‘m sorry, just didn’t want to let anyone down,” you mumble, leaning into his touch. his cold hands on your face feel incredibly nice, a stark contrast to your feverish face. he sighs and one of his hands comes up to brush your hair away from your face, his hand stroking your head softly, “i know, but still. don’t do stuff like that, okay? talk to someone when you’re not feeling well. your managers, your members, me — there’s so many people you can go to, okay? anyone, as long as you tell someone,” you nod along to him, and maybe it’s the guilt of making him worry so much or the fact that you’re overwhelmed from the amount of affection coming from him while you’re still a little delirious, but you feel like you need to lighten the atmosphere with a little joke.

“even gyuvin?” the gentle expression on his face falls almost immediately, replaced by a very unimpressed stare. you break out into quiet giggles, muttering a “sorry” before pressing a kiss to his cheek. ricky grumbles a little before getting back up, running his hand through your hair gently one last time. “i have to go back now but i’m ordering you some soup to your dorm later. you’re on bedrest for the next few days, you hear me?” he tries to sound stern again and puts on his best serious face, but his façade is broken when you smile up at him so tiredly, the exhaustion clear on your face.

“thank you, i love you,” you call after him when he turns to leave, ricky sending you a flying kiss before leaving the room, “love you too.”

(your fourth wave of regret came when you realised ricky formed an alliance with your members, all of them exchanging “y/n intel” to make sure all of them can keep an eye on you while you’re recovering.)

[yusufsmoon]

Shiniiiiii I have a little writing prompt for u and it's Nile and Nicky having a night out and being besties and doing something insane that only immortals like them think of as a fun Friday night activity

michelle i love this sm, pls enjoy my take <3

Nile looks over from where she’s been staring out the window, lost in thought, when Nicky knocks and steps into her room. 

“Nile,” he says, that gentle smile on his face, “I am in the mood to go out. Would you like to join me?”

She hesitates. Part of her would like to indulge in her melancholy mood. The other part of her is just plain curious to know what Nicky’s version of ‘going out’ is in this random small town on the east coast of Canada. In the end, her curiosity wins out.

“Sure. Should I change?”

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes. “Yes. Perhaps wear some darker colors.”

Nile blinks. “Okay.”

*** 

When Nile makes her way to the living room, she sees that Joe is curled up on the couch in a soft sweater, sketching while the TV plays. Nicky sits next to him, standing when Nile comes in. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans. 

She reaches for her jacket, asking Joe. “You’re not coming?”

Joe shakes his head, smiling fondly at them. “I’m good here. But keep my husband out of trouble, would you, Nile? He has that look in his eye.”

Nile laughs, glancing over at where Nicky is putting on his backpack. He doesn’t strike her as the type. 

She shrugs anyway and jokes, “No promises.”

The night is cool and fresh when they step out. They’re staying in a residential area. Nicky offers her his arm as they start walking in a seemingly random direction. Nile takes it, charmed by the sweet, old-fashioned gesture. 

They walk in silence for a while, Nicky humming softly under his breath. At one point, whatever is in Nicky’s backpack makes a clanging noise. 

Nile’s eyebrows raise. “Okay. I’ll bite. Where are we going?”

Nicky’s expression turns mischievous. “You’ll see.”

Minutes later, Nicky stops walking abruptly. Nile looks up to see that they’ve stopped in front of a house that is bigger and much nicer than all the others on the street. There’s a tall stone wall surrounding the jewel-green lawn. 

“Uh, what —”

Nicky holds up a finger in a shushing motion and leads her around to the back. Lost, Nile follows him. 

Nicky produces two medical masks from his pocket, handing one to her. “Put this on.”

Bewildered, Nile does. Nicky swings his backpack around to open it and finally shows her what is inside: a carton of eggs, cans of spray paint, and rolls of toilet paper. 

“Are we TP-ing someone’s house?”

“Not just someone. I read in the newspaper yesterday that this man owns apartment buildings all throughout this town and nearby ones too. He has been evading laws and evicting people out of their homes by pretending that there is asbestos and mold in the buildings. Elderly, families, young people with nowhere to go. I had Copley look into it and it turns out he’s secretly trying to demolish the homes and sell the land to some big businesses.”

 Nicky zips the backpack up again and puts it back on. Tucking his thumbs into the straps, he continues. “Copley’s sending the information to the local city council but I thought we could make this man’s day a little worse. The spray paint is Joe's. I saw the toilet paper thing in a movie.”

Nile gapes. “Oh my god.”

Surprisingly agile for being as broad as he is, Nicky jumps up to sit on the wall, swinging one leg over the side. “We have about 1 minute until the alarm goes off, and 3 minutes before anyone shows up.”

Looking at the glint in his eye, Nile suddenly understands what Joe was warning her of. She can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than she has all day. 

Nicky reaches out a hand. 

Still laughing, Nile leaps and catches it.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Can I request doflamingo x male reader who has back pain? (Reader is a young adult)

Donquixote Doflamingo x Male reader

Headcanons

I live in denial that Doffy wouldn’t be a good romantic partner, lalala I cant hear canon at all, I’m covering my ears and burying my head in the sand.

I live for secretly soft Doffy.

Doflamingo is a cruel and sadistic individual, so no one questions or is surprised when you guys start dating, even with the big age difference. With Doffy being 41 and you being somewhere around the younger side of 25.

In public I can’t see Doffy showing any weakness, which by extension also means he doesn’t show you any affection, aside from maybe pulling you into his lap and teasing you in little mean ways.

Also Doffy being, well, Doffy, he would definitely notice your back pain before you ever told him. Maybe he notices it when he’s pulling you to sit in his lap and he sees you grimace, or when he’s got his large hand resting on your back and he feels how you subconsciously lean away from his palm.

He wouldn’t say anything, at least in public, and even for a while in private. Its only if it becomes chronic backpain or gets bad enough that it would pose a threat to your safety that I can see him saying anything.

Other than that, I could see him acting in small ways that would make it easier for you. Like picking out an outfit he just must see you in, and that outfit just happens to put less strain on your back, or be tight in the right areas to lessen the pain.

Or when he’s sitting and doing paperwork in his office, just the two of you. He regularly has you in his lap, its just part of the dynamic, so you don’t question it. But hed be absentmindedly rubbing your back, and maybe pressing his knuckles into the hurting area, or massaging it with his thumb.

You also find pain medication in your things, bet it in the grand bathroom you two share, or on the bedside table. Hes probably also snuck a bottle of pills into your pocket, just in case.

It also wouldn’t be strange to start finding things that could help with the back pain, like a hot water bottle, different oils or ointments, or even a book on ways to stretch and do yoga to lessen body pains tucked into your personal bookshelf.

You would immediately know it was Doffy doing it, and when you thank him for it or just smile at him, he would act like he has no idea what you are talking about. He does appreciate the extra kisses, when you guys are in private.

If your backpains are common or constant, I could also see him subtly massaging you more thoroughly. Like when you guys are cuddling and you are laying on top of him, Doffy would be rubbing and massaging up your spine and down your legs.

It doesn’t happen without him making little comments, that you know he doesn’t fully mean. Like him making some kind of jab about him being much older than you, but you are the one with back pain.

Doffy probably also finds some way to use his strings to help you out in some subtle ways, like him grabbing stuff for you so you wont strain your back further, or him wrapping strings around your torso to give you a squeeze and maybe help loosen the pain up a bit.

You always make sure to thank him obviously. Mainly because you can tell he gets a little bashful or flushed. Not that anybody else would be able to tell, since he always just looks like himself.

But you can tell from the way his wide grin softens just a smidge, or how his brow twitches. Your biggest achievement is still after completely showering him in kisses, after he found some way to make the backpain disappear for a while, where you get a very light flush to his cheeks, and he has to turn his head away to clear his throat.

[thefanciestdressedotter]

OP As Parents: Trafalgar Law

Gn! child reader & Trafalgar Law (COMPLETELY PLATONIC)

A/N: ... Hi. It's been a minute since I posted on here and it is completely my fault... I dropped out of my obssession with OP and it took me this long to pick it up again. So yeah... Sorry about that...

TW: Mention of past child death (Lami), fear of current child death, Law's general backstory angst, overprotectiveness on Law's part

Let's get this out of the way first, Law is absolutely the type to be incredibly paranoid surrounding illness

He lost his sister at a young age, so when you get any type of illness he monitors you like a hawk to make sure you are fine

This man would make you stay inside and constantly check on you with every remedy possible for something as little as a cold

Took a page out of Cora's book with parenting, so would absolutely throw down if anyone says something about you

Though I personally think Law would be against giving you a devil fruit unless you were put under similar circumstances as his from when he was a kid

Not amazing with physical touch since he just isn't the type, so his main love language is quality time

But like not doing an activity together quality time, more along the lines of how neurodivergent people spend time together in that you guys will be in the same space doing your own things

The Heart Pirates become your extended family, they all kinda co-parent you

Bepo is a little bit like a nurse maid, if Law isn't around for you Bepo will be there to make sure everything is alright

Shachi and Penguin are like trouble-making uncles, they would absolutely encourage you to join them in poking fun at Law

Jean Bart is kinda like your teacher??? Like he teachs you self defense since he is adept at hand to hand combat

You absolutely would have to wear the Heart jumpsuit, it is what it is

He is similar to Mihawk and Smoker in that he isn't amazing at expressing himself but he does love you dearly and he shows it in his actions

Making sure you eat if you are hyperfocused on a hobby, sitting near you reading one of his medical texts, patting your head when you have done a good job, etc

Like Marco, he would teach you a bit about medicine here and there for first aid purposes and also because that is what his father did with him for bonding

Doesn't expect you to become a doctor, but would be secretly very happy if you did because if you did its like passing down his family's legacy

Overall, a solid dad if a bit paranoid

[sinkdownbeneath]

“Fine By Me.”

Pairing - Daryl Dixon x Trans Masc Reader

Warnings - Talk of drug use, illness, needles, identity, possible transphobia.

Setting - S4 Prison

Summary - Daryl thinks you’re doing drugs, but ends up learning something new about you.

Type - Fluff

A/N: this is my first published fic!! i have briefly proofread, and i’m pretty happy with it. hope you enjoy :)

You sat on the edge of the bed in your cell, positioning the needle over your thigh, gripping at your flesh trying to gauge where to inject yourself. your palms were sweaty and you couldn’t get a good grip on the syringe, with Hershel in Block A, treating the prison flu, you had nobody to do this for you. Hershel had told you the week prior that he would be going to take care of the sick, and he took extra steps in showing you how to inject your medication, but this was the first time you had tried on your own, it was proving difficult.

You took a breath and widened your eyes, grabbing your skin and moving your face closer, trying to get the needle in the perfect spot before you pushed it in, ‘just do it, idiot’ you thought to yourself.

You heard a scoff and jumped, looking up with a surprised expression, Daryl stood at your door, holding the curtain you had put up against the frame.

“Didn’t take you for a fuckin’ junkie.” He said, a scowl across his face.

“What? No! I-“ you began,

“I don’ wanna hear it.” Daryl said, starting to turn away and leave.

“Daryl!” you jump towards him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around, he looked taken aback, offended, you weren’t sure, but before he could do or say anything, you grabbed his arm and yanked him into your cell, peering your head around the curtain to check nobody else was witness.

You held the syringe in front of his face, waving it as you annunciated “This is not heroin,” in a whisper-shout.

He looked puzzled and almost like he was challenging you, as if he was asking ‘oh yeah? what is it then?’.

“I am not a junkie, this is my medication! Now if you would give me a hand with sticking it in my thigh I would be grateful.”

You spoke to him in such a way he stood speechless for a moment, like he was a child who just got an angry finger waved in his face for his attitude.

“Well?” You ask, impatiently.

He flushed red for a moment and sheepishly nodded, taking the syringe from your hand, you sat back down and rolled your trouser leg back up, exposing the piercing site, jab marks from the previous weeks lingering.

Daryl sat beside you, needle in hand, inspecting it, and just as you thought he was about to stick you with it, he hesitated.

“Just lemme see whatever you put in here, I don’t wanna be responsible for nothin’.”

It was your turn to hesitate, you scoffed and looked at him, gauging whether he meant it or not, whether he really needed to see why you were secretly medicating yourself every week, when his expression didn’t falter, you reached into the box under your bed, and pulled out the small vial containing your lifeline.

You placed it into his hand, avoiding all eye contact, this man was the one you worried about telling, he wasn’t as loud as Merle was about his opinions, but they were brothers, they were hicks, surely they had their opinion in common?

He rolled the vial in his palm, exposed the small text written on the label, and brought it up to his eye. The bottle read ‘TESTOSTERONE’ in a bold font. Daryl studied it before peering over the bottle and into your eyes, he looked at you almost knowingly, his eyes told you that it was okay, you were okay.

This was the softest look Daryl had ever given you, he had just said so much more with his eyes than you had ever heard from his mouth, it meant a lot.

He gave the bottle back to you, and took the syringe between his teeth, using one hand to move your trouser leg up, and the other to grip a chunk of your flesh, rolling it between the tips of his fingers until the chunk felt right, he took his hand from your trousers and retrieved the needle from his mouth, poking it into you, and pressing down on the plunger at a slow pace.

You watched him, how he nibbled on his lip and furrowed his brow in concentration, how gently he treated you, you watched as he handled you with such care, you looked so deeply into him that you didn’t even realise he had removed the needle. The sudden sound it made when he tossed it onto the table next to your bed startled you awake from your trance, and you found yourself staring at the side of Daryl’s face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes darting to all places other than your eyes.

“Sorry.” You said, he nodded.

“Thank you for doing that.”

“S’alright.”

The silence was so loud.

“How did you learn to do that?” You asked, breaking the silence so suddenly you caught yourself off guard.

“Do wha’?” he questioned, raising a brow and looking at you through his fringe,

“Inject, it seemed like you knew what to do.”

He nibbled on his lower lip again, looking around the room, as if he was trying to find the words.

“My Mama,” he replied, “before the fire, before everythin’, she was sick, I had to give her her medicine sometimes, she was in a lot of pain, kept her in bed all day, smokin’, readin’ her magazines, Merle took care of her when he wasn’t at Dad’s, but sometimes I had ta.”

He kept his eyes on the ground before timidly looking toward you, you looked at eachother for a moment, before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight, you were telling him it was okay, you were thanking him for not freaking out over you being trans. You were very private about your identity before the world fell, and you thought you would have to be the same now, you had told Hershel very reluctantly, but he told you that God loved you, and that he accepted you, and now Daryl knew, and he treated you with more care and understanding than before. You thought maybe your family, your new, found family, would be okay with it too.

Daryl wrapped his arms around you, and squeezed before pulling away from the hug and standing up by the door.

“Gotta go, Rick needs help with the fence.” he told you, punctuating his sentence with a half smile.

“Okay.”

He turned away and lifted the curtain.

“Daryl?”

“Mm?” He hummed.

“Thank you, I thought-“ You began,

“I know what it’s like. Feelin’ like you don’t belong. What you’re doin’, who you are, is fine by me.”

[321spongebolt]

While "Codename: Kids Next Door" ended long ago, with plans for "Galactic Kids Next Door" on limbo, I figured that following Numbuh 1's departure in the series finale, I figured diversity should become a thing under Numbuh 5's new role as leader of the Kids Next Door. By that, I mean bringing in new Kids Next Door members that have disabilities. Autism, of course, being no exception.

As far as if Numbuh 5 were to introduce a new member to the team who has autism, her expectations are for the new recruit to be treated with care and make him feel welcomed. As far as his interactions with the other KND members, Numbuh 5 and Numbuh 2 would be as patient and understanding as they have to be, with Numbuh 5 acting like a sisterly figure towards the new guy. And she alone could give the new recruit words of encouragement. Numbuh 3 would be the most accepting out of all the KND members. In fact, given her affectionate and bubbly personality, she would provide the new recruit plenty of hugs. She'll also comfort the new guy if he's ever sad or crying or overwhelmed, just as he would to Numbuh 3. And though she only just met the new guy, I imagined that she would bunk in his room for his first night. She would also offer him one of her rainbow monkeys, despite not knowing what he likes or dislikes, but it would still be something he could cuddle with at night as his way of remembering Numbuh 3. Numbuh 4, given his brash personality wouldn't easily be as accepting. From his stance, he could be very judgemental, which from his end is relatable for someone who doesn't know how autism works. Numbuh 4 would also be easily jealous whenever he sees Numbuh 3 comforting the new recruit. And when he's alone, he'd mock the new guy by comparing him to a dog (which would always comfort their owners and provide them love and empathy as they do). But that's not to say he'd be cruel about it. He may be brutally honest, but deep down, he would secretly care to more be bonds with him.

As far as weaknesses this new recruit has, whenever he gets too scared or is put in a life-threatening situation he wasn't prepared for (and no one is to blame for it), he'll get pale skinned and freeze up, resulting in him being paralyzed. And when he does become paralyzed, he needs immediate medical attention, which Numbuh 3 does provide given her role as a nurse. She is able to wake him up and comfort him while he's bedridden. And given how she occasionally sings, Numbuh 3 would sing any gentle comforting songs to cheer up the new recruit (ex. The "Trolls (2016 film)" version of "True Colors").

As far as his strengths, the new recruit does show signs of intelligence, and if there was a moment of him bonding with Numbuh 2, after Numbuh 2 shows off the gadgets he and the other KND members used in previous episodes of the show (depending on what's still around, or what hasn't been destroyed or lost), the new guy could get creative and built some kind of a robot suit (similar to the Iron Man armor) where the new guy can fly with rocket shoes (like the ones Numbuh 1 wears) and perform offensive attacks with the other gadgets equipped into his suit. He can also have a helmet that grants him binocular vision (for targeting and seeing things far away), x-ray vision (for seeing through walls), and even night vision (for seeing in the dark). The new guy would also wear his armor on Halloween when he goes trick or treating with his new friends for the first time. The suit could also have spikes that pop out from the seat of his pants, protecting him from the likes of Count Spankulot, who would scream in pain if his hand interacted with those spikes.

This is all I've got, but hopefully this sounds good as far as a character concept for if autistic characters were represented in "Codename: Kids Next Door".

[seeker-of-stories19]

Jaime & Khaji Da Headcannons

- Khaji makes a habit of naturally and even subconsciously adjusting Jaime’s body to make it more adaptive, it takes a lot of arguments and reminders for Khaji to stop giving him extra limbs and eventually they compromise on night vision and sometimes fangs/claws

- Khaji still secretly does it at night to pull Jamie’s blankets back up when he insists on sleeping in bed because he will kick them off if he gets hot

- Jaime only wears his Gotham law hoodie at home because he’s worried Khaji will destroy it and it’s his biggest comfort item

- There’s definitely an element of horror in having his body invaded in such a traumatic way, but oftentimes the thing that freaks Jaime out more is that it feels so right. He can’t remember and doesn’t want to imagine what his life would be like without Khaji Da

- Jaime routinely spaces out while talking to Khaji and literally won’t respond to his family. It freaks Bianca out a bit but Milagro and Rudy love messing with Jaime and totally take advantage of it to scare him

- Although one time Rudy jumps on him from behind and scares him so bad he gets electrocuted again, even though Khaji knows he’s not a threat they think Rudy deserves it for making Jaime scared

- After that they stick to hiding his stuff when he’s spaced out communicating with Khaji

- Jaime goes to ridiculously extreme lengths to hide the extent of his trauma because he’s terrified of having to explain what Victoria and Carapax did to him

- Eventually his family starts picking up on it and accommodating him without him asking about it, not coming up behind him, letting sit closest to the exits, not making him wear ties or anything tight around his neck

- It gets to the point where Jaime slowly starts venturing out of his room after panic attacks and nightmares, so he isn’t alone and his family learns that the best way to support him is just looking out for him and not asking about it

- Although there are definitely moments when weird things trigger Jaime and it makes them wonder why having stuff touch his neck causes him to lock himself in his room for hours or blast off to sit on top of a building somewhere

- Khaji is the only one who knows what really happened to Jaime on the island and they’re very protective as a result

- Jaime will absolutely have a breakdown if Khaji takes more than two seconds to answer him because he’s terrified of losing that connection again

- The longer they’re bonded the more Khaji learns about human emotions and experiences, eventually they’re able to contextualize the horror Jaime feels over their bonding and feel guilt for causing him pain. They still don’t understand it in truly human way but they know they hurt him a lot physically and mentally which goes against their purpose

- Jaime spends so much time and energy looking for clothes that won’t show off the bumps along his spine, definitely has to wear stiffer fabric than he likes so it lays somewhat normally

- There’s definitely a period where he tries sticking kinesiology tape over Khaji to try and make the shape less obvious because it’s too hot to wear long sleeves and they burn it off immediately

- Finally after months Milagro points out that if people ask he can just tell them it’s a back brace or some type of medical equipment which makes him feel very stupid for not thinking of it sooner

- He has a lot of scar tissue around where Khaji latched onto his spine even with the advanced healing because of the trauma it put on his body. He also has jagged scars all over his back and shoulders with some stretching down his arms and legs from the electricity since Khaji didn’t have enough resources at the time to heal him fully

- Definitely at least one occurrence where he scares a stranger half to death walking to his car at night because his eyes are glowing yellow

- Jaime saying we instead of I when talking about things, “We’re so tired” and “Gracias we appreciate it”

- Khaji is incredibly attached to Jaime as well, having bonded more intensely to him than any previous host and like Jaime they’re also terrified of being separated, although they know it is an inevitable part of their reality

- Jaime’s family being so confused by what a symbiotic relationship is and definitely asking some invasive questions on accident

- Jaime is sort of permanently torn between horror and affection toward Khaji, a constant tug of war between the violation of being forced to share his body and not truly have control over his body and choices and the fact that their connection feels undeniably right, the understanding on a level he doubts any other human being can comprehend experiencing

- But even on the bad days he doesn’t blame Khaji, they were simply doing what they were programmed to without any understanding of the pain or trauma it would cause

- And he knows they understand it better now and regret ever causing Jaime damage

- Clothes never stop being a problem, he ends up putting all the basics in an Amazon list and reordering a cheap wardrobe every couple months

- On nights he goes to events with Jenny or other nicer things he just prays he won’t transform and accidentally destroy his one suit

- Even though he can never convince Khaji to stop burning his clothes they always protect the necklace he wears of his fathers

- No matter how long they’re bonded Jaime still answers Khaji out loud sometimes, when he’s at home it just leads to some confusion and teasing but he gets some nasty looks in public for mumbling nonsense to himself or talking over people in conversations

- Clicking/chirping sounds when he’s happy

A/N I totally didn’t expect to get this many likes so thank you, maybe I need to do headcannons more often! Anyways please feel free to add to these in reblogs if you have any more ideas and use any of these that inspire you in your own stories! But if you do tag me or send me AO3 links so I can see!!!!!

[prac-ticalproblems]

suggestion based off your post asking for suggestions: what do you think all their favorite albums would be. mind you they’re in the late 1960s so like it would be an album they liked so much they would save up and buy the record. lord knows music was an arm and a leg for 10 tracks. I’m thinkin engie might be into Johnny Cash, definitely bein into At Folsom Prison and probably also Townes Van Zandts self titled album when they came out in 1969. Scout would probably be a Chuck berry fan. I can also see him knowing how to dance to 40s big band music because his ma used to dance with him in his brothers in the living room as kids but he would be embarrassed about that one. Soldier would HATE the Beatles. and I have no idea about everyone else.

You. You get it. I’m gonna squeeze you. /pos

I love this ask so much I am going to do 60’s AND make it regional and Historical! Because we are syncing brain waves rn. (With a little bit of karaoke headcanonz)

1960’s music w the mercs

Medic - I believe that Medic is a very chaotic music lover. He has a background of classical in some way, with his fascination for it in the game and it’s bled outward into loving loud booms and the thrill of it speeding up.

So maybe some early forms of rock? Especially if it’s Peggy Peter’s. He sings like shit though.

Heavy - I’m not going to lie, this immediately came to me. Heavy loves pop. Heavy loves a bouncy little jig that he can play while cleaning Sasha. He probably got it from his sisters. I also believe that he has a very strong sense of political beliefs about his country so pop that has a message.

Definitely Edita Piekha. 100%. Lovely vocals from the gods. A little rattling, but He is a perfect bass.

Scout - HE WOULD LOVE CHUCK BERRY. That man hums ‘My Ding-a-ling’ as he showers. Absolutely.

He has Sex Bomb tattooed, but I’m sure his favorite Tom Jones song is actually It’s Not Unusual. He screeches when he sings instead of singing higher.

Demo - I see him being into much older songs for his age (he’s like nearly 30) just because of the way his mother raised him. I think he’s got an older soul than he thinks. So 1940’s swing and soul. Strong believer that he has more than a few albums that he cherishes, but most of them are from his mom.

He cries every time he puts it on though, just to let the feelings out. When he’s drunk, he sings terribly, when he’s sober? Probably still a little bad but he doesn’t know his range and doesn’t care if he’s tone deaf.

Pyro - I have personal ideas about Pyro that makes me think he is a huge Jimi Hendrix fan. I refuse to explain or elaborate as I will be here all day.

All Along the Watchtower. He bounces whenever it’s played.

Sniper - Jazz. I know it’s an easy answer, but it’s also THE RIGHT ONE. I think he’s very much a “nod his head and listen” type of music lover as a posed to “can’t stop moving” sort of guy.

He also probably prefers wordless music, for focus, and lyrics in music when he’s alone. (He is dancing in his room when no one’s around.)

Soldier - FUCKING HATES THE BEATLES. I’m almost tempted to say the only thing he listens to is music about WAR. But he’s probably into punk music. But I’m sure he fucks up and listens to anti war songs instead of actual war songs. So he’s accidentally listening to ‘hippie music’. No one has the will to explain it to him.

His favorite song is probably Gene Stridel - What do you win when you win a war. But only when he’s more self aware, more aware of his situation. It comes and goes. Soldier refuses to sing the song, ever. But it’s close to his heart, even if he sometimes doesn’t know why.

Spy - secretly a hippie. Definitely into Yé-yé, a type of french-ized version of British pop/exotica (like THE BEATLES.) He shows Soldier his music taste and it sends him into a rage. I think he takes pleasure in it.

Especially Baroque Yé-yé. Very Spy feely. Also Scout’s mom has probably shown him some Josephine Baker, and he likes it. Sings in a snooty little voice but it sounds pleasant enough. He thinks he’s the best singer in the team. (it’s heavy)

Engineer - GOD, you’re so right. Johnny Cash is the most fitting for him. I feel like he’s definitely a music sharer and taker. He carries songs from the people who he loves around with him. I think his mom loves Tammy Wynette and it’s crossed over to him.

Rip, you stupid fuck, you would have loved Poor Man’s Poison. He probably does that thing where they end off words in country with like a howl, instead of just ending the sentence.

[flame-boyant]

also do you have any quickman hcs? :]

mhmm!! The Quickererrrrrr

His special interest is dragons! Half of his home is dedicated to racing merch and the other half is dedicated to any and all dragon related items he can find. His most prized dragon though is this old plush he has named Misty Rage-Wings!

This stems from him being the one to take care of the mecha dragon whenever Wood was too busy to tend of her; Me and my dragon who is actually a giant pitbull puppy with wings and can breath fire.

His way of showing he likes you is by how much he'll (playfully) taunt and tease! While this can come across as very rude or off-putting at first glance, but he finds it as his way of being honest with other people or how to gauge them. If you're able to have comebacks for him and keep up he's immediately like "OHHH WE'RE BEST FRIENDS NOW"

When he starts thinking about something seriously he tends to pace in circles! He's got to constantly be moving when he's trying to process stuff otherwise he'll get really antsy and agitated.

That being said he's someone who, pun-intended, thinks on his feet! He's not one for plans so much as improvising as he goes along making split-second decisions that he feels could make or break the mission at hand (Though he hopes it makes rather than breaks-). This got him into arguments with his siblings at the start of their activation (and occasionally every now and then still) but now if they're working together on things Metal will use that unpredictability for the greater good of the team.

He used to steal Wily's tools and old blueprints because he wants to know how to repair machinery. While the fortress did have automated repair systems and Wily himself would tend to them if it was severe enough, it was never exactly easy when you were miles and miles away from base and missing a leg (that and Wily isn't exactly the most reassuring person to talk to). He knows very basic repair skills and acted as the 2nd liners' medic! Nowadays he gets lessons from the local ER in exchange for doing supply runs for them!

Really loves barking to dogs he meets on the street it's like a vocal stim for him!

Won't tell anyone other than Flash, but he secretly loves watching soap operas. He caught Flash watching an episode one day and initially pretended to not be invested (you know that thing old people do where they'll stand next to the tv and look at the screen?) Smash cut to two weeks later they've binge rewatched the entire thing Quick death gripping the screen "SOB HICK DONNA THE KITCHEN SINK WAS A METAPHOR FOR HER HEART RUN TO HERRRR"

For awhile it was just Metal, Air, Bubble, and Quick so Quick really really does admire the three of them (Metal especially he thinks his powerful t-girl sister is so cool and epic and never wrong)

If he sees Air is feeling down he'll offer to spar with them! Sometimes he'll put up a fair fight sometimes he'll purposefully throw the match without telling them either way he's agging them on trying to drum up their hype.

Trying to get over his fear of water by having Bubble teach him how to swim! Smug voice "Just you wait pool! I just cleared the arm floaties phase! Pretty soon I'll be able to run. UNDERWATER! >:)"

Is BFF's with Crash! Half of their communication between them is in-jokes and the other half is making animal noises in each other's general direction. Crash really looks up to Quick and for awhile would follow him around like a puppy for the first couple of months after activation!

Has a special move he's made with Heat called the Flaming Fastball where Quick will swing Heat as fast as he can then launch them right before they activate their atomic fire.

[centuryberry]

I've seen many of your AUs of Queen of The Mountain and I couldn't help but ask myself over this possible AU: What if Sangshen, after giving birth, goes through something like postpartum anxiety and after a few choice words callously said by her in-laws that trigger a massive fight or flight response, runs away with newborn! Yue in tow?

I don't know how Yue's birth went in specific terms, but what if after several days of resting and visits from the Zodiac Clan members, Sangshen was exhausted in more ways than just physical and starts secretly freaking out over her daughter's future due to the stress of having given birth, which escalates to the point of just planning to running away from the clan to protect Yue from their callous schemes? And what puts her impulsive plan to action was when one of the Zodiac Clan members (her father-in-law) makes a snide remark about how Yue would do for future plans, going as far as to decide how much use she'll be for the Clan in front of her mother? Those words alone were enough to convince an addled Sangshen to run away with Yue as soon as she's able to.

When she was deemed fit to be fully recovered, she secretly packs a small bag of essentials and in the middle of the night when she knew everyone was sound asleep, she snuck out of the compound and just ran off and would use what abilities she had to keep herself and Yue hidden out of fear of being followed, tracked or hunted, and she didn't stop traveling until she got to FFM.

She hid amongst humans and raised Yue as best as she could until she learned about FFM, the monkeys that live there and the paradise it was. Hoping they would take her in, she decided to move herself and Yue there. But it was around that time she got sick.

While she managed to get into FFM territory without raising suspicion (in her mind, but realizes her mistake soon after), her illness gets worse and while she tries to be strong and withstand the worst of it, she soon realizes she's dying and to protect Yue, she warns her to stay away from her body because animals would be attracted to her corpse and she needs to keep away from them.

Yue understands as best as she could at her age and tries to keep away, both from her dying mother (which she's really reluctant to do) and from the monkeys with weapons she saw searching nearby.

Eventually, General Beng finds her. Being a father himself, he has no problem letting Yue know he means no harm. It wasn't until he asks her why she was all by herself in the forest that she tells him that she has to stay or animals would come (she tries to explain what her mother told her to do, but she could only manage to say that). She even pulls him in the direction where her mother is, telling him she couldn't go there, which he took as a means to investigate, by which he finds her mother, not dead, but barely conscious. He immediately sends out an emergency signal and keeps Yue close to him as Wukong and Macaque show up before anyone else. He explains the situation to them as the other soldiers get Sangshen to the infirmary. At Yue's protests at her mother being taken away, the three monkeys follow after while Beng looks over Yue with what medical knowledge he knows.

Sangshen wakes up in a bed, feeling just slightly better, but nonetheless still dying, with her daughter passed out next to her. Because she was too weak from her illness, she didn't have enough strength to keep her glamours up, so when Wukong and Macaque arrive for questioning, her ears are exposed. This, of course, catches Macaque off guard enough for his glamours to flicker, just so that Sangshen notices. That's how she ends up reuniting with her brother for the first time. She explains her story as much as she was able to, with her daughter waking up and immediately clinging to her as she talked with Wukong and Macaque.

With what medical attention was available, Sangshen manages to live bedridden for almost two weeks until she eventually passes away peacefully. During this time, she got to know her brother and a select few monkeys, other than Wukong, just enough to entrust them with her daughter's care along with telling Macaque and Yue both how grateful she was to have them in her life and how much she loved them.

Yue knew that her mother was dying and, at first, seemed to have accepted it, but she was unable to stop crying when she got the news that she died in her sleep. Both she and Macaque grieved her loss while Wukong arranged for a simple funeral, choosing to have Sangshen buried at a place she liked when she was able to move on her own.

It was a painful time, but it was after the burial that Yue was approached with the offer of staying on FFM, by Wukong and Macaque. Even though she had barely known them, she knew that she trusted them, especially since she overheard her mother asking Wukong and Macaque to look after Yue when she was gone.

I know this idea is a lot more sad than I thought it would be, but I think it makes for a good AU for if Yue wasn't abandoned but had run away with her mother.

What do you think? I'd like to hear your thoughts about it.

My AUs never have Sangshen escaping on her own no matter how anxious she gets over Yue’s safety (believe me, if she could she would) because of her weak body. Without someone’s help, she wouldn’t make it half way before collapsing and dying. And that doesn’t even cover how Yishan would catch her before she even got too far. Sangshen knows all of this and never takes the risk since it would spell a certain death for Yue too.

I also try to avoid any AU scenarios that has Sangshen go through all that effort to escape and go to FFM only to die. It’s just cruel for her and Macaque. They’re already so tragic. For Macaque, he discovers he’s no longer alone but loses that same family. It’s like dangling something so important in front of him only to have it snatched away. It’s also just too sad for Sangshen. She already suffered so much during her time as a slave. I don’t like putting her character in more pain than necessary, especially not to give Yue (and Macaque) a new flavor of trauma.