#extraction forceps

[korrasamibottles]

Wrote 900 words today we're so back

[fuckspn]

this is only tangentially related to the supernatural episode i'm watching but it's so funny to me when people use the phrase "like pulling teeth" to say that something is difficult/slow/frustrating because i personally love pulling teeth and usually find it pretty easy and quick

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than self inserts

You're more amazing than surgery on a stuffed animal

[hannahbarberra162]

Uncomfortably Numb (Yan Law x Reader, 2/3)

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

Part 1

This drabble is now 12k+ words :I He's a slow burn Yan I can't make him go any faster!! Thank you @sordidmusings and @gouraminnow for beta-ing <3

“Alright, you’re all set, Penguin. Great job,” you said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before removing the paper towels from his chest. The oral surgery had been successful but it had taken hours for you to manually extract each tooth down to the root and close each wound. Penguin had a nearly complete secondary set of teeth in his mouth and each one needed to be extracted and cared for individually. Law said he’d monitor Penguin for infection and keep tabs on him in case of dry socket, which was a relief in a patient with so many operation sites.

Law had offered to be your aid again and this time you enthusiastically took him up on the offer. He had done a fantastic job the first time and it wasn’t every day that you had the world’s best surgeon handing you drills and sucking out a patient’s saliva at your command. But besides that, you found working with Law quite easy and were grateful for the help during such a long procedure. Law didn’t maintain idle chit chat or small talk and let you focus on what needed to be done. He’d even toweled off your forehead when you were sweating, causing you to startle from surprise.

“I apologize, Dentist-ya. I forget that isn’t common outside of surgery,” he said, handing you the mosquito forcep you needed.

“No apology needed, I’m sure Penguin appreciates not being dripped on,” you said as Penguin tried to give you a dopey smile. You’d had to sedate him much more than Shachi, his learned fear of dentistry making him a good candidate for twilight anesthesia. He was awake but wasn’t disruptive or unhappy, just along for the multi hour ride. At first Law had monitored Penguin’s vitals every fifteen minutes but your consistent anesthesia had him relaxing to checking only every 25 minutes. When you finally finished suturing the final socket, you stepped back to allow Law to observe your handiwork.

“Clean stitches,” he remarked, turning Penguin’s jaw to look at the other side of his mouth.

“Mm. Almost like it’s my profession or something,” you snarked, sitting down on the rolling stool. Stretching your arms you frowned at your own comment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything. Most other physicians aren’t as…kind to me as you’ve been. They’re a little dismissive of dentistry. I even went on a date with a physician who told me I wasn’t a real doctor,” you said with a light laugh. 

“How irritating. I hope you ripped into him,” Law said, closing Penguin’s mouth.

“Something like that,” you replied enigmatically. In reality you’d numbed his nerve endings so the doctor wouldn’t orgasm for a month but you didn’t think Law would find that appealing. “Penguin’s teeth shouldn’t grow back, I got them out at the root. But even so, you never know exactly what’s going to happen with fishmen teeth so if one or two reappear, I can always take them out again,” you explained to Law. “Well, if you find me again. I’m getting off at the next island but we can coordinate from there,” you added, furrowing your brow as you thought through the details. Law frowned but didn’t reply as you turned to his brother still on the chair.

“Penguin, you’re all done. Everything went well and you’re now the proud owner of only one set of teeth. I’m going to remove the anesthesia but you might be a little loopy for a bit, OK?” you said, taking off your glove. Penguin gave you a wide, toothy smile - much different than the closed mouth one you’d seen before. Using your right hand you slowly removed the anesthesia from Penguin but kept the numbing in his mouth, he was going to need it for the next few days.

“C’n I haave my teef?” Penguin asked as his head lolled to the side of the chair. Law sighed but stood next to you as you helped Penguin stand from where he had been laying on the patient gurney.

“I mean, you can keep them. A lot of people ask, but they don’t usually have so many, ” you replied. “Whoa, easy there,” you said as Penguin looped his arms around your shoulders and leaned his full body weight onto you, making you stumble. Law walked over and picked Penguin off you, pulling his arm over his shoulders to help Penguin walk. 

“Penguin, let’s go,” Law said as he started to walk with a pouting Penguin.

“Nooo, I wan’ the priddy dentiss to carry me,” he whined.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Law chided as he continued to walk towards the door of the operating theater. Law pulled it open as Penguin took in a large breath.

“Pfff oh please,” he said, releasing a huge gust of breath into Law’s face. “ You talk about her all tha time and I can’t embarrass myself?” Penguin nearly yelled as the door slammed shut. Your face flamed but at least Law didn’t see it. You’d been thinking about him since the previous night when you’d caught him reading your article. Law was different from other doctors you’d met - and different from other pirate Captains too. He was intelligent, considerate, protective, and treated you like a professional in your own right. He was a refreshing person to meet and you hoped you would get more from him than just a kiss.

Time passed easily on the Tang as it continued its trip to the next island. You helped out where you could and gave the entire crew dental checks and procedures as needed. You also helped yourself to Law’s medical library and spent hours curled up in his office, poring over the various texts he had. The first time you’d gone in there you stood in front of his filled shelves, completely agog. You’d seen his office on the first night but you hadn’t been focused on what it looked like, more interested in the Captain within it.

“Can I help you find something?” Law asked, causing you to jump. You hadn’t seen him since he was sitting in his chair with the back facing you; you thought you were alone when you came into the room.

“Law! You scared me! What’s wrong with you, hiding in the shadows like that!” you scolded him.

“It’s my office,” he said, sipping from a ringed mug of black coffee. He had you there , you thought to yourself.

“Hm. I s’pose so,” you mumbled as you looked back at the bookshelf in front of you. You gasped as your finger stroked the frayed spine of a copy of Fishman Anatomy and Physiology.

“How did you manage to get this? And a first edition too? This has been banned for -”

“Twenty years, since Fisher Tiger,” Law said as he continued to skim his own book. “You’re welcome to read it if you’d like,” he said, flipping a page with an index finger.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to. I have small sections of it I bought illegally but I’ve never even seen the entire book -”

“It would be my pleasure, Dentist-ya. There’s a settee across from my desk, make yourself comfortable.” With shaking fingers you pulled the dull green book off the shelf, cradling it to your chest as if it was a baby. You sat opposite Law and cracked the book open in silence, eager to read the information contained within. 

“It’s time for you to go to bed, Dentist-ya,” Law told you what seemed like moments later. You blinked and looked up from where you had been reading about digestive issues common to most fishmen species. 

“What do you mean -”

“It’s 3 AM, everyone else has been asleep for hours.” You looked down at the book and saw that you’d read nearly half the book in one sitting. You closed the book tenderly and set it down next to you, patting it like a treasured cat. You made a pleased hum and stretched your arms above your head. Blinking the strain out of your eyes, you noticed Law was still watching you. He stood up and sat on the edge of his desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him so that your feet nearly touched.

“And what about you?” you teased. “Shouldn’t you also go to bed?” you asked, bringing your hands behind your head in an assumed relaxed position. It raised your chest a little bit and brought your tits into focus, something even a composed person like Law noticed. Law had only initiated kissing you the one time and hadn’t seemed interested since. Your ego had taken a hit but you were hopeful that maybe once life settled back down on the Tang you’d be able to show him the error of his ways. 

“Ah, I think I might wait up,” Law said in a measured tone, breaking his eyes away from your torso.

“Wait up for what?” you asked, biting your lip between your teeth. Law looked you in the eyes, a grin coming to his face. 

“For this,” he said, standing upright and walking over to you. He leaned down with one hand gripping the settee. “Room. Shambles.”

Suddenly Law was the one sitting down with his legs spread and you were straddling Law’s lap facing him. The instant change in positions didn’t give you a headache like last time but you were still disoriented as Law put a hand on your hip and pulled you closer to him. You could feel a growing bulge in Law’s pants as your hips sat atop his own. 

“For this,” Law said, another hand reaching behind your neck to pull you into a kiss. You moaned softly as Law’s lips crashed down on yours. Law’s tongue licked the seam of your mouth to ask for entrance so you parted your lips. You pushed your tongue into Law’s mouth as his tongue met your own. Law’s tattooed hand curled into your hair and pulled slightly to keep you where he wanted you, the hand still on your hip squeezing your outer thigh. Law was setting the pace and you followed, letting him lead the kissing and angle your head to his pleasing. 

You were lost in the sensation of Law’s lips on your own and one of your hands rose to tangle in his short black hair as your other hand set on his shoulder. You found that when you gently he’d moan lightly so you repeated the motion a few times. A few minutes later, you started grinding on Law’s lap, unable to keep yourself from trying to chase your pleasure.

“Wanton creature,” Law rasped as his hand left your hip to your back, pulling your shirt over your head with your help and throwing it to the floor. His large hand splayed across your back as he pulled you closer to his own bare chest. He was warmer than you expected for someone who went around shirtless and you reveled in the feeling of his skin against your own. Law unclasped your bra with a practiced motion, pulling it off your arms and tossing it to wherever your shirt had landed. His tattooed hands cupped your breasts as he trailed kisses between them. He rolled your nipples between his thumb and index finger and you arched into his hands.

“Law, please,” you husked as he pinched one nipple harshly while rolling the other.

“Since you’re so polite,” was all Law said before he brought his face closer to begin sucking on your nipples. You jolted from the feeling of an expected metal piercing on your warm skin, causing you to move upright on his lap. Law grunted but continued suckling and gently biting your nipples, his stubble providing a pleasant burn to your skin.

The pressure was strong and relentless as Law laved his tongue over your nipples. The seam in your pants was growing wetter with each passing moment but you weren’t able to do anything about it other than grind yourself down harder on his lap. He grunted as you rubbed yourself faster but didn’t do anything other than continue to grope and suck your tits. You weren’t sure how long you were on top of him as he switched between your breasts, nibbling and sucking while you made pathetic mewling noises. A few times you attempted to change positions or unbuckle his pants but Law kept you in position easily. His lean musculature told you he was strong but you hadn’t expected him to be able to manhandle you with such ease.

“ Aah ~ c-can we…?” you trailed off suggestively and looked down at his pants. Law’s face was pressed between your breasts as he continued to massage and grope them. 

“Patience, it’s too late now. When I finally have you, it will be for the entire night, not just a few hours. The early shift will be up in about half an hour, I don’t want anyone to walk in on us,” he said as his fingers remained on your nipples. He removed his fingers but gave a sudden harsh bite to your left nipple, making you yelp. You cupped your sore breasts with your hands and held them in place of your bra. You had liked the attention, despite the unusual intensity. You pouted as you tried to get off his lap, which made Law laugh.

“Don’t pout, you’ll get what you want soon enough.” Law grabbed your jaw and angled your head down to look at his eyes. “Do not make yourself come. I will know if you do,” Law said with a straight face and harsh voice. You generally liked dom / sub games and all that came with it but his tone brokered no room for disagreement. Usually you talked about those kinds of things before engaging in them but this was pretty light, so you supposed it was ok. The next time you could discuss with Law your limits and safewords. Law was still holding your jaw as he asked “do you understand?” You nodded your agreement, unsure in the face of Law’s stare.

 “Room -”

“No, wait - let me get my -” you didn’t even finish your sentence before you plopped down on your bed in the women’s quarters, your clothes appearing immediately thereafter.

“S’ annoying, everything on his time schedule,” you grumbled as you tried to remove your remaining clothes without waking Ikkaku and Hakugan. Your panties were soaked through to your pants as you peeled them off. Normally in such a state your fingers would already be dancing their way down to your clit but something in Law’s tone gave you pause. Flicking your eyes over the clothes, you folded them up and placed them in your trunk to be washed later. You tucked yourself into your bunk with a huff as you tried to sleep off the pent up frustration Law had given you. 

The following day the Tang breached the surface of the water in preparation for docking at Coral Island. You’d been there before a few years prior and remembered it to be a pleasant place. You didn’t mind setting up shop on Coral Island for a few months - it was a smaller summer island and was known for its distinctive pink beaches. It didn’t have a Marine base,  though Marines sometimes stopped through on their way to the larger Reef Island a few week’s travel ahead. 

You were glad to finally get off the Tang even if you’d been enjoying your time spent under the sea. Despite the warm and welcoming crew, you grew restless within the Tang. Being inside the metal ship made you feel a little stir crazy, like you needed to stick your head out a window for fresh air. Now you knew a little of how Shachi must have felt, you thought as the Tang sailed into the wharf.

You had your belongings packed and ready to go but Law had encouraged you to keep them on the ship until you found where you were staying. It made sense, you reasoned, not to lug your heavy chest filled with equipment around until you booked a short term residence. You climbed the ladder to the top deck right behind Penguin and Shachi. The three of you had pushed and shoved your way to the front of the queue to get off the ship.

“Ugh! Feels so good, right?” Shachi exclaimed as he popped his head out of the hatch that led to the sail. Thanks to them you knew that the sail referred to the portion of the Tang that they could stand on when it wasn’t submerged. 

“I know! After about a week I can’t get out of the Tang fast enough,” Penguin agreed. The two of them started stripping off their boiler suits as you averted your eyes. They stripped down to their underwear in record time and without tripping over the legs of their suits, which was impressive. You idly wondered if they wore tear-aways and you hadn’t noticed. 

“Erm…what are you -”

“We’re going swimming! It’s the best feeling after being in the Tang for a while. It feels like you’ve been scrunched into a tiny ball and the water is slowly decompressing you. You should come -” Shachi put his hand over Penguin’s mouth to stop him from completing the sentence. 

“He wasn’t thinking. It’s not that nice,” Shachi said, color rising to his face. Penguin’s eyes opened wide.

“Yeah, it’s not like…anything that great. It’s just swimming,” Penguin said, unable to meet your eyes.

“Guys, it’s not a big deal. I knew what I was getting into when I ate the fruit,” you said with a laugh. Your eyes roved the waters of the bay and the foamy peaks of the water hitting the hull of the sub as the large splashes alerted you that the men had jumped in. In another life you would have loved to swim but your fruit made it a death sentence. With a deep sigh you disembarked the Tang for the docks of the island, ready to find a place to stay.

The rest of the crew had split up as they had work to complete before they were able to enjoy leisure time before the Tang left that evening. Jean Barte and Bepo were restocking medical supplies, Shachi had finished his dip in the sea and was buying groceries with Penguin and Ikkaku was buying spare parts for the sub. 

After spending some time with Bepo and Jean Barte looking at various medications, you remembered why you’d liked being on this particular island. Even though it was small, the pharmacist on the island was competent and stocked a lot of medications that even larger islands often didn’t have. You had the power to anesthetize but nothing else, you had to be able to offer antibiotics if a patient got an infection. Bepo had your hand in his (much to your delight) as you perused the aisles at the apothecary.

“Ooh, Bepo, look! They even have bacitracin!” you exclaimed as you grabbed the small tube off the shelf and turned it over in your hand. “They really have everything. This is a great apothecary so remember to stock more of your anesthetics,” you reminded the mink before placing the bottle back carefully. Bepo tilted his head and gave you a bright smile.

“I’ve got it from here. I’ve restocked Captain’s supplies thousands of times. Why don’t you enjoy the rest of the day,” Bepo suggested, shooing you away from the shelves. 

“Will I see you again before you leave?” you asked, pouting at the thought of your last bear hug.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Bepo assured you, pushing you further out of the store.

It wasn’t a bad idea to get moving, you thought to yourself. There was a lot for you to do before the Tang left that night. You went to see if you’d be able to rent the same room you had a few years prior - it didn’t leave any lasting negative impressions in your memory so it was likely good enough. 

As you walked away from the main drag of the town, you saw the familiar sight of off duty Marines. They were still in their uniforms but their happy chit chat and casual early evening drinking let you know they weren’t on the clock. The whole group looked rather young, like they had just finished basic training a few years prior. None of them were officers or in leadership positions, probably just a group of friends blowing off steam together. You paid them little attention as they passed by, until you felt a hand gripping your upper arm.

“Hey - are you that dentist lady?” a young Marine asked. He was just an ensign but based on the teeth you’d seen flashing in his mouth, he was part fishman. Maybe even Lingcod fishman, if the small uneven teeth were any indication. He had passed through the group to catch you as you walked by, making sure to speak to you with some privacy from his fellow Marines.

“Sure am,” you replied, slowing to a stop. Marines weren’t your favorite type of patients - they were often cocky and had attitudes but they were a reliable source of income. The Marines kept their own medical corps that included dental benefits but the dentists were often still in school themselves or total quacks. You spent a lot of your time seeing Marine dentist patients and fixing their work, particularly in fishmen.

“Are you the one who knows about fishmen?” the Marine asked in a quieter tone. 

“I am. I have to tell you, I’m going to be staying on the island but I’m not ready to see patients just yet. I have to set up and I’ll start seeing patients tomorrow or the day after,” you said as you tried to remove his hand from your arm. His mouth screwed up as his eyes flashed with pain as he gripped you tighter.

“Please, I’m begging you. My mouth is killing me and the Marine dentists -”

“Is there a problem?” you heard from behind you as a tattooed hand clapped on your shoulder. Swiveling your head up, you saw Law carrying Kikoku on his shoulder as he stood immediately behind you. His face held no shred of sympathy for the ensign, only cold fury.

“Wait, Law, no - there’s nothing -” you tried to tell Law that nothing bad was happening, you’d been in this situation hundreds of times before. The young man was probably in immeasurable pain and just wanted some relief. But you weren’t able to get the words out before the other Marines in the group were shouting and dropping their ales on the ground in their efforts to get away.

“T-trafalgar Law! She’s with him -” 

“He’s gonna kill us all -”

“Maybe we messed with his girlfriend -”

“I didn’t hear the Heart Pirates were here -”

“He’s gonna steal our hearts and crush them up -”

The group of Marines quickly dispersed, to the dismay of the fishman Marine in front of you. You wanted to tell him that you would see him, that he wouldn’t have to be in pain much longer. But Law set Kikoku’s tip on the ground.

“You too,” Law said, using his thumb to unsheath Kikoku. The Marine let go of your arm with a start and ran after his cohort, his legs practically pinwheeling in an effort to get away quickly. Law hummed happily and resheathed his sword.

“What the hell was that about?” you hissed at Law as you tried knocking his hand off your shoulder. His hand wasn’t moved by your weak attempts but instead gripped your shoulder harder almost to the point of pain.

“I did it to protect you,” he replied, his eyes boring into your own. 

“I didn’t need protection, that kid was in pain! He was just asking because -”

“They’re Marines.”

“I fucking know they’re Marines. Marines make up a sizeable amount of my income and besides that ensign was a fishman, he was in pain -”

“It was a ploy to get your attention in order to arrest you,” Law replied, finally removing his hand from your shoulder. Your fingers rose to touch the area where he’d gripped you, rubbing your tender skin.

“Th-that’s not true. Why would -”

“You don’t think they saw you getting off the Tang? Walking through the city arm in arm with Bepo? You’re easy pickings for them, alone and separated from the crew,” Law said, taking one step towards you.

“B-but why? I’m not a pirate -”

“You’re traveling with a notorious supernova Captain, strolling along the streets casually and laughing with the first mate. It certainly looks like you are,” Law continued in a bored drawl. You bit your lip - to someone on the outside it would look suspicious. 

“I…suppose,” you hedged. “But I really don’t think that any of those Marines -”

“Are capable of bringing you in? I don’t mean to offend you, but you’re not a fighter. I’ve seen this scenario happen before - there’s a promising doctor or nurse and they’re brought in on trumped up charges, which are conveniently dropped if they join the Marines. Or maybe you really do want to work for the Marines after all, get conscripted into their service. I’m sure they’d be happy to have a dentist like you in their ranks. Is that what you want, hm?” Law continued, taking another step forward. 

You took an unconscious step backwards, his firm tone and logical argument making you second guess the interaction with those Marines. Your eyes darted beyond Law as you tried to remember the details of the interaction with the Ensign. You couldn’t exactly remember what happened, everything had been so quick.

“Don’t feel bad, you’re not used to the way they really operate. I saw it firsthand when I was a Warlord. The truth is the Marines are a facet of the corrupt World Government and they function only in their own best interests,” Law explained, his eyes softening towards you. “Come on, the Tang will be leaving soon. You can come with us to the next island that doesn’t have a Marine presence. We’ll be in Shanks’s territory, he protects his islands well.” You nodded, as you thought over what Law had been saying. Law’s hand was on the small of your back, leading you back into town.

“Alright, I can - this island is kind of small anyway,” you rationalized to yourself. It wouldn’t be so bad to sail to the next island together, and maybe Law was right about the Marines. He really would know better than you, he had been a Warlord after all and probably had many interactions with them besides. His plan made sense, and after the next island you wouldn’t be associated with the Heart Pirates any longer. After they dropped you off, you’d take a passenger ship to another island and be all set.

The two of you walked side by side into town, Law’s open jacket flapping in the wind as you crossed through the main street. He kept his hand on your back at all times while the other was on his sword. There were many people milling about as they tried to buy last minute items before the stores closed at the end of the business day.

“There’s just one more thing I need,” Law said as he stopped and turned towards you, people walking around the two of you in the square. 

“Oh? What is it? I think most of the shops are closing soon -”

“This,” Law replied as he cupped your face with his free hand and kissed you deeply. You startled back, surprised at Law’s public display of affection. As far as you knew, Law was intensely private, not wanting anyone on the Tang to see as much as hand holding. And yet you sighed and leaned into him as he continued kissing you in the middle of the street. He leaned Kikoku against his chest as he pulled you closer to him, the sword awkwardly squished between your bodies. Law broke away, his index finger curled under your chin as he tipped your head back to look into his eyes. You flushed furiously but allowed Law to peck at your lips once more.

“Let’s go back to the Tang.”

Later that night, you were searching the infirmary storage closet for the bacitracin that Bepo had bought earlier that day. Shachi had sliced the sole of his foot on coral in the bay and the shallow wound needed tending. Normally such a cut wouldn’t be a problem but coral sometimes carried dangerous bacteria and you liked to err on the side of caution. Law was otherwise engaged and besides, you were more than capable of putting ointment on a wound. 

You looked through shelves for the antibiotic - you were thankful that every spot was labeled with the item that went above it on the shelves. Locating the bacitracin, you reached to grab the tube when you noticed that the spot for EMLA cream was empty. So was the spot for lidocaine, benzocaine, isoflurane, etomidate, and any other anesthetic. None of them had been restocked. 

The tube of bacitracin dropped from your fingers as you backed away from the shelves towards the small metal door. You took step after step backwards until you hit something solid but warm behind you. You tried to swallow but your mouth was dry.

“What are you doing, Dentist-ya?” You spun around; it was Law against your back.

“L-law, I….I -” you sputtered, unsure what to say. You wanted to double check that nothing was still in bags or crates before you accused him - the next island was a few weeks away and it would make for an awkward situation if you were wrong.

“Are you looking for an anesthetic?” Law said, looking behind you. “I would have thought that redundant,” he said as his eyes flicked over your face. Your eyes were wide - could Law read your mind with his fruit? You went for honesty, you weren’t a good liar at the best of times and especially not when you were nervous. 

“It’s just um…I didn’t think…you didn’t restock any of the topical analgesics? Or the anesthetics? I was with Bepo when he was looking at them and I just…wasn’t sure…”

“Not everything has been unloaded yet. Medications that don’t require refrigeration aren’t a top priority. They’re on the ship, watch. Room. Shambles,” Law said as a vial of lidocaine appeared in his hand. He considered you again, picking the tube of bacitracin off the floor. “What was your concern with the medication restock?”

Your face turned red as you tried to think of a way to cover your ass. “Uh, I was just, um, surprised that they weren’t there yet? The ship is so organized and it was…surprising? I was surprised?” you said as you tried to stop rambling. Law wasn’t showing any kind of expression but you had the feeling he was allowing you to hang yourself with your own rope. 

“Are you suspicious that I’m trying to keep you here?” Law asked, his eyebrow cocked.

“No? No,” you replied twice as you made sure the second answer didn’t sound like a question. Law hummed and stepped closer to you. You drew back but Law simply put the medications onto the shelves behind you, reaching just past your face.

“I take care of my own, Dentist-ya,” Law said as he moved away, out of the storage closet. The light behind him obscured his face, casting his entire body in dark shadow.

Law’s statement left you wondering when you had become his. 

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕣: ℙ𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕚𝕔 𝕊𝕖𝕩

🥀Pairing: Cowboy! San x wise woman! Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: western au, cowboy au, witch au

🥀Trope: fwb to lovers

🥀Summary: When San comes to you, the local wise woman (read rumored witch), to get a bullet wound dressed, he's also looking to convince you to let him under your skirts, and your heart

🥀Kinks: Public sex, penetrative sex with no barrier, San's a sweetheart and a tease, yes the cowgirl position with cowboy san 😆, thicc dick san

🥀Warnings: mentions of a gun fight, bullet wound, blood, tending to wound

🥀Word Count: 1,931

🥀Betas: @mejuii

🥀Day Three: mirror sex 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Five: Dacryphilia

You were tending to your herb garden when San cantered down the road to your cabin tucked against the mountain. You raised your hand to block out the sun and knew immediately who was making so much dust your way. If you didn’t recognize his white horse dappled with gray or the way he tilted his hat, you sure recognized the big ol grin he sported, defined by his dimples.

“San,” You greeted him as he drew his horse abreast of you, dusting off the dirt on your skirts.

“Ma’am,” San tipped his hat graciously, and then winced.

You clucked your tongue immediately. “What kinda trouble did you get into now?!” You demanded.

San’s smile widened. “Just a few bandits trying to get away with Hongjoong’s cattle.”

You jerked your head to the shed you used to treat the few brave townfolk that dare come to you for any illness. They swore you were a witch but you were just educated--unheard of in these parts, but then again, that’s why you settled here.

San swung his leg over and dismounted from his horse. San clucked his tongue at Silver Light, and lightly wrapped the reins around the post before your cabin, letting the horse drink water from the trough.

“Can you even take your jacket off?” You scolded your new patient, washing your hands quickly with the lye soap you kept near the basin.

“I--” San hissed as he moved his arm again and you sighed heavily.

“When are you going to use any sense of self-preservation?” You said with your hands on your hips, after wiping them on a rag.

San paused jacket half pulled off, held up his elbows. Instead of answering your question he sent you a wounded look. “Help?”

You grumbled about men having less sense than a chicken but carefully helped him off with his heavy, long jacket. You cast an analytical eye over San’s injuries. “Lie to me, San.” It would be better if San kept himself distracted by talking.

San took a seat in the only chair in the shed and began to weave his tale. “Well you see, the bandits don’t have any wrangling experience so the herd was pretty much running with their own instincts and no matter of hooting or hollering was making those cows go where the bandits wanted them to,” San told you, more than happy to speak of a story that would probably make him look good in your eyes.

You fetched forceps to pull out the bullet clearly lodged in San’s arm and a bottle of whiskey. You splashed the forceps with some of the liquid before handing the bottle to San. He took a swig. It wasn’t his first time in your chair and it wouldn’t be the last, the damn fool. The only tells that he was hurting as you dug for the bullet were tiny creases at the corner of his eyes, but for the most part, he didn’t whimper or whine, not once.

By the time you had extracted the bullet, San had told you about leaping from Silver to the lead bull’s back and forcing it to turn by grabbing the bull’s horns firmly and turning its head. You rolled your eyes and San laughed, high-pitched and light, at your response.

You dipped a clean rag in some of the whiskey and dabbed at his wound. This time he groaned and you slanted a glare his way. San pushed out his lower lip. “Come on, Darling, give me some sympathy. I saved Hongjoong’s whole herd!”

You finished bandaging his arm up. “You will get no sympathy from me, Choi San,” You refused, “And what did I tell you about calling me darling?”

San’s good arm wrapped firmly around your waist and brought you onto his lap. “You told me to never call you darling again,” He told you solemnly. “But I can’t forget about that night we shared.”

You rubbed your eyebrow. “San,” You said his name in warning, “You can’t be associated with me. The whole damn town thinks you’re a local hero. If they think you’re warming the bed of the local witch--”

“I don’t care what they think,” San said, voice getting low and husky, “I care about--”

You laughed bitterly and got up. Or tried to. San’s damn arms, one injured or not, were strong. You weren’t a frail Bank Owner’s daughter but you still didn’t stand a chance against that man. “Let me go, San.”

San sighed, defeated, and let you go. “Okay, Darling, don’t get your skirts in a twist.”

You let out a screech of frustration and stomped out of the shed, slamming the door. San’s eyes were wide at your tantrum and your reaction only made him chase after you. “Wait, I didn’t--”

You made it to the well before San caught up with you. “No, you didn’t, San, and that’s the point. You don’t think and every day I see someone galloping up that road, I’m sure it’s going to be one of the other boys to tell me you got yourself injured or worse!”

“You keep talking like that a cowboy might start thinking you were soft on him,” San teased you.

“Don’t you start!” You waggled your finger at San. San was back to grinning again and you rolled your eyes again. “You’re incorrigible!”

“My mama always told me that,” San nodded, conceding to you. “But she also told me that if I ever found a woman who had a soft spot for me to--”

“San, no,” You shook your head. You turned around to lower the bucket into your well and draw up some new water.

San’s callused, uninjured hand covered yours on the well lip. “Darling, please.”

You shook your head. “You’ll be ostracized. They’ll spit on you. What if Hongjoong doesn’t want to employ you at his ranch anymore? We can’t get married, they won’t let me within yards of that church. Any children--”

San pushed your shoulder with his good one. “Children, huh?”

“San,” You said, “I’m serious.”

San’s eyes were hooded and your stomach dipped. “I’m serious too. Let me learn your body again, Darling?”

You swallowed, the lack of moisture having everything to do with the cowboy in front of you. You put your hands on his chest, smooth over the leather vest and then pulled him closer. “You’re going to regret this.”

A slow, crooked smile pulled at San’s lips, flashing his teeth at you. “I don’t regret anything I do in life, other than when I let you push me away the first time.”

His head dipped and he captured your lips between his. His kiss was slow and sensual, giving you all the time in the world to push him away if you chose so. And when you didn’t, he tilted his head to suck your lower lip between his. You moaned into his mouth. He chuckled against your lips and pulled away. “You’re gonna have to help me with your skirts, Darling. I’m one arm down and that’s a sin when I’m finally able to fuck you good.”

Your eyes widened. It was almost high noon and almost anyone could come this way. “San, surely not out here?”

“Yes, out here,” San said, husky voice only adding moisture to your nether regions.

“I’m not going to let you mount me like a damn saloon girl!” You protested.

San tilted your head up with his good hand and kissed you again, softly. “Give me a thrill, Witchy Woman. You know half the town doesn’t dare come up here ‘cuz they think you’re going to be naked and covered in chicken’s blood. It’ll be fine.”

“Get hard at the thought of that?” You challenged him.

“Hell yes,” He chuckled.

Your eyes scanned the outdoor area. There was a real soft patch of grass near the big oak tree. “You lie down, cowboy. I’m not the injured one.”

San wrapped an arm around your waist and meandered towards said tree, unwilling to let you go farther than an arms length from him again. “You gonna ride me, Darling?”

“San,” You growled a warning again.

San laughed again and your heart beat against your chest. “If I was afraid of a strong woman, I wouldn’t have come to you the first time I got beat up after that young stallion bucked me when I was trying to break him in?”

San laid down on the sweet patch of grass in front of your oak tree. He was already hard and pressed up against his jeans, chaps only outlining his hard-on. You freed his cock, and then pulled up your skirts to slot it against your wet entrance.

You sunk down on him, slowly taking his girth. San’s hand rubbed your hips through your skirts, encouraging you to take your time. Staring down his nose, he looked delectable lying under you. His arms bulged from restraining himself, free from his heavy jacket, and only his vest covering the ample chest you knew was under.

“S-san,” You stuttered, still struggling with getting him fully inside of you.

“Your cunt’s so sweet for me,” San cooed at you, biting down on his lip, “So wet and inviting. It’s like I’m coming home.”

“Shut up,” You said half-heartedly, “Who ever heard of a cowboy who waxed poetic. Aren’t you just supposed to grunt while you fuck me?”

San chuckled. “But you’re fucking me, rememeber?” San whimpered when your walls clamped down on his length at his remark. “You like being in charge, Darling?”

“You’re hardly--hnnnffff--in any position to not listen to me--ahhhhh--” You rolled your hips experimentally and found that you were wet and opened up enough to move.

“Gonna fuck me good, Darling?” San continued to encourage you. “Fuck,” He bit down aggressively on his bottom lip again, practically sucking it in, “You really do know how to use those hips of yours.”

“Hnnnnn--San,” You whined, “You’re too--oh god--” San had tensed his pelvis muscle and suddenly you were able to bounce more aggressively against him.

“Come on, sweetness, give me everything you’ve got.” San locked gazes with you. He practically had hearts in the center of each of his irises. Goddamn it, this man was so sweet on you, and you felt your walls melt under his adoring gaze.

Your knees were getting stained by the grass under you but you were past the point of caring. You worked San’s length inside of you until the both of you were a whimpering, whining mess. You came first, shouting his name and seeing stars behind your eyelids. San felt your walls flutter around him and then he was a goner as well, attempting to hold you down on his cock as he unloaded inside of you.

“That’s it, Darling, you milk me dry. It’s all for you,” San groaned loudly, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He was smiling like he was a cat with milk, however. “With that orgasm, I’ll be rolling out of your bed tomorrow morning, good as new.”

Your eyes widened at his declaration. Before you could protest, San shook his head. “I’m staying and you can’t talk me out of it. You gotta take care of me. I’m injured.”

You sighed heavily but this time it wasn’t serious at all. “You really are incorrigible, Choi San. What am I going to do with you?”

“It’d be nice if you fucked me when the sun is pretty and setting but that might be wishful thinking on my part,” San mumbled with an adorable pout.

🥀Day Three: mirror sex 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Five: Dacryphilia

[whimsimille]

PSYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 2: Slaughter house

Tick tack

Tick tack

30 minutes now and you're going crazy. You look at Moonjo through your mascara-coated eyelashes, the clumps of black giving your gaze an almost predatory edge. He only smirks, a Cheshire curl of lips that deflates another question once again. It's grating. It's perverse. But you still take a sip of the cold coffee.

Your fingers moved almost subconsciously to cross over each other on top of the table—a nervous habit you had since childhood when Mom wasn't looking. She would have shot you a disapproving look if she were still alive, reminding you of Dad and how he used to beat you for being so much like him. But she wasn't here now; she couldn’t make you feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She couldn't see you crossing your fingers in this room, hoping against hope that Moonjo would open up and reveal something about his past or his crimes.

"Can you tell me about your... work? How do you reconcile your actions with your own moral compass, Mr. Seo?"

Moonjo's smile widened, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth that seemed almost too pristine, too sharp. He reached for the crayon you usually leave out for Mina, a patient with regression disorder. The bright red crayon looked almost comically out of place in his large, bruised hand. Without breaking eye contact, he began to sketch on the paper in front of him, making slow and chirurgical strokes that gradually took form.

"You see, Dr. Song, extracting a tooth is an art form. It's delicate, precise. You must be gentle but also firm. One wrong move and you could shatter the tooth, ruin the whole endeavor. It's very similar to... my other work."

He paused, glancing down at his doodle. Hollow eyes, razor-thin smile lines carved out of the paper.

"I had an unfortunate upbringing. My father was a strict man—a pastor who preached about sin and damnation every Sunday. I suppose it rubbed off on me." Moonjo pulls at one of his bottom lips with his teeth, revealing the sharp edge of his incisor. There's something feral about him now, almost primal. It's as if he's been waiting for this moment—not only to share his story but also to relish in it. "I remember one Sunday, after a particularly fiery sermon about the wages of sin, he took me to the basement. There was a row of dental tools laid out on a white cloth—forceps, scalers, probes. He said they were instruments of God's will, tools to cleanse the soul. That day, I learned how to extract a tooth. He made me practice on myself first, pulling out a molar with trembling hands. The pain was excruciating, but the lesson was clear: salvation through suffering.”

Your pen hovered over the page, barely able to keep up with the torrent of his revelations. "I’m sorry for you—" 

“Don’t,” he shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “People think of God as a comforting figure. Like a teddy bear a child clings to at night, or a security blanket. It's nice to think there's someone up there who's always watching, always caring. The promise of paradise, of eternal life—it’s a comforting thought, isn't it?"

You shifted in your seat again, uncrossing your legs and recrossing them the other way around, trying to find some sort of comfort in the movement. "But not everyone sees it that way. Some people find comfort in the rituals and the community. It's not just about fear or comfort; it's about belonging."

Seo paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to recall a distant memory. "For some people, yes. But I understood that it was always in the blood, in the agape mouths and in the crushed windpipes. It was in the steel of the dental tools, the ones I used to clean my victims' teeth before... well, you know."

It was like listening to a twisted version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; the transformation from healer to killer so seamless it was almost poetic. It was like being in a surreal version of a dentist's office—one where the patients were more likely to bite you than spit out what was stuck in their teeth.

“I might not understand everything, Mr. Seo. But I do know that everyone has their reasons and their justifications. Even if those reasons are twisted and dark, yes. I know.”

The man looks up from his drawing and raises an eyebrow at you—a challenge in his eyes. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, holding his gaze even if it feels like he's seeing straight into your soul.

"If the idea of eternal punishment is the only thing keeping you good, are you really a good person? Is it the fear of hell that makes you help an old lady cross the street, or is it genuine kindness? Maybe it was other things that caused me to lose my belief. Maybe my faith was only conditional to begin with. Perhaps it was rooted in the childlike wonder I felt when I first read the Bible, like believing in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."

Moonjo stretches his arm out, displaying the paper with the half-finished drawing—a crude sketch of a man in a robe, arms spread wide and eyes closed—and an almost serene smile on his face. Above his head, a halo glows bright and golden. "Sometimes when we prayed at church or at home, I would close my eyes and try to summon that feeling of awe, of connection to something greater. But it always felt hollow, like I was reciting lines from a play I no longer believed in."

You took a deep breath before speaking again, not wanting to break the eerie silence that had fallen between you two. "I understand, Mr. Seo… But what do you want me to do with this? This man in your sketch, is he supposed to represent your father, or perhaps a version of yourself?"

You held up the drawing, trying not to let your shaking hands give away your fear. There was no answer from Moonjo; he simply sat there, staring at you with those empty eyes that seemed to hold an endless well of madness. Sweat began to bead on your forehead as the temperature in the room dropped precipitously. It felt as if the air itself were becoming chilled by his presence, as if he were sucking out all warmth and light like some kind of parasite.

"Mr. Seo?" You tried again, louder this time. "Are you alright?"

He didn't respond, but instead reached over to a small pot on the table and picked up a stick of sugar-free gum from it. Popping it into his mouth with a loud crack, he began chewing vigorously on it as he stared at you intently, studying your every move as if trying to decide whether or not you were worth keeping around any longer.

“This is how they saw him. Pure and holy, a beacon of light." His voice drawls with disgust, lips pulling back to show his teeth chewing the gum. "But I saw something else. I saw an old man who'd lost control of his son, who beat him when he misbehaved and demanded silent obedience. I saw the hypocrisy in their pews every Sunday. They sang hymns of love while their husbands beat their wives at home." He pauses, nodding slowly as if in agreement with himself. "So I started cleansing them—cleansing them with my own hands and tools. It was liberating."

As he speaks, he absently fiddles with the red crayon, twirling it between his fingers before dipping it into the black inkpot on the table. A smear of blood-red color mixes with the black ink, forming an ominous stain on the wet surface. The sound of scratching fills the air as he writes his next words: 'Sometimes I imagine they scream so loud for me'. 

In general, when you start working with a patient, there is no urgency, no predetermined therapeutic timeline to meet specific goals. Usually, it begins with many months of conversation. In an ideal world, Moonjo would talk about himself, his life, and his childhood. You would listen, gradually building a picture until it was complete enough to venture into precise and useful interpretations. But in this case, nothing real would be said. Nothing non manipulative would be heard. The information you needed would have to be obtained from non-verbal cues, from whatever information you could extract from other sources, like the confidential notes from the police files or the whispered rumors among the nurses.

In other words, you had to set a plan in motion to help Moonjo without knowing exactly how to execute it. 

A fly buzzes aimlessly around your head before landing on Moonjo's sleeve; he casually reaches out and crushes it between his fingers, never breaking eye contact with you. The crunch of the exoskeleton is barely audible, but you can see the minute satisfaction in his eyes as he slowly pulls at the insect, dismembering it piece by piece. His jaw tightens, and you can't help but notice the pure, unadulterated grayness in his gaze—no spark, no humanity. Were the men and women he killed made out of a pair of fully developed wings on the thorax and a knobby, vestigial second pair of wings too? Had they too committed the crime of being small enough to fit between his fingers?

"You know, Mr. Seo, everyone has a different perspective on faith and morality. It's not always about fear of punishment or the promise of reward. Sometimes, it's about the simple act of doing what's right because it feels right. It's about the connections we forge and the empathy we extend to others." You spoke with more confidence than you felt. And you thought your voice sounded inordinately high and squeaky, though you could barely hear it, blood pumping so hard in your ears.  "When I help someone, whether it's through my work here or in my personal life, it's not because I'm afraid of some divine retribution. It's because I believe in the inherent value of each human life. I believe in the power of compassion and understanding to bring about change, no matter how small."

Moonjo's smile widened as he dropped the insect, now crushed like an ant beneath a boot heel. Its wings had been smudged into grayish-black smears and you tried not to fidget at the thought that you were now the insect he wanted to dissect, to see if your blood was just as shiny and if your teeth would be as easy to pull out, but the rustle of your skirt against the vinyl chair caused you to twitch involuntarily. 

"Do you really believe in what you're saying?" he asked, wiggling his fingers as if casting a spell, emphasizing their length and dexterity. "Or is your faith rotting in your drawer alongside your paints and canvases?"

Breath catches in your throat like an invisible noose tightening around your neck and your hand moves instinctively towards your necklace at the base of your throat—a simple silver chain holding an old Saint Christopher medal your first patient had given you when you first started working here.

You had never mentioned your passion for painting to anyone. How could he possibly know? 

Quickly, you find your hand reaching for the recorder, your fingers fumbling a little, but you manage to hit 'pause' just before the next words. You can't believe what you're hearing. Your stomach churns and you feel your face go pale, yet you know that there are only ten more minutes left and you're pulling the plug on this interview. You'll have to pick it up with another patient later or simply write it up yourself based on his words, but the last thing you will do is be here when night falls. 

"How do you know about that?"

He pointed toward your nails. "It's all in the details, Dr. Song. The way you hold your pen, the slight smudges on your skin... It's clear that you paint. And it's also clear that you're trying to reconcile two parts of yourself—the healer and the artist."

You glanced down at your hands, now trembling slightly. The faint traces of ultramarine blue under your thumbnail, the barely noticeable streak of burnt sienna on your wrist—marks of your late-night sessions that never seemed to completely wash away, no matter how hard you scrubbed with the lavender-scented soap from the local market.

Still, who would look at tiny bits of color strokes that couldn’t be cleaned with a sponge and make poetry out of them?

You gulp down the rest of your cold coffee, feeling its harshness sit heavy in your stomach like a rock. Moonjo watches intently as you set the mug down gently on the table that separates you from him—its metallic clank echoing off the walls like a warning bell in an empty church steeple.

"What makes you think my faith is rotting?" 

"Because, jagiya, people like us... we wear masks. We hide behind our roles and our titles. But deep down, we are all searching for something. And sometimes, the very things we believe in, the things we cling to, can decay and fester within us."

"And what about you, Mr. Seo? What are you searching for? What lies beneath your mask?"

Moonjo shrugs nonchalantly, his chained hands moving up to his leather restraints as if he could snap them off at any moment if he wanted to. "Perhaps I'm searching for someone who can understand the darkness within me. Someone who can see beyond the monster and find the humanity buried deep.”

Tick tack.

Suddenly, another fly buzzes around the room. It lands on the battered oak table, right next to the crushed remains of the last one Moonjo had dismembered. Its tiny legs twitch as it surveys the scene, perhaps sensing the latent malice in the room. It cautiously inches towards your coffee mug. You shiver involuntarily as its spindly legs dance closer to the rim of the mug, delicately navigating the remnants of your lipstick stain. 

Still, you just roll a piece of paper—the appointment schedule for the day, printed on flimsy office stock—and swat it away. The fly buzzes off, leaving a faint smear on the page, the scent of ink and paper mingling with the stale smell of old coffee.

It's an innocent gesture, a reflex born out of years of dealing with minor nuisances. But the act makes Moonjo stifle a laugh, a sound that is both mocking and curious. He tilts his head as if you were an interesting specimen under his scrutinizing gaze, his eyes narrowing like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

“…Or maybe I'm just looking for my next challenge." His tone was perfectly neutral, without judgment. 

Even so, you felt a swell in your chest—a familiar toxic squeeze—like your lungs were eroding under the sheer weight of your work. You exhaled, fighting to remain calm. Seo Moonjo stayed under control only so long as you were calm. 

"And do you think you'll find what you're looking for here, in this room with me?"

Moonjo's eyes bore into yours. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll find something about yourself that you never wanted to confront."

After a failed snack at the cafeteria—where the only offerings were a sad-looking sandwich with wilted lettuce and a cup of what could only be described as dishwater masquerading as coffee—you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of Gonjiam, still stained with the rusty marks of dried blood from the day a patient named Ji-Hoon had torn out his IV and sprinted through the halls, desperate for an escape. The metallic tang of old blood seemed to cling to the air, mingling with the antiseptic scent that never quite masked the underlying odor of despair. You needed to sneak out for a cigarette to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts after the unnerving session with Seo Moonjo. His doodle, now folded and tucked away in your pocket, felt like a lead weight pressing against your leg.

Just as you were about to give up after minutes of wandering around and heading back to your office, Son Yoo Jeong appeared near the fire escape, her ever-present clipboard clutched to her chest and a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, suggesting she'd been rushing around the ward. Still, she was pretty with her new short bob cut, the kind of haircut that looked effortlessly chic but probably required meticulous maintenance.  

“Are you lost, Y/N?" Jeong tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

You hesitated, the urge to confess weighing heavily on your chest. “No, not lost. Just... needing a break, noona.” 

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, there’s no need to lie, honey! It happens even with senior nurses! It took me months to find my way around here. It feels like a maze with no exit. Sometimes I still get lost, and I've been here for ten years." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that contrasted sharply with the heavy atmosphere.

Before you could protest, she gently took you by the arm, her fingers surprisingly strong for someone so petite. She led you through a series of twists and turns, past the nurses' station, where a couple of RNs were chatting over their cups. You barely had time to register the framed prints of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and Monet's "Water Lilies" hanging on the walls before she was guiding you upstairs, where nurses and aides moved in and out, their scrubs a blur of blues and greens, punctuated by the occasional flash of a brightly colored lanyard or a pin celebrating a recent vaccination. 

"I'll put the water on to boil," Jeong said as soon as you two entered the place, her voice cutting through the noise. "What a miserable weather, huh? It would be better if it started raining to end this... Rainis a very strong symbol in the imagination, don't you think? It cleans everything. Have you noticed how patients like to talk about storms? Try to observe. It's interesting."

To your surprise, she reached into her oversized tote bag—a well-worn, brown leather piece that looked like it had seen better days—and pulled out a huge piece of cake wrapped in cling film, placing it in your hand. "Here. Walnut cake. I made it last night. For you. Don't think I didn't notice your pretty face getting smaller every day. I know you're not eating."

"Wow, thanks. I..."

"I know it's not conventional, but I always get better results with difficult patients when I offer a slice of cake during the session," she said with a wink.

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. "I bet you do. Am I a difficult patient?

Jeong giggled with a deep, hearty sound. "No, although I also think it works well with difficult team members... which you are not, by the way. A little sugar helps a lot to improve the mood. I used to make cakes for the cafeteria, but Sangwoo made such a fuss about all that nonsense about health and safety with food brought from outside... It was like I was smuggling files to see through the bars. But I still make my cakes on the sly sometimes. My rebellion against the dictatorial state. Eat a piece.

It wasn't a suggestion but an order. You took a bite. It was delicious. The cake had a perfect consistency, full of walnut pieces, and just the right amount of sweetness. You were chewing, so you tried to cover your mouth while speaking. "I have no doubt that this will put your patients in a good mood."

Jeong clapped her hands, seeming pleased. You realized why you liked her: she radiated a kind of maternal calm. She reminded you of your former therapist, Go Eun. It was hard to imagine her angry or upset. She also had that pink shade on her, mostly on the tip of her nose. You suspected it was partly from the cold; the hospital's thermostat perpetually set a few degrees too low, partly from her habit of pinching her cheeks whenever she felt flustered—a nervous tick she picked up from her grandmother, who always said a little color in the cheeks made one look healthier and mostly because she was just pure goodness and kindness.

You glanced around the room while she made the tea. The nurse's station is always the center of a psychiatric unit, the heart of the place: staff coming and going, and it's from there that the ward is managed day-to-day, or at least where practical decisions are made. "Aquarium" was the nickname the nurses themselves gave the station because the walls were made of reinforced glass, meaning the staff could keep an eye on the patients in the recreation room, at least in theory. In practice, the patients roamed outside constantly, looking in at us, making us the ones under constant observation. Since the space was small, there weren't enough chairs, and the existing ones were usually occupied by nurses working on the computers. So, you generally stood in the middle of the room or leaned awkwardly against a desk, making the place feel crowded no matter how many people were inside.

"Here you go, my dear." Jeong handed you a cup of chamomile tea, the steam curling up in delicate tendrils. 

"Thank you. That's exactly what I needed after Jungwoo dropped a big case on my lap out of nowhere. He didn't even give me a heads-up; he just waltzed into the garden and dumped a stack of files on my hands. I swear, he enjoys watching me scramble."

Jeong sighed like a teenage girl from one of those American movies, twirling a lock of her new short bob cut around her finger. "Oh, that cutie. Have you seen him this afternoon? I wanted to show him my new hair. I thought he might appreciate the change. You know, he has a good eye for detail.”

You took a sip of the tea, savoring the gentle floral notes. "He clocked out around three. Said he had scheduled a meeting with his previous seniors and his girl. Probably talking about his residency program and catching up on old times. He looked pretty excited about it.”

"Wished I was her," Jeong sighed wistfully, leaning against the counter. Her new bob swayed as she shook her head. "It must be nice to have a boyfriend so cute like that. Plus, he's a nurse. It makes his appeal get a boost. I mean, who wouldn't want someone who can take care of them and look like he walked out of a K-drama? Remember when he helped old Mrs. Kim during her panic attack last week? The way his hands moved so gently, so sure..."

"Please, stop," you groaned, feeling the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. You set down your cup with more force than necessary, the china clinking against the saucer. It was bad enough that Jungwoo was the topic of many daydreams among the staff; hearing it out loud made it all the more embarrassing. And it certainly didn't help that you'd caught yourself staring at those very hands more times than you cared to admit.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot I'm talking with Mrs. Cold here."

"Mrs. Cold, huh?"

"Well, you know how it is," Jeong leaned in conspiratorially, her breath smelling faintly of the walnut cake. "You've got that icy exterior, but we all know you're just a big softie underneath. Like a lollipop with a hard shell and a gooey center. Besides, it's kind of endearing. The way you pretend not to care when Jungwoo brings you coffee every morning, or how you always make sure he eats during long shifts..."

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Just call me the Ice Queen of Gonjiam.”

“Hey, it’s better than some of the other nicknames flying around,” Jeong winked, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “Remember when Nurse Kim accidentally dyed her hair green and everyone called her ‘The Hulk’ for months? At least your nickname has a certain... elegance to it.”

“You're impossible, Noona.”

Just then, the door to the nurse's station creaked open, and Go Sangman entered, his presence immediately commanding the room. The man was painfully thin, almost skeletal, his frame accentuated by the oversized white coat he wore. His thick glasses magnified his eyes to an almost comical degree, and his hair clung to his scalp in a desperate attempt to cover the bald spots. A dark blue one.

As always, though, he exuded a strong smell of mint gum that he was always chewing. 

It was one of the few things you shared in common while you worked at a downtown asylum, and you recalled that he smoked a lot. However, he had given up smoking, got married, and had a young child since then. You pondered Sangman's potential as a father. Thought he was not a very caring guy, and yet here he was—the new employee of the month, with his picture emblazoned on the bulletin board outside the "aquarium," surrounded by an outrageous gold border.

He gave you a cold smile. "Funny running into you again, Y/N."

"Small world."

"The world of mental health certainly is," he said, as if to imply that he could also be found in other, broader worlds. You tried to imagine what those might be like, but all you could visualize was him hunched over a dimly lit desk, engrossed in the latest volume of "Attack on Titan" or scrolling through a forum dedicated to anime theories.

"How's Ji-Young and little Soo-Min?" You asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ji-Young has become quite the entrepreneur," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Her brownies are practically flying off the shelves. And Soo-Min... She's already the teacher's pet. Loves her new ‘Frozen’ backpack and can’t stop talking about Mrs. Kim, her homeroom teacher. Time flies, doesn't it?"

You nodded."It sure does."

Sangman stared at you for a few seconds. You had forgotten his habit of pausing, sometimes for a long time, forcing the other person to wait while he considered his response. It annoyed you now, just as it did back then.

"I’ve joined the team at a rather inopportune moment," he said finally. "The sword of Damocles is hanging over the Gonjiam."

"You think the situation is that bad?"

"It's only a matter of time. Sooner or later, the government will close our doors," he replied, his eyes narrowing as he leaned against the doorframe. "The question is, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Jeong asked, pausing mid-bite of her walnut cake, the crumbs scattering onto her clipboard. A child’s laughter at a funeral.

"Well, when the ship starts sinking, the rats run away. They don't climb aboard."

You were perplexed by Sangman's direct aggression. You decided not to take the bait. "It's possible. But I'm not a rat. And in that case, you are the one who should leave since you’re new here."

Before he could respond, a violent bang on the reinforced glass interrupted the conversation. Hanna was on the other side of the window, pounding on it with such ferocity that the glass vibrated. Her face was pressed against the glass, nose squished flat, features distorted to the point of resembling something out of a Francis Bacon painting. 

"I'm not taking this shit anymore. I hate these fucking pills, man..."

Sangman opened a small hatch in the glass, the kind you see in old bank teller windows, and spoke through it. "Now is not the time to discuss this, girl."

Hanna's eyes were wild; her pupils dilated. "Discuss? What's there to discuss? You people don't listen. You just shove pills down our throats and expect us to be grateful."

"I'm not talking about this now. Make an appointment to talk in a private setting. Please, step back.”

But Hanna was having none of it. "You mean the isolation room, right? Where you can pump me full of more drugs?" Her words were laced with bitterness, and you couldn't blame her. The isolation room—Room 317, a windowless cube—was a last resort, a place none of the patients wanted to end up. The walls were padded, and the only window was a small, barred one high up on the wall, allowing in just a sliver of daylight. Designed to break the spirit.

“Go. Away.”

Hanna furrowed her brow and thought for a while. After that, she turned and went away with a heavy step, leaving behind a small condensation circle where her nose had touched the glass. Her slow shuffling step, with one foot dragging slightly behind the other due to an old injury sustained during one of her episodes, was audible.

Jeong sighed while pouting, "Poor Hanna."

Sangman grumbled, " There’s nothing poor about her. Difficult. That 's all she is."

"Do you even know why she is here?" You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the chamomile tea in your hand, before eyeing his red face, the veins in his neck bulging slightly as if he were restraining himself from snapping back.

"Double homicide," Go replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "She killed her mother and sister. Smothered them while they slept."

You shook your head slowly, the corners of your mouth curling into a grim smile. "No. Wrong. She actually killed her abusive father. The one you’re talking about is Gunwoo-shi. Before calling me or other people rats, you should recognize you’re one yourself.”

Sangman’s eyes widened momentarily, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his usual facade. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for the pack of cigarettes he no longer carried. "I don't recall—"

“Of course, you don't," you interrupted. "You’ve always been quick to judge, slow to understand. Hanna was admitted last spring. Maybe you’re too busy with your ‘research’ on the effects of antipsychotic medications on her to notice the details. She killed her father in self-defense. He broke her soul before she broke his neck.”

“Ouch!” Jeong giggled. “You deserved that, oppa!”

“That’s not funny,” Sangman retorted, rubbing his arm where Jeong had playfully swatted him. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up.

Ignoring them, you watched what was happening on the other side of the glass. 

Hanna had joined the other patients. She was much larger than the others. One of the patients, a man named Minho with a penchant for collecting bottle caps, handed her a crumpled five-thousand won note, which she pocketed with a practiced nonchalance. Minho's eyes darted around nervously, his fingers twitching as if he were itching to add another cap to his collection. 

Just as you were about to resume your conversation with Jeong about the teenager’s relationship, you noticed a stillness settle over the room. Across from you, Jeong looks like she might be sick; her face is ashen and she keeps licking her lips, a nervous habit you remember from when she first started working here. Go Sangman stays rigid near the doorway, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his mouth slightly agape as if unable to find words for once.

It was as if someone had pressed a mute button, silencing the usual ambient noise of whispers, shuffling feet, and the hum of fluorescent lights. Every head, every pair of eyes turned slowly to the left, towards the maximum security room.

You followed their gaze and felt a chill run down your spine. The double doors of the high-security wing creaked open, and there he was—Seo Moonjo. Flanked by five guards, he walked with an unsettling calmness, his eyes scanning the room like a predator surveying his territory. The guards looked tense, their grips tight on the batons at their sides, ready for any sudden movement. They had seen this before—patients attempting to attack their infamous new roommate in order to earn his favor and join his ranks.

As they led him towards the solitary dining area, the patients parted like the Red Sea, creating a wide berth for Moonjo and his entourage. Some of the more unstable patients reached out as he passed, their fingers barely grazing his skin. Their eyes were wide, filled with a mix of awe and fear, as if they were in the presence of some unholy deity.

"Moonjo-ssi," Yoo Gi-hyeok said, his voice trembling. He stretched out his hand, trying to touch Moonjo's face as if seeking a blessing. "Save us..."

The dentist’s lips curled into a smile, but it held no warmth. His eyes were dark, devoid of any human emotion. He allowed the patient to touch his cheek for the briefest moment before the guards shoved the man back, causing him to stumble and fall. 

Gi-hyeok didn't seem to mind; he lay on the floor, gazing up at Moonjo with a look of reverence. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth slightly agape as if still tasting something—perhaps what little piece of human connection he got from touching the infamous killer or perhaps simply relishing in fear itself. Whatever it was, it made them all feel alive in some twisted way.

A savior? Or a butcher? Did the others sense the predator within him, the one that saw them not as individuals but as prey? As potential meals, are their flesh and bones nothing more than sustenance for his insatiable hunger? Did they sense, in some deep part of their psyche, that he would devour them, body and soul?

And what did Moonjo see when he looked at them? Did he see the delicate curve of their necks, the pulse of their blood just beneath the skin? Did he imagine the taste of their fear, the texture of their flesh as his teeth tore through it? Was every touch, every glance, a prelude to a feast, a silent promise of their inevitable consumption?

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—horrifying yet impossible to look away from. Moonjo continued his march towards the solitary dining area, his presence casting a long shadow over the room.

Jeong took a quick sip of her tea but spilled some down her chin when her hand shook; she quickly wiped it away with a trembling hand. 

She glanced at you with wide eyes before looking back at Moonjo's retreating form. ” It's his first day here and they act like this when he's around. They treat him as if he's some kind of messiah."

With that, Moonjo and his guards disappeared behind the heavy metal door of the solitary dining area, the clang of the door echoing ominously through the now silent room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Kwang, Min-Jun's father, short leashes his dogs again. They were valuable, and he had no intention of losing them to a shot female doe howling and gibbering just down yonder. His son reloaded their guns and snapped them closed. That howling had chilled you and made the sweat under your arms run down your back feel like ice water. When situations become uncomfortable like this, people look for someone to guide them and in such cases, Kwang Jun steps up. He wasn’t feeling much of a hero right then—quite the contrary—but he did it nonetheless, leading the way toward an outcrop of alders jutting ambitiously from the woody fringe on your right side while you followed nervously at a short distance behind him, trying hard not to stumble over roots or fall behind too far.

Only once did he halt his stride—long enough to crush his spent cigarette underfoot—and then push ahead into the vast open area beyond trees filled with dense underbrush.

To the left, the riverbank sloped gently. Thunderstruck, you halted, wishing you could erase the sight that greeted you, a sight that would haunt your dreams—it was the sort of raw, sun-scorched nightmare that lurked beyond the ordinary—church suppers, walks along the vibrant Han River, honest labor in the factories, stolen kisses under the cherry blossoms. As you'd often told Ae-ra after her nightly story, there's a grimacing skull lurking behind every man's smile. That day, you saw it—you saw the grinning skull.

Sprawled on the riverbank was the most beautiful doe, a bullet lodged in her back. Flies had already begun to gather, buzzing around her wounds and settling in the congealing blood. Her head turned towards the gray sky, as if admiring the sparrows launching from the Lotte World Tower before retiring to the bushes. And then you notice it—a slight bulge in her abdomen. She was pregnant.

So often you read in the local paper that “the killer showed no remorse,” but that wasn’t the case here. Min Jun was torn open by what he had done, you saw it in the trembling of his lips, the quivering of his right point finger on the trigger, the way his eyes widened and darted around, almost as if seeking an escape from the reality he had created. . . But he would live. The doe would not. She had been torn open in a more fundamental way, a way that the blood seeping into the earth couldn't even begin to convey.

You have never been as quiet as you were at that moment, holding that live track. Your whole body just stopped working. Your legs felt like water, jelly, completely unreliable. Your mouth opened. You didn't open it; it opened by itself, a gaping maw trying to silently scream. You couldn't move, but you could hear, see and sense everything inside you and for miles around. It was like you were hyper aware of every rustling leaf, every distant bird call, every breath you took. You thought of church mornings at the confessional with that smelly priest, and you thought that Min Jun and you would soon be joining him in seeking absolution.

You think it was fear. You're always fearful. For what you've done, for what you haven't, for things that haven't even happened yet. The fear is a constant deadweight. A backpack full of wet cement is strapped to your shoulders, dragging you down. You were fearful of not spending enough time outside, of playing with your dolls—a Barbie with a missing shoe and tangled blonde hair that you found in the trash and the plush rabbit Dad won you at the county fair before getting drunk and hitting Mom in front of the Mayor. Fear accompanying your neighbors on their hunt. 

You were fearful of not trying hard enough to be better.

"Come on, girl. Get closer. Don’t think too much about it. Her head will have a special place in our family’s house," Kwang chuckled as he finished lighting his tobacco stick, the one he always kept tucked behind his ear, before ruffling your hair and pushing you to stand in front of the bloodied carcass. "She turned out to be on our way; she turned out to be prey, kid.”

You think about the way he said it. Turned out. Not grew up to be a prey. She turned out to be prey. Like she was always supposed to be this way, and it was just hiding inside of her. And this was all inevitable. And her instincts of submission were hiding right underneath the surface when she birthed her fawn in the spring, teaching it to navigate the forest, to find the sweetest grass by the riverbank, to leap over the streams that crisscrossed the woods. Like a volcano that's seen as a mountain, the ones people live right on top of. 

It doesn't look deadly until it is.

Your bones shift away from one another like nervous tectonic plates as you crack your head down to finally look at the animal’s eyes. Toes become bloated like little water balloons as you kneel in the grass, the damp earth soaking through your worn-out Converse sneakers. Your eyes crystallize and for a second, everything feels okay as you wrap the frayed, weathered cord around the doe’s neck, the rough fibers scratching against your palms.

Then you explode.

No.

You don't explode.

You slowly morph as you finish the third loop. The wick effect. Your own fat keeps you inflamed. Looking into the water of the river, you see yourself changing. Your reflection warps; your features distort and elongate. Your hair falls out in clumps, drifting away like dandelion seeds in the wind. Your eyes, once black and sharp, soften and take on the glassy, lifeless stare of the doe. You watch as your skin stretches and sags, transforming into a hide, your freckles merging into the spots of a fawn. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, but no sound comes out—only the soft, pitiful bleat of a wounded animal.

Just before you fully morph into the doe, before your mind succumbs to the instinctual fear and resignation of a hunted creature, you wake up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You reach for the hairbrush and start smoothing down your wild hair. It always stuck up all over the place in the morning, especially after a nightmare that involved placing the corpse of a doe in the back of a truck. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Still the same, old you: short, black hair that reached down to the chin, black eyes, and splatters of freckles over the ridge of your nose and the rest of your body. Your nightgown had slipped down during the night, revealing a pale shoulder. You stopped brushing out your hair and tugged it back up.

Your eyes caught the glint of the diamond ring on your finger, a small but noticeable sparkle even in the dim morning light. You looked outside. The sky was gray today, with a blanket of clouds promising a downpour. The kind of weather that made you want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and forget the world existed.

It's funny, isn’t it? 

Sighing, you reached for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter at the far end of the vanity, only to find nothing. Jesus. Min Jun and his fucking ramblings about lung cancer and how, as a doctor, you should stop going to the hospital smelling like nicotine or weed. The endless lectures about the carcinogens, the secondhand smoke, the image you presented to your patients—it was all part of his new routine.

“Looking for this?” 

You cracked your head to the side, turning to see the man himself standing there in the doorway, wiggling your cigarettes and the lighter. He was already dressed in a new, crisp suit with trousers tailored to his frame, as well as a tie that matched his jacket and polished leather shoes from Ferragamo. God, he had been insufferable since he discovered aesthetics on his social media feed, always posting pictures of himself in meticulously coordinated outfits, each post tagged with #OOTD and #Style Goals.

But, yeah, today, his clothes matched the color you always associated with him.

Yellow.

Min Jun’s yellow wasn’t the vibrant hue of sunflowers or gold. It was the jaundiced yellow of sickness, the kind that creeps into your skin and festers. It was the color of deceit, of broken promises whispered in the dark. Every time he flashed that politician's yellow smile, the one inherited from his dad, it made you nauseous. Old man Kwang, who had escalated a non-violent protest into bloodshed. It was Min Jun, though, who took Ae-ra with him that day. He paraded your girl around like some political prop to gain momentum for his father’s campaign.

You could never forgive him—not after what happened to her.

Because, in the end, it was their ambition that had taken your daughter away. A lamb led to slaughter.

Colorful flyers and bold banners invaded the city streets while chants and marches echoed in every corner—all for endorsing Kwang’s political charade. Slogans rang through speakers: "For a Brighter Tomorrow," "Unity and Progress," "Kwang Jun for the People." And Min Jun, playacting as the perfect son, had pulled Ae-ra into that cyclone of chaos. Your sweet little girl was swallowed by a turbulent crowd, lost within its confusion—her wide eyes were framed on the hospital TV screen as she clutched her new Hello Kitty backpack from Lotte Mart nervously—a maze of pink braids bouncing behind her with every step she took.

Everything around you in the psychiatric ward was fast and stressful that day, but you were stuck in tar while everyone else was on land. Sinking slowly while other people were using their legs to run in circles to help the Gonjiam Hospital with all the hurt people. Your legs didn’t work for days. Neither has your brain.

And now? Now you haven't cried since three weeks ago on the third anniversary of her death; your eyes feel dry and cold. You've tried, but there's just nothing. Even when you sit away from Min Jun and ignore his extended hand, watching things that aren't lungs move his chest up and down, praying to feel something for him, there's just silence in response. 

You did love Min Jun once. At times when he was cornered, you would dive into the deep end, plunge so suddenly it would cause waves to ripple out, drawing the public’s attention away from him. You would swim to abandoned shores where you would carry buckets, helping him scoop up the murky water of regrets as he cried out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed into the horizon. 

But what has he done for you? All these years of sacrifice have caused this world to erode everything that was once pure and you can no longer breathe with a rib missing. There was all of this water settling deep within the walls of your lungs, drowning you slowly. 

So, after her death, he grabbed another bucket and took you to the abandoned shores, where you used to scoop up his regrets to free him from all his mistakes. And you didn’t even cry out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed because, after all these years of carrying his mistakes, how could you believe that you had become one?

“Do you mind knocking before entering my bedroom?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be so grumpy at this hour!” Min Ju retorted, his voice carrying an almost cheerful lilt that grated on your nerves. 

Sleeping in his office wasn’t doing the best things for his princess back; of course, you saw it as he walked in a hunched way. His loafers made no sound on the thick, cream-colored carpet, but the rustle of his suit filled the silence. He placed the lighter and the pack on your side on the vanity, making sure not to knock over the scattered makeup compacts and the crystal perfume bottle.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed how he kicked the clothes you left on the floor after getting home exhausted from another grueling 12-hour shift. You noticed how he scoffed as he saw the patches on your faded covers, once a deep navy but now a murky gray from too many washes and your sweat.

“Did you wet the bed?” His laugh was a little louder this time, but still hollow. That was his old joke. It was stupid. 

Long ago, you pretended to laugh, pretended to play along, as if to apologize in front of former friends. In front of your own eyes, for admitting such a yoke. Nothing, however, was funny to you anymore.

“No, I had another nightmare.”

The cigarette finally lit, and you took a slow drag, feeling the familiar burn of nicotine as it filled your lungs. You discarded the lighter in the jewelry holder plate, where it landed with a small clank, nudging a pair of earrings slightly askew.

He scrunched his nose the exact same way Ae-ra used to before deciding to grab all the covers, making a bundle in his arms. “Nightmares again, huh? You know, Y/N, maybe if you didn’t bring your work home with you, you’d sleep better. All that stress isn't good for you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, letting out a plume of smoke, coughing. “I’ll get right on that.”

He received the phrase with displeasure, as always, when your "animal intensity shocked him." He fixed his eyes on you, and progressively his features transformed. You almost blushed. The constant preoccupation with reaching his thoughts had not granted you the power to penetrate the most important ones, but it had honed your intuition regarding the smaller ones. You knew that for him to pity you, you had to be ridiculous. Neither hunger nor someone's misery moved him more than the lack of aesthetics. Loose hair, damp with sweat, fell over your flushed face, and the pain, to which your long-calm features had not yet adapted, must have twisted your mouth, lending them some grotesque note. At the most grave moment of your life, you were ridiculous, his pitiful gaze told you.

Finally, after seconds that felt like centuries, his eyes briefly flitted to the divorce papers on your nightstand but he ignored them. Instead, he focused on the small details of the room—the way your books were scattered everywhere, mostly medical journals and a few dog-eared novels, a framed photo of you and Ae-ra by the Han River, and, in the darkest corner of your room, your unfinished canvas.

“You know,” Min Jun began, walking towards your creation as if he were a little boy eager to discover his mom’s secrets. “I remember when you used to teach Ae-ra how to paint every night. So sweet….”

People said that a lot. Even your own mind did, sometimes. Be sweet like before; be better for the people around you. They knew there was a gaping hole inside of you, and they poked and prodded in there, looking for bits of Ae-Ra floating around in the void. As if somehow you could reach inside yourself and pull parts of her out—parts that you lacked. But she wasn't there. She was nowhere. When a part of you disappears, you change, and sometimes it's impossible to go back to who you used to be. That's what people didn't understand. That’s what this cosplay of SpongeBob didn’t understand.

You coughed again, then took one last inhale and stubbed the end of it on the vanity’s smooth and sanded surface, ash and embers falling to the carpet like crumbs off a pastry. “Yeah, well, those days are gone.”

Min Jun touched the dried paint, lingering over the signature line that remained blank. “You know, maybe if you spent half as much time on this marriage as you do at Westlake, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

You bristled at his words, but he continued, undeterred. “You’re always so busy, Y/N. Always with your patients, your research. Think about Ae-ra. She wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want her parents to fall apart like this.” He leaned closer, his cologne—something expensive and heavy—filling your senses and making you want to recoil.

“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think you can manipulate me with memories of her? You think that’s going to work?”

His eyes softened. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just want us to be a family again. I miss her too, you know. Every single day.” He reached out to touch your hand, but you pulled away, the gesture feeling like a trap.

You pushed past him to the dresser made of dark, deep oak with elegant twisted legs and gilded golden trims. You picked out your attire for the day, folding it into a bundle: a red silk blouse, black high-waisted trousers with a tailored fit, a leather belt that cinched snugly over your waist, and your usual black heeled boots, still at the foot of the bed. There was still some mud caked on the bottoms, no matter how much you had scrubbed them the night before from running after a patient. You’d have to ask Jungwoo for his shoe shining spray.

With your clothes in hand, you made your way to the bathroom. Min Jun followed you like a shadow, still grumbling something about you and your work, but you tuned him out, focusing instead on the sound of your bare feet padding against the cold, hardwood floor. Still, after twenty seconds, you had enough.

You stopped at the bathroom door and turned to face him. “Why aren’t you at work already? Taking care of Daddy’s laundry?”

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening in a way that reminded you of the time he had to tell his father that he didn’t want to go into politics. “I was actually trying to be good for you. I know your car is still at the workshop and your driver is on vacation.”

You turned on the faucet, letting the warm water fill the tub. “I’ll take a cab,” you muttered, the words rolling off your tongue with a deliberate calmness, pronounced in a way that revolutionized and exposed what was most hidden within you.

While waiting for the water, you grabbed a towel from the shelves in the back as well as a bar of soap.

Min Jun’s eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Just like you always do. Ignore the problem, run away.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you laid out the towel on the heated rack. “You’re so dramatic, Min Jun. It’s almost entertaining.”

“What’s so funny?”

You turned off the faucet and threw your head back, your hair falling behind your back like a cascade of dark silk, the ends brushing against the lace trim of your nightgown. You laughed then, a sound that felt foreign, almost unnatural, before walking towards him, cornering him against the sink. He almost dropped the bundle of sheets in his hands, his eyes going wide with a mix of surprise and something else—fear, maybe?

For the first time in a long while, you saw the old Min Jun, the rebellious teenager who once stole his father’s suits to impress you, the same boy who would sneak flowers into your school locker when no one was watching. He used to bring you daisies, your favorite, wrapped in newspaper because he couldn’t afford anything else. Now, he stood before you, a stranger in an expensive suit, holding onto wet sheets and a past that no longer existed.

After feeling helpless, unsure of what to do with yourself, not wanting to continue the same past of calm and death, and unable to dominate a different future due to the habit of comfort, you now realized how free Min was and how unhappy he had been. His past—obscure, riddled with frustrated dreams—had left him unable to settle into the conformist, half-happy world of mediocrity.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cheek, and whispered, "Min Jun." 

The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure.

He tried to take a step back, but the sink behind him left no room for escape. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and he flinched, almost losing his grip on the sheets.

“You think I don’t know you, huh?”

“W-what?”

He raised his eyes, meeting your anguished face, and narrowed them, analyzing and understanding you. There was a long minute of silence. You waited silently. You knew this moment was the first truly alive between you, the first that connected you directly. That moment suddenly separated you from all your past, and in a singular premonition, you foresaw that it would stand out as a red dot over the entire course of your life.

“Are you fucking out of your-” he began, but you cut him off, your words spilling out in a rapid-fire burst.

“Elections are coming up, aren’t they, honey? Elections are coming up, and your damn wife isn’t going to any of those shitty interviews or rallies anymore. Your wife doesn’t appear on the cameras, and it is making the public’s attention go to us instead of your father, and that is driving him mad. And now? Now I’m taking over Seo Moonjo’s case! What a perfect way to steal his lollipop, huh? So I’m guessing you’re being all sweet like that because something’s going to happen this weekend, isn’t it? A meeting or a family dinner? Or do you want to take me to bed, soften me up like a piece of meat and tell you all of the things that serial killer told me?”

Min Jun’s face flushed a deep red, his hands trembling slightly. “Are you really trying to use your psychiatric skills on me?”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, darling, I don’t need to use any skills on you. You’re an open book and I know you're scared, aren’t you?” You whispered, your lips barely an inch from his ear. 

“Scared that I’ll mess up your perfect little plans? Scared that I’ll drag your name through the mud along with mine.”

[taoriyu]

Being in charge [Mizu x Reader]

=========== Pairing: Mizu x Reader Rating: T (I guess)

Short description: You are on watch tonight, and your military skills and commanding experience have proven invaluable. No harm was taken, but it seems a certain samurai has developed a taste for moments like these.

Additional warnings: - Things got a bit spicy this time but nothing mature. - An idea of archer reader isn't unique too, but a thought it would be a good match for a party of two melees and one useful handyman (kudos for Ringo)

Also: Mon - a round copper coins with a hole in the center, which were used for everyday transactions (according to ChatGPT).

Lleeet's go

===========

The night enveloped the surroundings in a cloak of brightness and freshness, the air imbued with the enchanting scent of blossoms and grass, mingling with the smoky essence of the fire. You established camp on the outskirts of the forest, sheltered beneath the towering canopy, away from the exposed and vulnerable thoroughfare that traversed the plain. Mizu, Ringo, and Taigen slumbered on their blankets around the crackling campfire, while owls hooted from the depths of the forest and leaves rustled noisily under the gentle caress of the wind, causing the treetops to sway in rhythm. The fire emitted soft, crackling sounds, punctuating the tranquil night of your watching.

Suddenly, a sharp snap shattered the serenity, followed by muted murmurs to your right. From the woods ahead, a hushed sound admonished silence. Metallic clicks echoed from the left, accompanied by the taut, high-pitched twang of a bowstring.

"Alarm! We're under attack!" Your shouts reverberated through the night, punctuated by the resounding clangs of a kitchen hatchet striking a metallic pot, your makeshift cooking vessel with Ringo.

"Ringo, raise your shield! There's an archer to your flank!" With agile reflexes, you leaped aside, narrowly avoiding the trajectory of an arrow.

"Mizu, Taigen, two assailants on my left!" Drawing the string of your bow taut, you hissed through clenched teeth, relying solely on your acute hearing to guide your aim. In the darkness of the forest and the flickering glow of the campfire behind you, discerning silhouettes proved impossible.

Thud. Thud. The sickening sound of arrows finding their mark, followed by the anguished cry of a fallen foe.

Swords clashed and screams erupted to your left. Swiftly, you pivoted, shifting towards the source of the archer's assault. With a swift motion, the archer released another arrow, only to find it stuck in an old shield repurposed as a makeshift table — a handy thing you and Ringo had devised for your cooking endeavors, now proving invaluable in defense.

Inhale. Aim. Exhale slowly. As your heartbeat steadied, time seemed to dilate. The assailant moved. Thud. Thud. The last of them fell.

You released a pent-up breath, surveying the aftermath.

"Are you alright, Ringo?" A nod confirmed his well-being as he rose from his defensive stance behind the shield.

"Mizu, Taigen, are you unharmed?" Your voice echoed through the night, seeking assurance from your comrades.

"We're fine," Taigen grumbled, emerging from the shadows along with Mizu.

Taigen retired to his blanket, voicing discontent, while Ringo extracted an arrow from the shield with attachable forceps.

"Mizu, with me. We need to inspect the fallen. The rest of you, remain vigilant. There may be more." Your directive was met with a quizzical glance from Mizu, but she acquiesced, falling into step beside you.

Three of the bodies yielded almost nothing: five mon, a bundle of poor-quality arrows, and no clues about the origin of the bandits. As you approached the last body, hidden in the shadows, Mizu spoke up.

"So, you're taking control tonight," she remarked quietly, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, her eyes ignited with a certain spark.

"Perhaps I am," you responded, surprised by your own audacity, which failed to conceal the crimson hue coloring your ears.

Mizu's smile widened as she closed the distance between you, her stature seeming even taller in that moment.

"Command me then," Mizu murmured softly, trailing her knuckles across your cheek. Redness spread across your face, and your mouth fell open. Staring into her crystal blue eyes, dozens of thoughts raced through your mind, adrenaline amplifying every heartbeat.

Wait, what? She's serious? I thought she was mocking me. It's impossible, right? Gods, what do I do? Being in charge in battle is one thing. Commanding her right now is another. Maybe I should run? Coward. Argh!

Feeling as if you were standing on a cliff, you swallowed dryly and shifted your gaze to Mizu's lips. A faint pink blush colored her cheekbones too. To hell with it, you thought, and made a leap of faith.

"Kiss me then," you said, smiling nervously.

"I obey," Mizu whispered, propping up your chin and moving closer. Her tongue brushed against your bottom lip, making you gasp and hold your breath. She parted your lips and deepened the kiss. You felt like you were falling, your face hot and your fingers cold. A pulling sensation started to form inside your belly as the kiss grew more intense. Mizu let out a low, muted moan, sucking your bottom lip before parting from you. Both of you panted heavily, staring at each other with longing, unfocused gazes.

"Guys! Any discoveries?" Taigen's interruption shattered the moment.

Mizu’s eyes darted around, trying to focus. She gasped shortly, as if waking from a dream.

“Nothing interesting,” she shouted back to the camp.

She looked at you again, smiling cunningly. "I like when you're in charge," she said quietly, tapping the tip of your nose before heading back to the camp.

[microbes-in-hats]

Electron Micrographs

(Part 2 of 4)

Fugitive Glue, Lollipop, and Strawberry DNA

Fugitive Glue

I received a junk mail credit card offer, and I decided to take the piece of rubbery stuff that held the fake card to the paper to look at under the microscope. I originally referred to it as rubber cement, but I think it's actually called fugitive glue, among other names. Even exposed to air for a few days, it was still rubbery and malleable.

Unfortunately, being an organic compound, it did start to melt from the current of electricity that the microscope runs through it, which you can see happening in these images.

Lollipop Fragment

We had a bunch of leftover lollipops from Halloween at my house, so I took one of the flavors my brother didn't like to smash up and look at under the microscope.

In the first image, don't get confused by the background. The big angular piece is the lollipop, and the round things in the back are from the special tape used for keeping things on the stage (probably some bubbles trapped under it). I forget what kind of tape he said it was, but it was something able to conduct electricity.

The images of the sugar crystals are unclear and blurry because they, too, were actively melting while we were looking at them. Organic compounds just tend to do that. That said, you can still see the shapes of some of the crystals that hadn't yet melted.

Strawberry DNA

Having extracted some of my own DNA before, which I keep in an Eppendorf tube on my desk, I thought maybe it would be interesting to look at under the microscope.

However, I didn't want to potentially ruin the sample I had, so I followed NileRed's video to refresh myself on the process and used strawberries like he did. I also did it at 1/4 scale of what he did, because I really didn't need as much as he got. (By the way, DNA feels disgusting to touch. So much so that I used tweezers and forceps to handle it instead.)

Unfortunately, as you can see, the images aren't super clear or detailed, possibly for a few reasons.

The sample may still have had some moisture in it, which does interfere with how the machine sees it, I think.

It was also very clumped, because when you extract DNA, it all clumps together and I couldn't really separate the piece I was using into a thin layer.

It also may just be the size of DNA in general, which is molecular (just a very long one). I was hoping we'd see at least something, but I guess the indications of lines is all we could get.

I'm keeping the rest of the DNA we didn't use in some more Eppendorf tubes on my desk, because why not.

In the BDS Full images, the white parts are the hotter parts, where more electrons are being conducted through.

The scale in the bottom left corner of the images is in micrometers. 1 millimeter = 1000 micrometers

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Annihilation

Project Tempest Archives Footage : ██/██/███ – autopsy of P█████ A██████

A body lies naked on a steel table. Female, middle-aged, and a little overweight. The skin is blotched with inflammation and bruising, and dotted with innumerable tiny scabs. The abdomen is distended. Several surgical incisions mark the torso – recent and unhealed, but neatly closed with rows of sutures.

Masked and gloved surgeons step into the camera’s field of view, and take up tools. A similarly masked cameraperson joins them, holding a handheld camera.

They begin by opening an abdominal surgical site. Sutures are cut away from the surface of the skin, then from the layer below, and finally from the fascia. As the flesh parts, thick, clotted blood wells up from beneath, oozing like custard through the opening. The doctors wipe away the gobbets, and continue.

Scalpels lengthen the incision while retractors pull the sides of the wound back to expose the organs beneath. Close-up views alternate with the top down footage as the cameraperson moves between the surgeons with practiced ease. 

The abdominal cavity is full of clotted blood. The doctors wipe it out by the gelatinous handful, discarding it as they proceed. The close up shots offer little to the untrained eye but meat, even as the surgeons use forceps to indicate certain bruised tissues and sutured vessels. 

Once done with the first surgical site, the team moves onto the next, and the next. After each has been inspected in turn, the surgeons open the abdominal cavity from sternum to pelvis and begin removing organs. More congealed blood is scooped away.

The close up camera focuses on each organ in turn. An abraded surface here, a dark bruise there. The stomach is emptied of its contents – more dark blood.

They saw open the ribcage to access heart and lungs. Clots spill from the thoracic cavity. The lungs themselves are blotched with the deep red of blood. The heart is intact, coated with streaks of yellow fat.

Finally, they open the cranium and extract the brain, dissecting it beneath the unflinching eye of the camera to point out the sites of multiple bleeds.

The footage ends abruptly, without outro or closing remark.

---

Attached is the full autopsy. The primary cause of death is determined to be pulmonary haemorrhage. A long list follows of the other sites of haemorrhage.

Systemic diffuse tissue damage is noted, as are high levels of systemic inflammation. Early signs of infection were found in the blood-filled peritoneal cavity. Acute kidney failure was noted shortly before death.

Multiple surgeries were performed before the subject’s death, targeting the sites of the most severe bleeding. Full notes are attached after the autopsy.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

*An AU but not too far off from what we are familiar with. Becca doesn’t exist and Reader has a secret that she hasn’t told anyone. This is my first fanfic on Tumblr.*

Triggers: r*pe, a*ortion, mild violence, confession, angst, alcohol consumption, language

Part 1

Everyone filed into the dirty, musky hideout exhausted from today’s mission. The intel was shit and wasn’t enough to take down Homelander or Vought. As Frenchie, Kimiko, MM went into their assigned rooms, Hughie bid everyone goodbye before heading to his apartment with Annie. Butcher stomped over to the kitchen table and began skimming through multiple manilla folders that lay sprawled out. As the minutes ticked by, you could tell by the expression on Butchers face that he was getting progressively angry, his fists slamming on the kitchen table confirmed it. You approached him and placed a hand on this shoulder. He turned around and the eyes filled with fury softened as soon as they peered into yours. You saw there was a sizeable gash around the outer arch of his left eyebrow, blood trickling down his face.

“What the hell! Where did you get that?” you asked him, gently grabbing his face, and taking a closer look. Butcher just shrugged and replied,

“One of them cunts had a knife. Didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Well looks like you need stiches. Sit.”

“I’m not a fuckin dog y/n. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Sit!” You raised your voice while looking as sternly as you could while pointing to the chair next to the kitchen table. Butcher plopped down and began pouting, crossing his arms over his chest. You walked over to the cabinets above the fridge and pulled out a first aid kit. Walking back over, you pulled out gloves, suture, a small bottle of iodine, a pair of needle holders and a forcep. Grabbing a paper towel located on the table, you clean the wound with iodine and begin suturing. Butcher let out a hiss.

“Fuckin hell could you be more careful? Fuckin hurts.”

“Don’t be such a baby. I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure those small hands are capable of being a lot softer than what your doin’ now luv.”

“Butcher I am being as soft as I can be. You should count yourself lucky it didn’t get any closer to your eye.” You said as you continued suturing.

Before joining The Boys, you were an officer in the United States Army as a Field Surgeon, so you knew the ins and outs of the human body. You joined The Boys after Grace Mallory found you sobbing and cradling your dead husband in a back alley after a supe brutally killed him. You were only 3 days back home from a yearlong deployment. Grace knew how to play into your hatred towards the supes, and that’s how you ended up with the motley crew. You got along with everyone but the person you got along most with was Billy Butcher, and dare you say he was gentler with you than others. The shared hatred the two of you had for supes and the lengths you would go to extract your revenge is what made the pair of you a match made in heaven. A match which neither of you confessed your feelings towards the other. Butcher opened to you about his past when he trusted no one else. He told you about his abusive father and the great lengths he would go to protect his little brother, Lenny. He told you how Homelander killed Lenny and that he hopes to take down those cunts in the tower.

You finished the last stitch and placed the utensils onto the kitchen table. You wiped up the remaining blood on Butchers face, hands shaking as you went. Butcher uncrossed his arms and watched your every step. You removed the latex gloves and inspected your handiwork, as gently as you could turning his head slightly.

“There. All better now. Now don’t pick at it otherwise you’ll have an ugly scar on this beautiful mug.” You flirt halfheartedly. Butcher reached his hands out and wrapped them around yours. Your focus went from the fixed skin to his soft hazel eyes. Your heart began to thud in your chest as you grew more nervous.

“Why you shakin’ luv? You weren’t hurt me.” Butcher spoke softly. You stood like that, eyes locked, for what felt like forever, inching closer and closer. Butcher then snaked one of his hands behind your head and leaned forward. He closed his eyes and started to pucker his lips for a kiss.

What could have been a romantic moment that confirmed the mutual feelings, turned into full panic mode. You promptly pulled back and placed the tips of your fingers on Butchers lips, pushing him away. Butcher’s eyes went wide, and he dropped his hands.

“I thought the feeling was mutual. Sorry.” You could hear the disappointment in his voice as his eyes dropped to the floor. Your heart broke.

 “I’m not good enough for you.” You replied quickly. Butcher’s eyes went as big as dinner plates as he again made eye contact with you.

“What? Where’d you get that idea? It’s me not good enough for you.”

“No… no Butcher I’m not good enough for you.”

“What’s gotcha thinkin’ this hm?” You almost spilled your guts right then and there. But what you were about to tell him, you knew he needed a drink or two or three or the whole damn bottle. You went to grab 2 glasses and a bottle of whiskey. You approached Butcher and handed him an empty glass. Then you poured the whiskey into the glasses and promptly drank yours. Butcher looked at you suspiciously as he sipped his drink. You poured yourself another one.

 “You’ll want to drink that before I tell you what I’m about to tell you.” Butcher knocked back the glass and set it on the table. You refilled it and gave him an expectant look. After the second glass of whiskey was consumed, you took a deep breath and confessed.

 “I’m a supe.” Butcher paused. He narrowed his eyes and said menacingly,

“You wha?”

“I’ll start from the beginning. You remember that time when Homelander kidnapped me?” You were practically vibrating with nerves in the chair across from Butcher. If it were anyone else, you’re almost certain Butcher would have blown up and placed a bullet in their head.

“Yeah. Just about one of the worst days of me life.”

“We’ll he took me to the tower and kept me in the lab under heavy watch. He said that he wanted to punish you for coming after him, after Vought. At first, I thought that he was going to kill me, but he… they… injected me with Compound V.” Butcher was silent as he stared at the table, digesting what you were telling him.

“He kept me there for a few days to make sure that my vitals were okay, and that I wasn’t going to die. He then took me to this cabin in the woods. While there he got into his head that he was going to keep me to breed the ‘best superhuman’. He… he kept…” you trailed off as flashbacks to Homelander forcing himself on you came flooding into your memory. You continued,

“He raped me. Multiple times. He left one day for a meeting in the tower and left me alone. I was still guarded but they must’ve been new hires cuz they fought like shit. When I finally found my opening, I escaped. I have no idea how long time passed but it felt like eternity. I couldn’t go to you. I was afraid you’d hate me for what I became. I hate myself for what I am. I went to Grace, and she took mercy on me. She took me under her wing and kept me hidden in the compound outside New York. There, I found out I was pregnant.” Butcher started bobbing his leg up and down while brushing his beard. He then said gruffly,

 “And the baby?”

“Gone. Had it removed as soon as I knew. I actually made it so I can’t any children… with anyone.” Butcher’s eyes met yours. His eyes were filled with fury.

“You told me you were gone training. You lied to me.”

“I did train once my body recovered. I learned what my abilities are and how to keep them in check. You gotta believe me, I wanted to tell you, but I was scared of what you would do. Please… Billy.” You reached a handout to his and he yanked his body away from yours.

“Who else knows?!” Butcher roared.

“Just you and Grace.” A long silence fell between the two of you. Butcher then grabbed the bottle of whiskey and stormed out of the hideout. Tears began filling your eyes as your heart sank into your stomach. This man you were incredibly close with, had feelings for, would give your life for, just walked out on you. MM and Frenchie came out of their rooms to investigate what was going on. They spotted you curled up on the chair, weeping. Frenchie rushed towards you and placed his hands on your shoulders.

 “Mon cher what is wrong?” MM approached the table and sat down in the place Butcher left open. You wiped the tears from your face and looked at the two men. You need to tell them, you thought.

“What did that asshole do?” MM asked you. You took a shaky but deep breath.

“I told him… I’m a supe.” Both MM and Frenchie exchanged looks. MM then grabbed your hand and said,

“Go on.”

[triangularitydubs]

Part One

⚠️Warning⚠️

This Part contains:

Blood

Drug abuse

Pomni's jaw ached with a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to resonate in her very bones. Her tongue, raw and bleeding, danced a frantic jig around the extra teeth crammed into her mouth – the relentless, mocking evidence of her hyperdontia.

She hated them. She hated the way they grated against each other, the way they made her speech a slurred mess.

And most of all, she hated Dr. NovoCaine.

His office, a sterile white box filled with the metallic tang of disinfectant and the low hum of dental instruments, was her personal hell.

Dr. NovoCaine was a tall, teeth with grey eyes as cold and sharp as his instruments.

Ironic.

He possessed a smile in his eyes that promised pain beneath a veneer of professional disinterest.

She was strapped into the chair, the cold leather biting into her skin. The overhead light blazed, blinding her. She whimpered, trying to curl in on herself.

“Now, now, Pomni,” Dr. NovoCaine’s voice was a low, grating drawl. “Don’t be difficult. We're just helping you. Remember what I told you? This… this contagion… it spreads, you know. We have to stop it before it affects anyone else.”

Pomni’s breath hitched. Contagion. He’d planted that seed of fear, watered it with every agonizing extraction.

She didn’t know if it was true, if her hyperdontia, this monstrous overgrowth, could actually be passed on. But the fear was real, a heavy, cloying presence in her chest.

Today's procedure was particularly brutal. Dr. NovoCaine had decided to remove three molars, impacted and pushing against their neighbors with the force of nascent mountains.

He jabbed at her gums with a needle, injecting the promised anesthesia.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do the trick.”

But it never did.

No matter how much of the drug he pumped into her, Pomni still felt everything.

The dull ache transformed into a searing inferno as he clamped the forceps onto the first tooth.

He twisted, grunted, and Pomni’s strangled cries filled the room.

“Hold still, girl! You’re making it even harder on yourself!” He barked, his face flushed with exertion.

The first tooth came free with a sickening crack. Pomni tasted blood, thick and metallic, coating her tongue.

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the drool leaking from her numb, yet agonizingly sensitive, mouth.

Then came the "fun" part. He placed the forceps in her trembling hand.

"You need to help yourself Pomni, you need to remove the next one." he said with a sickeningly sweet voice.

"The faster you do it, the quicker we can deal with this contagion."

The second tooth was even worse. Locked in by bone and other teeth, she had to wrench and pull.

The whole time, the words "contagion", "disease", "spreading" swum in her vision, twisting and turning like malevolent sprites.

After what felt like an eternity, the second tooth came free, and she dropped the forceps.

They clattered on the metal tray beside her, the sound echoing the hollowness in her chest.

He made her remove the third, and after what felt like a lifetime of wrenching and pulling, it came free. She collapsed back in the chair, sobbing.

Dr. NovoCaine surveyed the bloody mess in her mouth with a cold satisfaction.

“Good girl, Pomni. You’re doing your part.” He tossed her a gauze pad. “Hold that there." She clutched the gauze to her bleeding gums.

The fear, the pain, the doctor’s insidious lies – they all swirled within her, a toxic cocktail threatening to consume her.

She was trapped, a prisoner in her own body, governed by a twisted man and a phantom contagion.

She looked in the reflection of a dark window. It stared back with terrified eyes, blood caked on her mouth

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Hello, Mr. Holmes! How are you?

So, long story short, I ended up with an optical microscope in my room more or less 4 months ago, with 200 previously made slides (secured in a proper box), and lots of new ones too, for me to prepare myself. I love microbiology (it's one of my hyperfixations, curse my neurodivergency) and now I love it even more (my mother has had to drag me away from the microscope - I named it Wesley - in the middle of the night multiple times now).

After much conversation, I finally convinced my mom to buy me the proper equipment to prepare the slides!

So, I'm sending this ask to you, as I know you also have a microscope and that you use it a lot: what kind of equipment do you recommend me buying (gloves, scalpel blades, tints, etc), while still remembering that all of the stuff needs to stay in my room (properly taken cared of by me, of course)?

For example, I'm unsure if different dyes are used for different smears and specimens due to it's affinity (I've noticed that on 'organic matter' slides, images are usually tinted purple or pink, while on plant-based slides, images are usually tinted green and blue, with a few red structures.) Considering that I don't have access to a mortuary, I will mostly make plant slides. There must be a difference in the dyes then, right?

Sorry for the long text! Hope this isn't too much of a bother.

- a 17-year-old :)

Congratulations on your new light microscope. I do hope you get the best out of it. I am overjoyed that someone else appreciates the art of microscopy and microbiology.

However, you need to be careful to not strain your eyes. It is recommended to take breaks every 15 minutes to close your eyes or focus on something in the distance to reaccommodate your eyes. And get up every 40 minutes, stretch and correct your posture. And it is recommended to not use a microscope more than 5 hours per day. John has to chase me away from my microscope sometimes to take a break when I sit there for hours, my posture like a Caridea.

Concerning equipment, you will obviously need a scalpel or other sharp blade to make very thin slices of your specimen, as thin as possible. And forceps to move your samples (best just get a whole dissection kit it has everything). Obviously slides and coverslips, pipettes for the stains or water, maybe some tubes. A pen to label your slides. In many staining procedures ethanol or acetone is also used. A waste jar to safely dispose of any chemicals, but be careful what you mix. A rack for staining and containers. I would recommend nitrile gloves, some people are sensitive to latex.

The dyes you use depend on the specimen. For example in histological slides of tissues hematoxylin and eosin are most commonly used (short HE-stain). That's what you most likely saw on your slides, it's blue, purple and pink. Hematoxylin is a basic compound extracted and oxidised from the logwood tree (Haematoxylum campechianum), and it stains acidic compounds in the cells (or basophilic because they have an affinity for basic substances). For example nucleic acids like DNA or RNA get stained by hematoxylin because they are basophillic. And where are lots of nucleic acids? In the nucleus and ribosomes, that is why they appear blue to purple in the staining because they bind hematoxylin. Eosin is an acidic compound, and stains basic or acidophilic compounds red or pinkish, like proteins, collagen, cytoplasm, extracellular matrix.

(Ductus epididymidis with HE-stain)

(Tongue HE-stain, pointer marking a ganglion; that is my picture)

Of course there are more specific stains for specific tissues like Golgi's silver staining for neurons.

For plants toluidine blue is often used, high affinity for acidic tissues, and can stain blue to green to purple. It is often combined with safranin, a basic azine, which is probably the red stain you saw. It stains polysaccharides and lignin, woody parts of the plant. Safranin and astrablue is also often combined, astrablue stains non-lignified parts of the plant.

(Ulex europaeus stem; not my pictures I don't have any samples currently, source Atlas of plant and animal histology)

Safranin is also used in bacteriology, in the famous Gram staining. In Gram staining you use crystal violet (blue/purple), Lugol's iodine solution, then wash it with ethanol and add safranin (red) as a counter stain. Bacteria is gram-positive if the crystal violet stays in their thick murein cell wall, can't be washed out with the ethanol and the bacteria stays blue. Gram-negative appear red because of the counterstain.

(Staphyloccocus aureus (violet, gram positive) & Escherichia coli (red, gram negative); not my picture, source Wikipedia)

However, I am not sure whether you have access to any of those substances, if they are too expensive for you or if they are too hazardous if used in your own room for a prolongued time. Of course those substances need to be stored properly, and your own room is probably not a good place, especially for ethanol or acetone. The fumes. I would recommend to ask your biology or chemistry teacher whether they can recommend anything further and where to buy said solutions in your area, and if they can't they are idiots. There are also many useful resources and tutorials on Youtube.

Another fascinating experiment for your microscope, that you can perform without buying any chemicals, is a hay infusion. You put hay into a container filled with water, and let it sit undisturbed for a week in a sunny area but not in direct harsh sunlight. During that time the microorganisms in the hay are reproducing in the solution, feeding on the polysaccharides of the hay. Protozoans also flourish in the hay infusion and eat the bacteria. It might get cloudy and a bit foul smelling (best not do it in your own room if you don't want to sleep next to a rotting smell). When you put a drop of the solution onto a slide and look at it in the microscope, you should see a variety of microorganisms like bacteria (like Bacillus subtilis), amoeba, ciliates, heliozoa, algae et cetera. At different depths of the liquid you should find different kinds of organisms, because of differing oxygen content. However, pathogens can also occur in the hay infusion so handle it carefully and work sterile, wash your hands properly.

And even if you don't work at a morgue you can still get tissue samples to experiment on, after all meat is sold in supermarkets, basically the same as a human body. And at the butchers they even sell organs like chicken hearts, pig kidney, liver, blood et cetera. Or observe your own hair under the microscope.

Which kind of samples and slides were included in your starter kit? Be careful to not leave them lying around in the sunlight, or the stain might fade. Always store them in the proper box.

[reelovesfictionalmen]

Ghost x Reader

This is written with a reader who is in their mid 30′s, is smol and is older than Ghost by 6-7 years. In my mind they’re female but can be read as gender neutral.

I’ve been craving SOFT Ghost. I don’t see him ever being aggressive with his lovers after the domestic abuse he grew up with.

So I wrote him soft.

Cross posted from my AO3.

The fact that you had one of your tiny fingers in his thigh searching for a bullet he was shot with couldn't stop Simon from watching your pretty face.

Your brows were furrowed in concentration and it was all he could do not to reach out and smooth them with his thumb.

"there she is.. nestled up against the bone" you said as you pulled forceps out of your medkit "this is going to hurt but do your best to keep still for me, yeah?" you spared him a glance and a smile that made a sound bubble from his chest that you mistook for pain and frowned.

Without wasting a moment you inserted the forceps into his thigh and latched them onto the bullet before pulling it out. As soon as it popped out you pressed gauze to his wound firmly while placing the forceps on the ground next to you.

You smiled at him again, this time cupping the side of his masked face and praising him for how well he did. "You did so well, Sweetheart. All that's left is to make sure the bleeding is finished and to stitch you up"

The pet name "Sweetheart" from you made his heart beat faster, he hoped you couldn't feel it through the throbbing of the wound on his leg.

After helping him to the safe house, you deposited him on the couch and helped him lay out to rest.

He watched you flit around the space and started to think back and wonder when it was that he developed feelings for you.

Price had suggested you to Laswell as a field medic, saying he had known you for many years and that you were trustworthy.

He hadn't expected a tiny thing like you to show up nor for you to be so experienced with field medicine. That's not to mention how good you were with combat.

You were in your mid 30's, had once been a nurse with your country's military, having known Price for near a decade and had worked on some pretty dark stuff together that neither of you were too keen to elaborate on.

Your bedside manner went from soft encouragements of "you're doing so well, sweetie" to "If you do not stop fighting me I will strap you the FUCK down to this god damned bed!"

You absolutely lost your shit at his and Soap's terrible jokes and puns, Simon often found himself pulling out his best ones just to hear you snort and giggle.

At some point he must have fallen asleep because he woke with his hand in yours and your fingers on his pulse point. "You can go back to sleep, extraction will be here in 3 hours" you say quietly.

He chuckles "can't leave ya sittin 'ere alone, can I? Wouldn't be gentlemanly of me"

You keep his hand in yours, patting the top of it gently "You're definitely a gentleman. Try and rest either way, you lost a considerable amount of blood back there".

As you stand to move away he gently grabs your wrist and sits up on the couch before pulling you down next to him. He knows you let him as you plop down next to him on his uninjured side, he has seen you dead lift more than he weighs in the gym before.

"you should rest too, ya damn near carried my ass here" he whispered as he moved his hand from your wrist to hold your hand.

He sees your cheeks tint red even though your face is covered in dirt and dust.

This man was going to be the death of you, you were certain. You leaned back on the couch, closed your eyes, hand still in his and sighed "you're right, I probably should rest some"

The mission was supposed to be recon, you sneaking into the ceiling of a few buildings and placing wire taps while Ghost watched your six. You had to sit still and quiet for an extended period of time causing him to worry and come closer than he should have. You tried tapping morse code on your mic to tell him to stay where he was but he didn't hear or didn't care to listen. You were used to being crouched in a spot for hours at a time but he for some reason wasn't content on waiting.

In the end he ended up taking a bullet to his thigh, lucky for him it missed any major arteries in his leg.

You couldn't be too mad, you both got out in one peice more or less. Though the mission had been a bust, luckily it should be salvageable.

You could feel his eyes on you again, even with your eyes closed. His hand tightened slightly in yours.

Things had begun to change between you two, the hand holding being most evident of that, but you weren't sure what to think. You know you're about 5 years older than him, you felt too old for romance, you were closer to 40 than you were 30.

You had noticed the both of you touching each other more than was necessary as colleagues, you could almost always feel him looking at you, sometimes he wouldn't look away when you caught him looking.

"I can hear you thinking from here, luv" he said with a tired drawl "50 pence for your thoughts?"

You let out a breathy chuckle, looked at him, then down to your joined hands and lifted them slightly "I was thinking about this and what it means".

His gloved thumb stroked the top of your hand "What do ya want it to mean?"

You could feel your heart thump harder with anxiety "Truthfully? I don't know, I know I like you more than I would just a friend. But this feeling makes me anxious as fuck. Past a few shags here and there I have very little experience with romance and I have a feeling you want more from me than a passing shag"

He hummed "You're right, I do want more than just a passing shag from you, luv. I'd like to spend time with ya, go on dates, hold your hand, kiss your forehead, hold you close and get to know more about you" he moved his fingers to interlock with yours "If ya want that is" he finished with an almost pained laugh.

Looking up at him you searched his eyes for a lie but only finding softness "It doesn't bother you that I'm almost as old as Price?"

"What? No? Why would ya think that? I'm almost 30, I'm no spring chicken either" he laughed before taking a serious tone "Maybe I need to have a word with whoever made you feel like you're old"

You giggled, not meaning to and suddenly feeling embarrassed, not able to stop yourself from stuttering slightly "Th-Then I think I would like to spend more time with you too, to get to know you better. Maybe I could make you dinner some time while you're recovering?"

You could tell from the way his mask moved and his eyes crinkled that he was smiling "Then when we're alone together how about you call me Simon?" he offered.

This had you smiling and testing his name out "Simon.. I like that"

Simon brought your hand to his face, lifting his balaclava up enough to place a kiss on your hand "My name has never sounded so sweet before".

The two of you ended up sitting together hands linked only breaking when you checked his wound again and extraction came.

Probably going to write smut with them at some point??

[giddydelphiresearcher]

Drain added, using the sprite from UtK2 and the tool wheel icon from Trauma Team! I wanted to make the one from the DS games, where you place the drain and then drag upward to drain the stuff, but I wasn't sure if it would feel as good with a mouse instead of a stylus. It also would've been more work. I figured I can do it later if I want, so Wii version for now.

Next I plan to make the ultrasound, and then add membranes to the forceps, so I can do a full proper tumor extraction!