It's not kidnapping, it's borrowing
When Jazz first decided to study psychology she didn't know what she could major in, maybe child psychology? Taking into account all her experiences. Or she could go a step further and specialize in obsessions. Even ghosts, though that would probably make her look weird.
In the end, she decided on something else, and after graduating she opened a clinic in a challenging place: Gotham. She might even give superheroes appointments in the future, considering that having Black Canary do all the Watchtower sessions didn't seem like a good idea.
Surprisingly it was a success, and she got several clients, even if some of them preferred to keep their identities a secret. She was pretty sure they were superheroes or millionaires.
Interestingly, her clinic got quite a reputation and at some point, villains started kidnapping her...To receive therapy? Jazz was about to break free and destroy whoever had kidnapped her on her way out of work (of course she knew self-defense), but Killer Croc looked contrite and…shy?
It turned out that several villains required her services but couldn't make appointments due to their lack of good reputation, there was also the fact that they didn't want to go back to prison, and wouldn't talk in an environment like Arkham (Jazz didn't like the place either, despite of considering it in advance), so she allowed the "borrowing" after work. As long as they didn't invade her apartment.
When Red Hood went to rescue the psychologist from her sixth kidnapping of the week (and damn, why did she refused to report it?) He didn't expect to find Crane crying in a chair and Dr. Fenton scowling at him as she comforted the villain.
1K notes
·
View notes
because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
46K notes
·
View notes
Little Zuko and little Azula love Lu Ten.
They love Lu Ten so much, they successfully smuggled themselves into Lu Ten's baggage when Lu Ten left to go fight.
Lu Ten, meanwhile, finds out that his little cousins snuck along for the ride way too late.
He knows they're gonna lose the fight.
He isn't about to let a couple of little kids die like that, murdered by Ba Sing Se soldiers too hyped up by war.
He may have been prepared to put his own life on the line, but he's not sacrificing Zuko or Azula's. But he also knows that if he flees the field with them, then Ozai will absolutely use that as an excuse to "punish" his own children.
Lu Ten does not want to know what that punishment entails. He is, in fact, more terrified by whatever it may be than the literal war raging outside his tent.
So.
So.
He swallows his pride for his country, his love for his father, and his dreams of being a successful general.
He grabs the kids, fakes his death, and runs.
1K notes
·
View notes
they want to talk about mental illness and acceptance and how everyone is a little ocd it's cute and quirky and their "intrusive thoughts" are about cutting their hair off and you say yours are about taking a razorblade to your eye and they say ew can you not and everyone is a little adhd sometimes! except if you're late it's a personality flaw and it's because you are careless and cruel (and someone else with adhd mentions they can be on time, so why can't you?) and it's not an eating disorder if it's girl dinner! it's not mania if it's girl math! what do you mean you blew all of your savings on nonrefundable plane tickets for a plane you didn't even end up taking. what do you mean that you are afraid of eating. get over it. they roll their little lips up into a sneer. can you not, like, trauma dump?
they love it on them they like to wear pieces of your suffering like jewels so that it hangs off their tongue in rapiers. they are allowed to arm-chair diagnose and cherrypick their poisons but you can't ever miss too many showers because that's, like, "fuckken gross?" so anyone mean is a narcissist. so anyone with visual tics is clearly faking it and is so cringe. but they get to scream and hit customer service employees because well, i got overwhelmed.
you keep seeing these posts about how people pleasers are "inherently manipulative" and how it's totally unfair behavior. but you are a people pleaser, you have an ingrained fawn response. in the comments, you have typed and deleted the words just because it is technically true does not make it an empathetic or kind reading of the reaction about one million times. it is technically accurate, after all. you think of catholic guilt, how sometimes you feel bad when doing a good deed because the sense of pride you get from acting kind - that pride is a sin. the word "manipulation" is not without bias or stigma attached to it. many people with the fawn response are direct victims of someone who was malignantly manipulative. calling the victims manipulative too is an unfair and unkind reading of the situation. it would be better and more empathetic to say it is safety-seeking or connection-seeking behavior. yes, it can be toxic. no, in general it is not intended to be toxic. there is no reason to make mentally ill people feel worse for what we undergo.
you type why is everyone so quick to turn on someone showing clear signs of trauma but you already know the fucking answer, so what's the point of bothering. you kind of hate those this is what anxiety looks like! infographics because at this point you're so good at white-knuckling through a severe panic attack that people just think you're stoic. even people who know the situation sometimes comment you just don't seem depressed. and you're not a 9 year old white kid so there's no way you're on the spectrum, you're not obsessed with trains and you were never a good mathematician. okay then.
mental illness is trending. in 2012 tumblr said don't romanticize our symptoms but to be fair tiktok didn't exist yet. there's these series of videos where someone pretends to be "the most boring person on earth" and is just being a normal fucking person, which makes your skin crawl, because that probably means you are boring. your friend reads aloud a profile from tinder - no depressed bitches i fucking hate that mental illness crap. your father says that medication never actually works.
you still haven't told your grandmother that you're in therapy. despite everything (and the fact it's helping): you just don't want her to see you differently.
6K notes
·
View notes
There’s a child wandering the streets of Crime Alley. Unfortunately, this is nothing new for the area, riddled with crime and homelessness as it is. However, Red Hood and Nightwing are vigilantes and helping lost looking children is firmly in their job description. Plus, Crime Alley is Red Hood’s. He protects what’s his. With a single shared look, the brothers swung down to the child clad in just a white dress and some thin flats completely unsuitable for Gotham’s worsening weather. Hell it’s be unsuitable for the general poor weather.
“Hey, kiddo.”
The girl’s head swung to lock gazes with the duo, eyes blinking blue- and green? Red Hood allowed his brother- he worked so hard to beat down the pit madness in order for Nightwing to even remain near- to take the lead.
“Oh. There you are.” She said, turning to face them fully. The kid’s face filled with relief.
Nightwing blinked.
“You were looking for us?” His soft voice saved for children firmed into something more serious, more concerned.
“Mmhm. I was looking for Red Hood, but you’re a good bonus.”
“And why were you looking for me, kid?” Red Hood interjects. He knows Dickolas is clocking the same things he is: the kid’s white whispy hair, pale face, and… Lazarus green eyes? It’s more solid now, that she’s looking at Jason.
Dick straightened, eyes going heavy as he looks at this wisp of a girl. He’s fiercely protective of Jason and they’re both equally wary of the League of Assassins. Still, the two of them couldn’t help but let their guard down a bit because this was still a child they’re talking to.
“Because… um. Did you know you’ve died?”
Hood stiffened, hand going towards his guns. Granted, they’re rubber bullets, but the kid clocks that immediately. She threw her hands up in the universal gesture of “I’m unarmed and mean no harm.”
“I- well, to put it frankly, you kind of… stink?”
“What.”
“Ugh, I’m totally messing this up!”
“Why don’t you start again?” Dick said, shifting into a subtler fighting stance. He kept his voice light, but Jason saw the way his hands inched towards the scrims sticks. Distantly, Jason thought it was hilarious that this tiny kid could evoke that kind of response. Looking into Lazarus green eyes though, he couldn’t find the humor anywhere. The worst thing, though, is that the pit quieted. The rage the bubbled incessantly underneath his skin calmed. Jason did not like feeling bereft of the rage, not when he didn’t know why it was gone. He had just gained control of it, minimally, and to have that control be unnecessary left the vigilantes off kilter.
“Right, okay, sorry. Um, did you, uh, die and wake up surrounded by glowing green stuff?”
Before Jason could reply ‘yes, and why the hell do you know that?’, the kid continued with, “Because me too!”
She did jazz hands as Jason’s and Dick’s brains short circuited. Jason thought he even heard a little “yay!”
“What.” Jason sputtered out. His stomach and heart clenched as he thought about how young the kid looked. Fuck.
“Yeah. So, anyways-”
“Don’t speed past that like you didn’t say what you just said!” Dick interrupted, hand tugging at his hair in distress. His body language slipped from battle ready to extremely distressed. “You died?”
“You were- you were dipped in the Lazarus pits?!” Jason felt the need to address that specific point.
“I mean, it’s not that important? The important thing is- wait, what’s a Lazarus pit?”
Jason froze again. She didn’t know what they were?
“It’s… the glowing green stuff.” Dick answered her.
“Oh. Is that what you were dipped in?” She tilted her head at Jason. He nodded, wariness climbing. “Oh. Well, I mean, that’s not we call it. But the stuff you were dipped in, it’s rank. Contaminated.”
Jason thinks back to the burning, drowning green. The agony he felt as it slipped into his mouth and nose and his very being.
“It was bubbling.” He said. The girl grimaced. Jason had no idea why he was being so honest with this kid.
“Gross. Anyways, I can, like, help you with that?”
“With what?” Dick asked, eyes darting from the girl to Jason.
The girl groaned. “Okay, so I guess you guys are kind of new. Uh, the contaminated green stuff,” she points at Jason’s chest. “That’s making you angry, right? Leaving you in the backseat of your head as your body breaks whatever got you angry to begin with and you have no control over it?”
“…The pit madness.” Jason mumbled, feeling numb. “Yeah.”
“…Right. I can help you clear that out,” she pauses, fidgeting. “If… If you help me talk to Batman? It’s kind of… urgent.”
“Batman?”
“Why?”
“Uh. There’s kind of… a whole mad scientist thing going on and like… experimentation and dissections… you know?” The kid waved her arms around, distressed.
Dick and Jason unfortunately did know.
“Cave?” Jason grumbled.
“Cave.”
“Okay, we’ll bring you to the cave. Then you tell us everything.”
“Really?”
She looked up at them hopefully, and Jason could see the moment Dickolas melted. Not that Jason could say anything, since he was already taking off his jacket and bundling the kid in it.
“Um.”
“Who the hell let you walk around Gotham like that?” He scowled down at her, not that she could see it with the red helmet in the way. Dick looked at him carefully, eyes roving over the oddly relaxed state his little wing was in.
The kid shrugged. Jason sighs.
“What’s your name?” Dick asked. Scooping her up, the blue and black clad raised his free arm to grapple away. Jason follows him, heading towards the motorcycles they’ve got parked nearby.
“Dani. With an I.”
“Nice to meet you, Dani. I’m Nightwing. This is my… this is Red Hood.”
“Okay. Cool.”

1K notes
·
View notes