#(a tilt table test-very common for pots testing)

[onceuponaroast]

So small update for yall: after a fainting spell at work (I'm fine) I finally bit the bullet and got a smart watch to monitor my heart and went to see my doctor again. Turns out that ~130 is Not a normal resting heart rate, and neither is spiking wildly from 80-120 just because of like. Standing.

So we're doing some more testing for symptoms I thought we'd gotten figured out like. 4 years ago. Which on one hand is nice to get closure and some answers (hopefully) but on the other hand has fucking terrifying implications, because before I thought I just had some chronic pain but that if I pushed hard enough I could exercise and get my body back to being active and normal eventually. Now that we have reason to believe it's heart and blood circulation related, it's a lot less likely.

Like it is nice to know that I'm not just weak and these symptoms aren't normal, but it's also hard to grasp the fact that that means everything I do is going to be harder and more dangerous than for healthier people, and that there's not much I can do about it.

Right now my doctor is looking into POTS, and they're having me get more blood drawn again (I thought we were done with that). I'm also going to wear a heart monitor for a bit which will be neat. I'll try to update yall with any official news but I also want to say for all the other people who might (like me) not realize: despite what funny memes on the internet may tell you, feeling dizzy when you stand up too fast is not normal. Feeling nauseous or light headed when you stand for too long is not normal. Vision bluring/blacking out and feeling like you're going to faint because you walked up one flight of stairs is not normal. Swollen red feet after walking too long is not normal. And finally, uncontrollable sweating/burning hot face even if the rest of your body feels fine or the room temperature is mild is also not normal.

I love you so much, please don't try and just push through it because you think you're just weaker. Get help if you can afford it, and keep pushing if doctors blow you off. You're worth it.

[thebibliosphere]

hey, noticed you talk about having POTS, hope this is okay to ask -

I'm looking into a diagnosis myself, so

1: what made you first consider POTS as a possibility for you, and

2: what advice might you have for anyone new to managing their POTS? all the health website article suggestions seem pretty weak

thanks for taking the time to read this!

I've technically got two types of dysautonomia, one of which is "presumed to be POTS" and the other which is listed as "non-specified" because I've got MCAS and that can trigger all kinds of 'fun' autonomic dysregulation.

I was diagnosed after several years of suffering from vertigo, rapid heart beat, problems with blood pressure regulation and severe headaches.

I did a tilt table test which was juuuust under the threshold for diagnosis (a shift of more than 30bpm is considered worthy of investigation. Mines was 29bpm), but give the rest of my symptoms, the doctors had the sense to go "yeah, that's dysautonomia" and started me on treatment.

When you say the suggestions seem weak, what does that mean?

A lot of POTS/dysautonomia management starts with very basic things, like adequate hydration with electrolytes and boosting salt intake to increase blood volume.

Other common advice is to wear compression garments to keep blood flow from pooling in our outer extremities. On bad days, I wear the medical equivalent of Spanx to keep my blood flow in my core; otherwise, it pools in my legs, and I faint.

Sounds silly, but it's the nature of the disorder.

Eating smaller, more frequent meals, which is frequently recommended, can also sound like hokum, but it can help because it puts less strain on the nervous system. If you're eating heavy meals 3x a day, that pulls blood flow to your digestion, and that can make POTS symptoms worse, which is why you'll sometimes get advice to graze throughout the day instead.

There are medications you can take, such as beta-blockers, if you need them, but before that happens, a knowledgeable dysautonomia doctor will absolutely put you on the "drink more water and eat salty snacks" method of management to see if it helps.

It's basically one of the "the body has forgotten how to body" disorders, and treatment can range from extremely basic but effective to complicated and (hopefully) effective. It really depends on how severe the individual is.

[fruitcoops]

i would love to read coops doing one of those lie detector youtube videos!!

This was such a fun fic to research! I highly recommend watching the Try Guys Lie Detector videos if you'd like some context. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Why are there so many of these?” Remus muttered, shaking his hand around. A series of multicolored wires smacked the table and Marlene rolled her eyes as she passed. “Sorry.”

“Welcome back to Lion Pride!” Sirius said as he turned to the camera with a smile. “I’m Sirius Black, and I’m here today with my husband, Remus Lupin, to get some answers.”

“We are also joined by Mark, who is an expert at reading polygraphs,” Remus added.

A middle-aged man in a blue shirt raised his hand in a slight wave. “Thanks for having me. Since you’re already hooked up, you’ll be going first. This machine measures your sweat, your heart rate, and a couple other common tells for liars. Do you lie often?”

Remus hesitated; Sirius hid a smile in his hand. “No, since I suck at lying, but I’ll do it if it makes somebody feel better. I think I’m pretty good at that.”

They stared at the polygraph for a moment before Mark nodded. “Checks out. Take it away, Sirius.”

Sirius cleared his throat and took a notecard from his stack. “Was going to college worth it?”

“Yes,” Remus answered almost immediately. “I don’t know what I would have done without getting my degree and staying close to hockey. Wouldn’t have met you, for one.”

“True,” Mark said without looking up.

“Do you like my playoff beard?”

“I do, yeah.” Mark raised his eyebrows and Remus pressed his lips together. “Okay, sometimes it’s a little much, but you’re pretty good about keeping things under control.”

“Alright,” Sirius said with playful skepticism. “Good to know. Who’s your favorite Lion?”

“Besides you? Talker.”

“Yeah, we don’t need a polygraph to know that,” Sirius laughed when Mark nodded. “Did you like my last haircut?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus said under his breath, looking away.

“I knew it.”

“It wasn’t bad—”

“He’s lying,” Mark interrupted.

Remus turned to him with betrayal written all over his expression. “Dude!”

“You are.”

“Answer the question, Loops,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. “How did you feel about my last haircut?”

He bit his lower lip. “It was a little too short and really threw me off for a couple days. But you didn’t like it, either.”

“I didn’t,” Sirius agreed, grinning. “But I vividly remember several ‘no, honey, you look great’ conversations.”

“Next question,” Remus sighed.

“Ha! This one is self-explanatory. Have you ever lied to me?”

“Yes, but only when I knew it would make you feel better.”

“True,” Mark confirmed.

“Do you think you’re a better dog owner than me?”

Remus thought for a moment. “No.”

“True.”

“Do you think I’m a better dog owner than you?” Sirius asked.

“No. I think we balance each other well, and we wouldn’t be as good apart.”

“True again.”

“Interesting.” Sirius surveyed the cards. “Do you trust me?”

“A hundred percent,” Remus answered without hesitation. Mark nodded.

“Do you think I would be a good dad?”

He rested his chin on his hand, then smiled a little. “I do, yeah. I think you know what to do and what notto do, and you’re very protective without being controlling. So, yeah. You’d be a good dad.”

Mark glanced over. “He’s telling the truth.”

Sirius leaned across the table and kissed Remus on the cheek. “Merci. Oh, this’ll be fun. Is any of our relationship just for show, especially on Lion Pride?”

Remus narrowed his eyes with a hum. “Yes and no.”

“Pick one,” Mark said.

“In a general sense? Yeah, sure. We’re not perfect all the time, but we pretend to be. The specifics stay honest, though. None of our relationship is based on building clout. We keep the core genuine.”

The polygraph beeped for a moment. “He’s telling the truth.”

“This one is super morbid. Ready?” Sirius rested his elbows on the table. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds Jules. Which one do you drop?”

“I love you, but I would absolutely drop you,” Remus said after only a brief period of thought.

“Oh, thank god,” Sirius huffed. “I would be so upset if it was the other way around.”

“Right? I love you more than anything, but it’s Jules.”

Remus turned to Mark, who shrugged. “True.”

“Do you think we live together well?” Sirius asked.

“After a full year of it?” Remus laughed. “Yeah, I do.”

“True.”

Sirius checked the list and his eyebrows rose. “You’re going to hate this one.”

“Am I?”

“What do you really think about my parents?”

Remus’ smile turned thin and Sirius spread his hands in a see? motion. He was quiet for a few seconds, then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m allowed to use those words on this channel. Um, I don’t like them.”

Mark snorted. “Very true.”

“Last one,” Sirius warned, though his eyes crinkled happily at the edges. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“That’s cute,” Remus said. “And…yeah. I think I do.”

“Wrong,” Sirius said before Mark could answer. “You have absolutely no idea.”

“Sap,” Remus scoffed. His cheeks were pink, and he pressed a quick kiss to Sirius’ temple while they swapped chairs.

“He was telling the truth,” Mark informed them as he helped Remus untangle his arm and hand, then transferred the devices to Sirius. “Though I am interested to see the flipside. Do you lie often?”

“Not anymore. I’m pretty good at it, though.”

“First one: have you ever had a crush on one of your teammates?”

“Oh, for sure,” Sirius said with a light laugh. “I never did anything about it, but I was the king of pining for a solid decade.”

“True,” Mark affirmed.

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “Who is the handsomest Lion?”

Sirius bit his lip, making a thoughtful noise. “That’s a tough one. I’m assuming a player other than you?”

“Yes.”

“In that case…I think Dumo is the classic definition of ‘handsome’ even though he is so not my type, but Kasey might be the most attractive.”

“Not Pots?” Remus teased. Sirius pulled a face and flicked him on the arm.

“He’s being honest,” Mark said.

“Do you think you’re the best player on the team?”

“…no.”

“He’s lying.”

“Shit.” Sirius sighed heavily as Remus looked at him over the edge of his notecard. “Look, it’s—it’s not an ego thing.”

“It’s the captain thing, isn’t it?” Remus sounded quite amused.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, defeated. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Mark nodded. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, another parent one,” Remus remarked. “Did my parents scare you?”

“Not really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “You’re right in the middle.”

“Huh.” He thought for a few seconds. “I think seeing you all together was a lot like meeting Dumo’s family the first time. You’re just so…normal. And you genuinely like each other. So I wasn’t scared, but it was definitely an adjustment.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, they adore you. I’m glad we didn’t chase you off, though. Does it really bother you that I leave my socks around the house?”

Sirius pressed his lips together as several people off-screen began to laugh. “I can’t answer that.”

“See, that’s all the answer I need.”

“Fine. Yes, but only because I don’t know where you get them from. You don’t actually own that many socks, and I still find them every-fucking-where.”

“True,” Mark said.

“I’ll try to keep a better eye on things,” Remus assured him, smiling. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds James. Which one do you drop?”

“Goddammit,” Sirius muttered, tilting his head back. He thought for a long, long moment. “I can’t answer that.”

The polygraph buzzed. “False.”

Sirius shook his head. “Neither of you. I wouldn’t drop either.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “True.”

“On a much lighter note,” Remus said with a cough. “Which of us is lazier?”

“Me.”

“True.”

“Really?” Remus gave him a baffled look. “You work so hard all the time.”

Sirius shrugged. “Agree to disagree?”

“Fine, but I hope you know taking time for yourself doesn’t mean you’re lazy.” He shuffled through the cards. “Oh, this’ll be very interesting. Do you think I talk too much?”

“No.”

“True.”

Remus sat back in his chair, a pleased blush coloring his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting that. Good answer, I love you. Do you think we’ll get divorced someday?”

“Oh, god, no.” Sirius’ previous self-satisfaction turned to revulsion. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“True,” Mark said again. “For someone who said he was good at lying, you’re very honest.”

“No point in lying with that thing around, is there?”

Remus shrugged. “Saves time, for sure. Have you kissed any of our friends?”

“Yeah,” he snorted.

To his credit, Mark didn’t even let a smile slip through. “True.”

“Do you enjoy getting stopped in public by fans?”

“Fans, yes. Ex-fans who take it upon themselves to explain why I shouldn’t be gay, no.” He paused, then shook his head with a smile. “I’m not good at talking to people, but I do like it when people say hello. It’s cool.”

“True.”

Remus raised his notecards. “Two left, and the first one is hella morbid.”

“Hella,” Sirius murmured, earning himself a teasing glare.

“Watch it. If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?”

The playfulness dropped away. “What?”

“If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?” Remus repeated.

Sirius looked horrified by the very thought. “I wouldn’t.”

“True,” Mark said, seemingly uncaring about the alarm on Sirius’ face.

“Even if it happened tomorrow?”

“First of all, thanks for my new nightmare. Second, no. I wouldn’t get married again.” He kissed Remus’ forehead gently. “Let’s not test that, though. Like ever.”

“Deal. Ready for the last one?”

“As long as nobody else is in danger of death.”

“I dunno, it’s a tough one.” Remus gave him a solemn look across the table. “I need you to be really honest with me on this one. Do you think you have better hair?”

Sirius blinked at him, then burst out laughing. Even Mark’s lips twitched into a suppressed smile. “Oh my god.”

“What’s so funny?” Remus asked, completely poker-faced. “This is important, honey. I’m really counting on you to be genuine with me here—”

“You can’t even—” Sirius broke off again and gestured to Remus’ face, which turned steadily pinker as he bit down a grin. “You can’t even keep a straight face.”

“My face is the only straight thing about me. You know this. Answer the question.”

“He’s trying so hard,” Sirius managed as he looked to the camera. “So hard, mon dieu.”

“Shit,” Remus muttered as he finally gave in and hid his laughter in the crook of his elbow. “We were doing so well until now! It’s the last question, just answer it!”

Sirius wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. “I do think I have better hair, but I love yours, too.”

Mark chuckled. “True.”

“It would help if you finally got a haircut that was different from the one you’ve had since you were thirteen.”

Remus closed his eyes, sighing. “Y’know, exposing my haircut choices for the entire internet to mock really wasn’t how I planned this day going.”

“Isn’t that the point of this whole video?”

“Mark, I’m not sure if we owe you an apology or not, but thank you for putting up with us.” Remus turned back to the camera with an easy smile. “Thanks for joining us today, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe to Lion Pride for more videos like this!”

[tj-crochets]

Hey y’all! I was a little flippant in the post about the salt yesterday, and it occurred to me some people might want to know how I actually got diagnosed with POTS (and other salt problems) so I’m putting it below the read more. It’s long, has a lot of medical jargon, and briefly mentions some medical unpleasantness. Also: I am not a medical professional. This is me talking about my experience with taking eight years to get a diagnosis, not medical advice.

For me, POTS started as a teenager when I got mono and strep throat at the same time. I’d already had doctors tell me I needed to up my salt intake and drink more water, but being sick took me from “gets dehydrated easily” to “resting heartrate of 140 bpm and severely dehydrated”. I was basically on my mom’s couch for a month and a half, had to quit my job, and ended up on a heart monitor for a month while they tried to figure out what the heck was happening. They didn’t.  Over the course of the next year or two, I gradually got better. Once I was physically capable of it, being in a musical (3+ hours of dance rehearsal 5 or 6 days a week in an old theater with a faulty AC) and starting Krav Maga (a, uh, very intense martial art) helped a lot*. I was still more sensitive to heat and dehydration than most people, but I was more or less functional. I had fairly severe muscle spasms and migraines sometimes, but I could handle it, and after going to several doctors I pretty much gave up on getting a diagnosis for a few years.  Then my family moved, and I started going downhill fast. I developed severe seasonal allergies that started as occasional hives and turned into what the allergist called “the worst hives she’d ever seen” and then anaphylaxis like clockwork the end of every June. There was a fire season like any other fire season, but my cough didn’t go away, and I dislocated a rib coughing and got diagnosed with asthma. During all of this, my POTS was getting worse and worse. My blood pressure was rarely above 100/60, and my resting heart rate was never below 100 and rarely below 120, but I couldn’t get any answers. My heartbeat was always perfectly regular, just fast, so the cardiologist called me a “medical mystery” and sent me home. (Somewhere in here is when the allergist suggested I had mast cell problems) By the summer of 2019, I could barely walk and couldn’t stay awake through the day. I was sleeping at least 10 hours a night and needing a two or three hour nap every afternoon. I saw a post by thebibliosphere about POTS, and brought it up at my next cardiologist appointment. He didn’t have a tilt table**, but did the test where they take my heart rate and blood pressure while lying down, sitting down, and standing, and I was like textbook perfect POTS numbers. He offered to surgically cauterize part of my heart to slow it down.***  I said “can I try salt pills first?” and he said “Sure. Can’t hurt. Might help!” Salt pills made a HUGE difference. I could stay awake! I still couldn’t walk far and got tired easily, but the brain fog lifted a little and I could think and plan again, so I asked my primary care doctor for one more referral. The neurologist and endocrinologist hadn’t found anything****, but surely the way salt affected me would mean something, right??? He gave me a referral to a nephrologist, who did some tests and told me my kidneys were fine but that based on how dramatically salt affected me I had “salt wasting syndrome”***** and put me on fludrocortisone. That brings us to today! I do not have answers for what, exactly, is wrong with my adrenals. Something very clearly is, and multiple doctors have said that. I’ve been tested for all the dangerous options and all the more common options, and I have none of them. I am extremely, extremely lucky; I have very weird versions of every single health problem I have, but the weirdness makes them less dangerous. My POTS is hypotensive, meaning that while I can’t take beta blockers or anything to slow my heart rate and am at a higher risk for passing out, I will not have long term health problems from high blood pressure. My heart rate is also always regular, no arrhythmia, which means I am much less likely to have heart problems later. I have asthma and can’t use rescue inhalers, but it’s weirdly never affected my blood oxygen levels or lung capacity. I have severe allergies, but weirdly very slow ones, so I have time to take benadryl before I reach the dangerous stage (it can take like 8 or 9 hours for me to go from “first symptoms” to “requires a hospital”, instead of the near-instant reactions some people have). Even with all the medications and lifestyle changes I’ve made, I am still very very sensitive to heat, pollen, and dehydration, and some days are better than others when it comes to things like “being able to climb stairs” or “being able to stand for long”. I still need to avoid my food allergies, and will probably never be able to drink alcohol of any kind. It would be very, very difficult for me to live on my own, but my life is so much better now than it was back in 2019 before my diagnoses. I know more people are getting POTS and long covid now, and while long epstein-barr virus isn’t quite the same, I think the path ahead of you might be similar to the path I’ve had to take? It sucks. It sucks! It’s long, and exhausting when you’re already the most tired you’ve ever been, and it seems like there is no end and no help and no hope sometimes, but things can get better. “Better” might not ever be what you used to be able to do, but there will still be so many things you’ll be able to do, and so many new hobbies and places and stories and people to love.  If you have POTS, and want to talk about it or ask questions, my inbox is open. If you don’t have POTS and have questions about it, I’ll answer those too. Also, if you don��t have POTS and are organizing an event, please, PLEASE make sure there is somewhere to sit, water to drink, and air conditioning or at least shade if it’s hot. Heat makes POTS much, much worse.  *this may or may not be because my adrenals don’t work right, and high intensity exercise seems to help me a LOT with adrenaline.  **my understanding is that this is like the gold standard POTS test ***that would have been Very Very Bad for me. My heart rate is high, but any time I take any medication to lower it, my blood pressure drops like a rock. I’m talking 70s over 40s. Can barely stay conscious.  ****they both told me I “might have anxiety”. So did more than one urgent care doctor I went to for severe allergic reactions. That’s both supremely unhelpful, obvious, and very clearly not the answer. As far as I understand it, stress will not make your resting heart rate reach 160 bpm unless something is very wrong with something else in your body  *****This...isn’t actually a diagnosis. It could mean two things: SIADH or cerebral salt wasting syndrome. SIADH gets worse with additional salt and water, not better, and cerebral salt wasting syndrome is very short term (like weeks at most) after head trauma or surgery so it’s kind of a non-diagnosis? It got me the fludrocortisone, though, and every single one of the many things that could be wrong with my adrenals are treated with fludrocortisone, so it kind of doesn’t matter. 

[pandemic-info]

If your heart feels weird after COVID, or you have a high heart rate (which can feel like anxiety/panic if you don't know it's your heart!), you might have POTS! Here's an easy at home test to see if you might have it:

Hannah Davis

[POTS = Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, common in long covid]

https://normalyte.com/blogs/news/the-poor-mans-tilt-table-test

Lay completely still for 5-10 minutes.  Do not talk or move during that time and try to completely relax your body.

Record your heart rate while continuing to lay down.

Stand from the lying position.  If possible, continue standing for 5 minutes.

Record your heart rate.

If possible, continue standing for 5 additional minutes (10 in total)

Record your heart rate.

That’s it!  It’s super easy to do on your own.  Keep in mind that it’s important to listen to your body.  If you feel like you are getting faint upon standing then stop, and lay back down.

If your heart rate increases 30 beats or more, then that’s indicative of POTS.  Average people may experience a very slight increase in heart rate when they stand, but it’s not normal for your heart rate to rise above 30 beats just for standing.  Your doctor can even replicate this test in his office.

[mental-illness-bingo]

Actually, a cardiologist is literally the most commonly suggested first step because even when you start at a neurologist, they will most of the time tell you "there is nothing I can do until you see a cardiologist because checking for heart problems is the first priority". That's because if there *is* a heart problem, it is likely to be life threatening if left untreated.

Until/unless we find a way to directly test for POTS (Tilt Table is not a direct test, it's exacerbating symptoms and taking their best guess based on self reported subjective information in combination with data), we will need to do it by ruling out the more common causes of these symptoms, which are heart conditions. Such is the way of "zebra" diagnoses - they gotta check if it's a horse first.

Also, most POTS medications are heart medications, and many neurologists aren't comfortable prescribing them.

There are many things a cardiologist can do for someone seeking a POTS diagnosis and sometimes they play a vital role in continued treatment. Neurologists do not always have IV fluids on deck, whilst cardiology clinics are common places to access walk-in IV saline.

Just because something isn't a heart condition, doesn't really mean anything when the symptoms are related to the heart. If it affects your heart in any significant way (especially a disorder where the major identifying symptoms are heart related), you will probably need input from a cardiologist.

If you didn't in your journey, that's good for you, but it's also extremely uncommon. It's kind of dangerous misinfo to say that a cardiologist cannot help someone with POTS, and in many cases, a post like this can cause someone to not get treatment for *months* if not a year because specialists usually take about half that time to get into, and if they go to a neurologist first just to get the very common response of "we need to check your heart first", you are asking them to do that 3 times (first to go to the neurologist you say is the "right" doctor, then to get to the cardiologist, then to get back to the neurologist). That kind of time without knowing for sure what's wrong, and without any kind of treatment may land someone in the ER, all because they read a post and thought you knew what you were talking about. Had they not seen said misinformation, they may have a diagnosis months or even a year or more before that.

In fact, I am not diagnosed with POTS yet at this very moment because I was told they are unable to diagnose POTS until they test for and get normal results on various heart tests that need to be performed and/or interpreted by cardiologists. Idk if diagnostic requirements are different where you live, but what I heard is very common in the US.

None of this is me saying a neurologist isn't an extremely important part of the journey for many if not most POTSies. They are essential to many people's treatment. However, in most cases, one of the first steps if not the very first one is heart testing.

Please please do not give medical advice based on surface information without taking into account the other pieces.

In the POTS tag and people are suggesting that their main doctor be a cardiologist?? You guys do know dysautonomia is a neurological condition right? Like yeah your heart rate goes crazy but it actually has nothing to do with the heart. It’s your autonomic nervous system baby.

[blindedmewithscience]

Subject #S108 - Failure (check cw’s pls)

“Now why don’t we find out what I do with my failures together, shall we?”

Despite their short stature, Scully stood tall over their collapsed subject as she wheezed and coughed. Her mouth moved as she desperately tried to force out words that she could no longer sound out. Blood trickled from the fine cuts, staining her feathers a bright crimson along with the floor.

The scalpel hung loose in their hand while they studied the collapsed figure before them. What to do... There wasn’t any way they were allowing this one to leave alive. Not after her aggression, her threats... They didn’t get this far by taking unnecessary risks.

Scully stooped down to tilt her chin up towards them, “You really should have listened to me. I am your doctor after all.”

A flash of light glinted off the scalpel as Scully brought it up to her face to press the flat edge of it firmly against her cheek. The edge so sharp it still bit into her delicate feathered skin, drawing blood and a fearful shudder of breath. Scully spared her a thoughtful look before pulling the blade away and instead hefting her up to drag her over to the table. This time around, they put no care into making sure she was comfortable, simply restrained.

Despite the circumstances, they went about their routine. The changes had completed, so they needed to collect the same samples to compare to those from before the change. They didn’t bother to sedate her for them this time. Scully put all the samples in the fridge, wrote in their notebook for a while, then set it aside. 

Casting a glance over their shoulder, Scully reached for a different notebook now. They had a quirk of a smile on their face, “So I know it’s not anywhere near as scientifically significant to add so many variables to an experiment, but it is awfully common for us in this field to.. Play around... If we’ve got the spare material for it.”

The horrified look on her face told Scully that their words had immediately sunk in, so did the renewed struggles. Without the ability to move her arms, the most she could do was twist and kick and arch her back in a desperate bid to wiggle free. No luck.

The lab felt too silent without her screaming and cursing, so Scully flicked on an old CD player with a home mix of their favorite music. Classic synth rock of the 80s, 90s, and early 00s. Scully hummed along contentedly as they moved around the lab over to their cabinet of curiosities. Sometimes this part felt the same as the childlike fun of making witches brews in a pot with mud and leaves and anything else you could find on the ground or in the kitchen. Except this was real magic and nobody was going to slap them on the wrist for wasting all the spices.

Their hands stretched out to select a number of jars with no plan in particular. Except for one, “I’ll let you in on a little secret, now that you really can’t spill it. Unicorns are very real. Why don’t we see what happens if we add that into the mix?”

They withdrew a much larger dose than they had for any of their more controlled injections earlier, though they did still note it down. Right before they pressed the needle into her neck and depressed the plunger.

Her mouth gaped open in a soundless scream, unable to do a thing as searing pain cracked through her skull. Yet another sharp point burst forth from her forehead, centered neatly between the antlers as it spiraled outward. The white feathers and fur started to take on an almost metallic, iridescent sheen.

Scully traced their clawtips over the horn, their subjects visceral shudder told them it had full senses, as it should. They would need to perform some tests on it to make sure it was a proper conduit for magic, but first needed to make sure it wasn’t affected by anything else they added in. From their counter, they picked up a far less delicate tool than their scalpel: A bone saw. Something that quickly and easily chewed through the horn right at the base. It cut into the nearby antlers in the process, shredding the soft velvet and splattering everything in the immediate area with blood.

She tried to scream and thrash the entire time, the pain blindingly intense, even after the horn had toppled to the side. Blood ran down her face, much like her fur, it seemed to have an otherworldly shimmer to it now.

Scully placed the horn aside on a clean tray. If it didn’t function as a magical conduit well enough to sell at a market, it would likely still make exceptional base materials for more unicorn solution. Assuming it passed their other strict testing, of course.

“If it weren’t so difficult to obtain, I’d see if giving you more made you grow yet another horn. Wouldn’t that be something? Did you enjoy being a unicorn for a few minutes? Was it everything you dreamed it would be~?” They were just being mean at this point.

No rest for the wicked, they picked up another jar. This one entirely different from anything else they’d used. Spider. Oh what fun this could bring...

The next injection’s changes started out slow. Scully could make out what appeared to be additional limbs starting to sprout from her sides as she writhed. The few patches of bare skin she had left started to grow over with fine silver-white hairs. 

It continued to be slow.

Scully checked the time as they kept an eye on the limb development. It was late and these were taking a while. They would let the cameras monitor the changes overnight. God they needed sleep.

As they headed for the exit, they paused to look back and say their goodbyes in a singsong voice, “I’ll see you in the mooorning~”

The lab went dark.

-----

As much as they’d wanted to sleep in, they got to 7am before they found themself unfortunately awake.

Back to the daily grind then. Scully brewed themself a giant mug of coffee before returning to their darkened lab to see what had happened overnight.

The table was now a twisted mess of feathers that shuddered and heaved with every labored breath. Upon their approach, they could see that the spider genetics had given their subject more arms, but she didn’t have arms, she had wings. Now she looked like something out of the biblically accurate fan works all over social media.

“Oh aren’t you positively angelic today~” They greeted her with that saccharine sweet facade that barely concealed tense, gritted teeth.

In response the feathers drew in tighter, shielding herself as best she could from Scully’s prying eyes. It didn’t stop their probing fingers from exploring the wings and petting over the feathers before finding where they parted and yanking them aside, “Now, now, don’t be shy... We have so much more we could do~!”

They probed around, noting that some of her soft skin had hardened into something more chitinous. Upon her face were smaller wings in about the location they would expect to see pedipalps. Scully briefly wondered if her organs had shifted around as a result. They did not often introduce arthropod genetics to mammals. 

Nothing like a fun little exploratory procedure first thing in the morning!

They geared up in their usual protective equipment, a crisp clean lab coat  to keep the blood off their hair, goggles, and gloves for every hand. A proper mad scientist look.

Scully at least had the mercy to partially sedate her, but only partially. Once their subject’s eyes grew heavy and half-lidded and her many limbs grew slack, they set to work with their scalpel, making expert cuts. As the blood welled up in the cuts, it seemed to have a slightly less red hue than before, something a little closer to Scully’s own purple hemolymph coloration, though theirs did not shimmer in quite the same way. Of course, they weren’t part unicorn.

Despite the hardening, it took them no time at all to peel back the skin and expose her abdominal cavity. They could see her heart racing, her chest heaving, and as they predicted, things weren’t in their usual spots. Both lungs looked distorted, something halfway between a human lung and a spider’s book lung. The heart itself had elongated somewhat, while some of her mammalian organs appeared reduced.

Scully guessed she would not last much longer. Maybe only one more variable before something vital gave out.. If even that. They didn’t think the magic of unicorn genetics could do enough heavy lifting to sustain any of this.

With a gloved hand, they gently pressed a claw against her heart, which they could feel lurch and race faster, “What a sight you are... How long can you last like this, I wonder?”

Not long if they left her open and bleeding on the table. They collected a few additional biopsy samples before replacing the flaps of skin and stitching the incisions back together. Blood oozed from the cracks, but they cleaned the wounds and bandaged them, despite knowing it wouldn’t matter in a day or so.

While they washed up, they mulled over their options in their head. If they waited, there could be additional development from the unicorn and spider genes. It would be nice to flesh out their data on arthropod and mammal combinations.. But they also had a nice petri dish to play around in and they were never guaranteed another one. Then again.. They could do a little of both.

Scully glanced at their phone before scooping it up with a clean hand. Only noon, they had the whole day ahead of them. Sparing their subject only half a glance, they finished drying their hands and tossed the paper towel in a waste bin, “Lucky break for you today. I’m just going to let things simmer for now. I’ll see you in the morning, if you’re still here.”

And the room was plunged into darkness once more. 

-----

Scully had spent their day mostly catching up on e-mails, dozing off at their desk, and considering trying to find someone to spend the night with. That last one they never quite got around to though. When they woke up early Sunday morning, it was the most rest they’d had all week.

For a moment they even considered forgoing the coffee that morning. Only a moment though, soon they had a piping hot black coffee in their hand and were descending the passage to their hidden lab.

Upon turning on the lights they were pleasantly surprised to find their subject still alive, though she was breathing shallowly and looked unwell. Scully set their coffee on the countertop and hooked a claw around her feathered pedipalps to uncover her face, “Good morning sunshine~! You’ve made it through another night!” 

The light stung her eyes and she visibly grimaced, revealing even more messed up mouthparts than the night before. Ohhh Scully was glad they’d waited longer. Inside the elongated deer muzzle, the ridged edges of the swan “teeth” had combined beautifully with the typical maxillary plates of a spider to form a radula-like system for breaking down food. Her canines had lengthened further, taking on a more hooked shape. A careful press with the back of their claw produced a small drop of venom out the tip of the newly developed spider fangs. Beautiful.... No notable changes on the unicorn side of things, but it hardly seemed to matter to them.

Excited to write this all down, Scully whipped around to grab their notebook. The room fell silent save for the rapid scrawl of pencil against paper. Arachnid and mammal didn’t mix well, but arachnid and avians had potential! If they ever got a request for a biblically accurate swan, they’d be golden. They were practically vibrating by the time they’d finished writing everything down. A wild look in their eyes as they turned back to face her, “You’ve helped me so much more than you know. I almost feel bad for the inevitability of your situation.”

Anyway, it was time for the second half of their compromise. First they took a small sample jar and pressed one of her curved hollow fangs against the inside of it, encouraging the biting motion to collect a trickle of venom as one might from a snake. Once that was capped and set aside, they pulled out their almost assuredly final jar of genetic mayhem. For the last one.... Scorpion. Scully had mixed different arthropods together with ease in the past. Their systems played together much more cohesively than others. Time to see how it would play here.

The hardened skin might’ve been problematic for finding a suitable injection site for some other researcher, but as someone with their own chitinous exoskeleton, it didn’t take them long. Right in the soft spot at a joint... The changes didn’t take long either.

The shifting of some of her retractable claws into dark black pinchers made them more visible hidden under her white feathers. Her tail lashed furiously as she writhed in pain, a dark, chitinous tip starting to push through the fur. Her mouth opened in another soundless, breathy attempt at a scream.

It didn’t help. 

What helped was when she thrashed her tail just right. The sharp point nearly grazed Scully’s shoulder on the way past, it might’ve struck them if she’d been trying to hit them. That was a terrible oversight on their part. Fortunately for them, that hadn’t been the case. Unfortunately for them, she had been aiming for her own chest. The sharp barb had easily sunk in right through the seam they’d stitched up yesterday and right into her heart. Her whole body shuddered before the light in her eyes faded, a final breath rattled from her lungs and her whole body went slack. She’d managed to reclaim just enough agency to end this nightmare on her own terms.

Scully watched this happen with only the faintest hint of an emotion on their face but it was mostly concern over how easily they could’ve been hit by that stinger instead. They should have restrained the tail. Noting that down. They swore to themself, promising to never let such an idiotic mistake happen again.

Sighing softly, they finished their notes, collected their final set of samples, including the venom from her stinger and additional venom from her fangs. Now they had to clean this mess up. Scully wheeled the corpse over to a large, tube shaped machine. They were thankful these things came in such varied sizes, imagine how difficult it would be in a world where all people were only the size of humans? Although they did need to fold in their subject’s wings for her to fit through the opening. It made her look almost serene, definitely angelic, the way the feathers curved over her still form. Scully ran their hands over the soft feathers one last time before pushing her corpse into the tube and clamping shut the door.

Nobody knew they had an aquamation machine in their possession, but if anyone ever found out, it would simply be described as a green alternative to safely dispose of deceased lab animals. Not to mention, the water use was far easier to hide than the smokestacks of a crematorium would be. As for the ashes? The sterilized and finely powered bone made for an excellent addition to potting soil for their home gardening as well as their plant-based lab experiments up above. 

While the machine ran, Scully flipped on their music and set to work washing up the rest of their lab space. It was time to completely sanitize everything, leave no unwanted trace of the previous tenant, and prepare it for their eventual next guest.

-----

Subject #S108

Intake date: September 20, 2022

Species: Human Sex: AFAB Pronouns: She/Her Height: 160cm Weight: 59kg Known Allergies and Conditions: N/A Introduced Genes: Avian (Swan requested). Cervid (Caribou used). Feline (Oriental longhair requested).  Solution: Introduced in stages. Each solution 50% Magic matrix, 50% gene at a volume of 5mL each for a total volume of 15mL. NOTES: Swan genes introduced to shoulder. Rapid changes observable within minutes of injection, subject appears very receptive to magic.  Subject describes pain as burning in arms. Source determined to be pin feathers developing in the skin. Swan genes resulted in bird person arm wings. Development took about 30 minutes from first pin feather growth to conclusion of growth.  Subject is showing signs of aggression. Possibly another new trait of the swan genetics. Deer genes introduced next to thigh. Changes occurred quickly and appeared far less painful for the subject. First assessment seems to be a result of flawless deer legs. Cat genes introduced to lower back. Rapid change again. This altered deer tail into lengthy cat tail, as hoped. Genes started to mix shortly after introduction of third variable. Subject’s face developed a deer snout/swan beak hybrid with feline fangs. Antlers started to grow from forehead and ears turned to deer ears minutes after. Settled within 30 minutes. Apparent conclusion of rapid change. Day two: Subject’s wings filled out overnight. Eyes are now catlike. Antlers continued to develop. Subject reacted violently to being touched. Wing musculature is developing nicely, the limbs are already quite strong. Subject is learning to use her new mouth already. Prescribed bed rest while subject continues to develop and learn her new limbs. Temporarily providing diet of soft foods easy to ingest with new mouth. Day three: Subject is already attempting to walk. Very unsteady, but the practice should accelerate her training. Feathers appear to be fully unsheathed. Flight should be possible with the right practice. Will direct her to instructor upon release. Subject already seems to be able to ingest solid food, resuming normal diet. Day four: Antlers appear to be their maximum size now. Apparent feather growth up neck and onto cheeks. Appears to have retained mammalian digits on arms. I may have missed them among the pin feathers. Fingers are now catlike with retractable claws. Unfortunately the subject has grown more violent. Exhibited self destructive tendencies and tried to kill me upon face to face visitation. Resumed isolation. Day five: Subject seems to have lost the ability to speak since yesterday morning. This may be a failure within the vocal cords, or a degradation of the brain which may also explain the animalistic violence. Day six: Subject’s heart failed. Subject deceased. Final samples collected. Apparent cause of death: too much stress from multiple introduced genes. Body processed through alkaline hydrolysis. According to files and subject’s own statement, no next of kin to notify or collect ashes. 

Biological samples collected after conclusion of experiment: skin, fur, feathers, antler velvet, urine, blood, saliva, & mucus.

Test results TBD

Height: 173cm Weight: 60kg

Experiment results: Failure. Subject did not survive the process. Most likely a complication due to incompatibility of introduced genes.

Experiment Concluded: September 25, 2022 -SC

-----

Additionally introduced: Unicorn. Arachnid (Spider). Arachnid (Scorpion). Solutions: 25% Magic, 75% Unicorn. 50% Magic, 50% Spider. 50% Magic, 50% Scorpion. Introduced in stages over a period of two days.

NOTES: Tendons in wings cut, voice box cut. Preventative measures for safety. Unicorn introduction resulted in rapid growth of unicorn horn. Horn was sawed off and collected. Near immediate iridescent sheen observed on feathers and fur. Blood shows signs of same light iridescence. Spider introduction caused slow, painful limb growth. Hair growth over remaining bare skin. Is speed related to number of variables or complexity of change? Subject left to develop overnight.

Limb growth completed by morning. Additional arm wings have grown where arms would normally present on a spider person. Development of wing-shaped pedipalps on face. Skin underneath hair and fur has grown firm, chitinous development suspected. Subject sedated for surgical procedure to inspect internal organ development. Blood appears to be taking on properties of hemolymph, including color. Partial formation of mammalian lungs into book lungs. Extension of heart. Reduction of many human organs. Subject not expected to live past another day or two. Biopsy samples taken from altered organs. Received sutures and left to rest.

As of sixth day, subject is still living. Observed continued spider development of fangs capable of injecting venom. Venom sample collected. Apparent success of combination of arachnid and avian genes. Requires more testing. Scorpion introduction. Rapid development of claws into pinchers. Development venomous stinger. Subject did not have tail restrained. During the painful development process, subject struck herself in the heart. Unclear if intentional or accidental. Subject was lost to injury.

Additional samples collected: Biopsy of all affected organs. Spider venom. Scorpion/Spider venom.

[harlot-of-oblivion]

The Devil’s In The Details

You wait in the diner for a pesky devil to arrive before launching into more detail about the case. After some flirty banter and a heated rant, both of you come to an accord and you walk away with a new partner what may know how to melt your icy walls.

Chapter 4: The Devil’s New Partner 

You knew from reading Dante’s profile that he would be unpredictable and possibly dangerous. And after some light digging around outside the city, you have learned just how much of a troublemaker he really is before setting foot into Devil May Cry. But you were not prepared for this the undeniable truth that came to light after your meeting with him:

The Legendary Devil Hunter annoys the fuck out of you.

You are hunched over a table in the corner booth of the Simmer Down Diner, still reeling from your first encounter with the infamous Dante while you wait for your food. The only saving grace from your irritable thoughts are your pensive drawings. You put the finishing touches on the Devil May Cry sign and readjust your glasses before turning a page of your sketchbook to doodle the shop itself…which is just a total mess. That didn’t really surprise you at all, but the sheer amount of empty whiskey bottles tells you that his carefree attitude might all just be an elaborate act. And as for the rest of the trash…you get the impression that he really loves pizza and doesn’t even bother paying the bills on time.

Your pencil glides across the paper as you draw a rough sketch of the jukebox and the rotting demon pinned to the wall with swords before moving onto the exasperating owner himself. Everything about him just irks you for some reason; maybe it’s the lack of professionalism or his not so subtle flirting in between the jabs at your profession. Never in your life have you felt such a strong urge to punch someone immediately after meeting them. Not even Fuller has ever managed to get this far under your skin after years of knowing him…and yet Dante somehow has you breathing fire in just a few short minutes!

The lines of your drawing get darker as you press the pencil harder against the page, being careful not to break it while you channel your anger into the sketch of Dante. You got a good look at him during your little tirade as you leaned in real close over his desk, noticing little details such as the silvery sheen of his messy white hair and scruffy beard. And those striking blue eyes…flashing red for a split second before twinkling with amusement while watching you rant just a few inches away from his face.

You hate to admit it…but a part of you also finds him infuriatingly fascinating.  

The soft ringing of a bell breaks your concentration as the door swings open. You glance up from your sketchbook to see the devil himself entering the diner. Well, this is a surprise, you thought with quirked brow, partly convinced that maybe he’s actually interested in helping you with the case. The striking blue eyes you were just pondering about start scanning through the modest crowd. You straighten yourself up in the booth, revealing your whereabouts with a patient wave while you hastily close your sketchbook.

Dante’s lips curl into a playful smirk when he spots you among the crowd. You take this opportunity to check him out while taking a long sip of your drink. The first thing you notice while he struts on over to your table is just how intimidatingly tall he is compared to you. His long red jacket flares out behind him, allowing you a sneak peek of the guns strapped to his lower back. Your eyes linger over his broad shoulders and muscular chest before moving further down his body. You almost choke on your drink once you get a load of the very prominent bulge at the front of the black leather pants.

Either he’s packing some serious heat down there…or that’s the cleverest way to hide a gun I’ve ever seen!

You casually clear your throat as you set your drink down, hoping that it’s enough to cover up the sudden flush of heat rushing through your body. But the subtle twitch of his mouth tells you that he totally noticed you staring at his crotch. “I know, I know,” he starts when he gets close enough to your table, “if being this sexy was a crime, then I’d be guilty as charged!” he boldly claims while pointing at himself with a confident grin.

“Pff! More like if vanity was a crime,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes before leaning back in your seat while crossing your arms. “I’m assuming since you’re here that you’ve changed your mind?”

Dante doesn’t seem to be bothered by your chilly retort as he rests one hand on the table, really showing off his incredible height as he leans over the table with that stupid grin still on his face. “Lemme hear more about this case of yours and we’ll see, Detective.”

You study him for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Dante?” you offer while pointing to the vacant seat across from you.

“Hey, there’s no need for that…just Dante is fine,” he informs with a charming wink, blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he slides into the booth. He pushes the table a little closer towards you so that he can fit into the small booth comfortably, long legs stretching out until both of his knees are on either side of your own legs. You grunt at the inconvenience but do not complain since you can’t blame him for being so damn tall to begin with. He rests his arms on the table as soon as he’s all situated and gives you his undivided attention as he picks up right where you left off.

“So, what’s this about needing my help to catch a serial killer?”

You slip off your glasses and sit up in your seat. “I believe that either demons or a Devil Arm is involved with some disappearances as well as the five murders,” you explain, but stop short when the waitress approaches your table. She offers you a refill before asking Dante what he would like to drink while batting her eyelashes at him. His roguish gaze never strays from you as he politely declines to order, only giving the simpering young woman a once over from the corner of his eye. The waitress pouts and lets him know that she will be nearby if he changes his mind before sulking away.

“Okay...let’s go back to the beginning,” you sigh while putting your glasses back on. “There’s been a drastic increase of missing people over the past two months. Most of them seem like your typical case of runaways and such, but some of them are highly suspicious. And when I looked a little closer…” you trail off, lacing your fingers on the table as you continue in a more hushed tone. “I noticed a pattern with every single case: all of them exhibited dissociative behavior before disappearing.”

Dante tilts his head and narrows his eyes while considering your first suspicion. “Alright…some people go missing, but what’s that gotta do with demons?” he questions with a small shrug.

“Not a damn thing at first, but I didn’t even see a connection until the murders,” you admit while sliding your sketchbook to the middle of the table, turning it around so that he can see your drawings and notes as you flip to the correct page. “This is the first victim: shot through the chest by a shotgun.” You give him a moment to study your grisly sketch before turning the page. “The second victim was stabbed multiple times.” Another pause to examine the gruesome scene before flipping the page. “The third victim was shot in the back of the head at point blank range.”

You feel his knees twitch against your leg, but you chalk it up to him being lost in thought as he scratches the back of his head. “I dunno…these all seem pretty random, Detective,” he contends, looking back at you skeptically through his silvery hair.

“And yet they all have one thing in common: a wound inflicted by a needle of some kind was found on all their bodies,” you counter while flipping back through the pages, pointing out your depiction of the wound in your autopsy notes. “At first, the medical examiner thought it was from drug use. But when he found the exact same wound again on the other two victims, he took a closer look and discovered the residue of some unknown substance.” You turn to the next macabre drawing and reveal your first break in the case. “It wasn’t until the fourth victim came swinging in that we were able to extract a small sample for testing.”

Your explanation gets put on pause when the waitress appears with your food. Dante picks up your sketchbook as she places a huge plate of the diner’s special down on the table. Your stomach growls hungrily as you stare down at the pot roast sub smothered with gravy resting atop a heaping pile of fries. The waitress asks if you need anything else, looking a bit perturbed going by her pallid face as she hurriedly refills your drink despite doing so just a few minutes ago. That’s what you get for eavesdropping, Sweetie, you thought wryly, showing her some mercy with a shake of your head. She rushes off to the back of the diner while you grab some utensils with an amused smirk.

You take off your glasses and catch Dante staring at you with a quirked brow. You glower right back at him as your mouth twists into an annoyed grimace before digging into your hearty meal. A husky chuckle rumbles from his throat as he nonchalantly flips through your sketchbook, adding more fuel to your already inflamed temper by not even asking permission first. But as you take a bite of the delicious roast beef and gravy, you decide to just let it go since it’s just your investigatory sketchbook; there shouldn’t be anything private in those pages anyways.

“Did you draw all of these?” he asks, genuine curiosity evident in his voice as he continues to look through the various sketches of past cases.

Your head nods while you chew and swallow your food. “Drawing important details helps me organize my thoughts,” you answer before munching on some salty fries.

Dante looks up from your sketchbook. “You’re really good,” he admits, knee bumping playfully against your leg again with the compliment.

“It’s nothing special,” you reply coolly despite feeling warm tingles coiling within the pit of your belly at his sincere praise. “It’s just a glorified version of doodling during class when you think about it...anyway, where were we?” You quickly move on before making a complete fool of yourself in front of the cocksure devil who is currently smiling like a smug cat while brushing your leg with his knee yet again. What are we? Teenagers? you mentally scoff, shooing his knee away with a swift kick against one of his leather boots before carrying on with your explanation.

“This is the fifth and most recent victim,” you continue while reaching across the table towards your sketchbook, barely managing to flip the appropriate page since you are a great deal shorter than him. “We’re still in the process of determining the exact cause of death, but we found the same exact wound on the body as well.”

Dante nods and turns the page while you take a few more bites of your meal. “What’s up with Frankenstein’s wife here?” he chortles, turning your sketchbook around and flashing you with this morning’s drawing made in the morgue.

“Oh!” you gasp, covering your mouth with a cheap paper napkin. “It’s uh…an inside joke,” you mumble with your mouth full, thankful that he cannot see your sheepish grin as you gulp down your food. “The strangled victim’s body is now missing from the morgue.” You dab the corners of your mouth with the napkin and take a sip of your drink before meeting his intrigued gaze. “And the test results for the unknown substance came back completely blank too,” you divulge with frustrated sigh.

“Alright, so lemme get this straight,” he mutters, closing your sketchbook as he leans in closer over the table. “All these people ended up dead with some kinda poison inside them?”

“It’s more like a venom since it has to be injected,” you correct with a brief nod.

Dante hums in thought while you go back to eating your meal in silence for a few moments. “Some demons can kill that way,” he muses with a casual shrug before nodding his head in a questioning manner. “But what about the missing people from the start? Did they have this venom too?”

“Some relatives and close friends report seeing what looks like injection marks on some of the missing people prior to their disappearance. I know, I know,” you murmur when that damnable brow of his quirks in disbelief. “It’s a bit of stretch. But when I talked with the victim’s family and friends, they all noticed that something was off with them before their death as well.”

You push your plate aside to lean in closer as you list off some key similarities. “Spotty memory, bouts of dizziness, and just overall despondent to the world around them…it’s the exact same symptoms of the missing people before they all disappeared!” you exclaim softly with a light slam of your fist against the table. “I know it’s a long shot, but everything in my gut tells me that all of this is more than just coincidence. And with the amount of people involved along with the fact that we’re the capital of demon town right now…” You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply through your nose before letting out a shuddering sigh while your mind glosses over old memories.

“Something horrible is going on in Red Grave again,” you murmur, eyes snapping open to meet his intense gaze. “And I’m gonna stop whatever or whoever is behind it all before it gets worse.”

Dante stares at you from across the table, mouth slightly agape while his blue eyes shine with wonderment. Your determined gaze stays on him while you wait for that fiery red flash to appear again, heart skipping a beat when it flickers for a moment before receding back within those stunning blue depths. “You’ve definitely caught my attention, Detective,” he admits huskily, eyes now gleaming with rakish charm as he fidgets around in his seat. “There’s just one thing we need squared away before getting this party started.”

You nod your head, already knowing that he wants to bargain for his services. “The RGC P.D. can’t technically pay you for your assistance, but we can offer you a certain deal in exchange for your cooperation.”

“Like a plea deal?” he quips with a cheeky grin.

“Not exactly…unless you’re guilty of something,” you explain with a puzzling tilt of your head before shooting him with an icy glare. “And if you say anything about your good looks one time-”

“Being this handsome is not the only thing I’m guilty of,” he cuts you off, completely ignoring your warning as he leans in even closer over the table. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that to get a confession outta me, Detective,” he murmurs, eyes darting down to stare at your frowning lips while a suave smile spreads across his scruffy face.

Your eyes squint in suspicion, sensing that he’s purposefully trying to get a rise out of you for some odd reason.  “I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best at conducting an interrogation,” you boast, slowly leaning in so close that you can feel his hot breath blow across your face. “So, don’t think for a minute that this cheap and debonair act will distract me.”

Dante meets your challenging gaze while you hear what sounds like a low and gravelly purr emanating from deep within his chest. The clamor of surrounding customers in the diner seems to fade away as both of you just stare unblinkingly at each other. Neither of you are willing to back down until the waitress hesitantly comes by your table just a few seconds later. You ask for the check while slowly leaning back in your seat without breaking eye contact, feeling his knee buck against your leg in amusement.

As soon as the waitress scurries away, you let out an exasperated sigh while crossing your arms. “Now, as I was saying…in exchange for your help in this case, we promise to wipe your ridiculously long record clean.”

“Record?” he repeats while blinking in surprise. “You guys actually have a file on me?”

“Yep,” you affirm with a nod. “Most mercenaries in your line work have a file in Red Grave, but none of them are as colorful as yours,” you remark with an impressed shrug.

Dante scratches his chin thoughtfully, but then his eyes light up with what is probably a maddening idea. “How about this,” he begins while flipping through your sketchbook, stopping on the page with your most recent drawing before holding it up next to his face. “A clean record plus…you draw me like one of your French girls?” he proposes with a wicked grin while his eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

The last strand of your patience snaps at your sketch of Dante staring back at you. You stab the remainder of your meal forcefully with a fork as you hop out of your seat. “Let’s get one thing straight,” you snarl vehemently while reaching over and snatching your sketchbook away from his grubby hands. “I better not hear anymore pickup lines from that crude mouth of yours if we work together! And while we’re on the subject,” you sneer, not able to hold back the oncoming flood of pure rage surging through your body as you sit back down.

“I will never see you as something more than just my partner during this case because it’s very unprofessional and quite frankly, I find you incredibly annoying! And I can’t believe that out all the hunters I could’ve chosen…I just had to pick the most infuriating man I’ve ever met!”

Some of the babbling conversations nearby noticeably dies down as your explosive rant comes to an end. You pinch your brow and take a couple deep breaths, ignoring the gawking devil sitting across from you as well as the curious stares from some of the customers. Great…I had one shot at this and I fucked it all up, you mentally berate yourself as the angry humming of your mind turns into quiet regret. Nothing new there…I should be used to it by now. You prepare yourself for inevitable rejection and open your eyes…only to be taken aback by the infatuated expression on Dante’s face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask warily, squirming in your seat a little while he continues to gaze at you with that strange look in his eyes.  

Dante smiles as he leans back in his seat. “You’re really cute when you’re mad.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “I’m not mad.”

“I can hear ya buzzing like an angry honeybee from here,” he snickers with a shake of his head. He watches you for a few moments, silently sizing you up while you put your sketchbook back inside your riding jacket. “Just add free pizza and beer to the clean record and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “Really? Even after I was such a bitch to you?” you murmur, wondering why he still insists on helping you despite showing him your cold façade and terrible temper.

“I got nothing else better to do,” he replies with a small shrug. “Plus, you’re one helluva spitfire…I really like that,” he adds with a lascivious wink before turning the flirty tone down to a minimum. “You have a warm heart behind that icy wall of yours…maybe if I stick around long enough it’ll thaw out.”

“Like I’ll ever let you get that close to begin with,” you grumble under your breath while crossing your arms defensively.

Dante chuckles softly at your stubbornness. “We’ll just have to wait and see now won’t we, Detective?” he teases with a roguish smirk while his husky voice ignites the warm tingling in the pit of your stomach once more. “Do we gotta deal?” he inquires, playfully poking your leg with his knee again while raising an expectant brow.  

You grunt and kick his boot again before giving his suggestion some thought. “I do know the best places for pizza and beer,” you muse aloud, listing off all the pizza parlors and bars in Red Grave City in your head. “Fine… It’s a deal,” you accept his terms with a firm nod of your head while offering your hand for a handshake to solidify the agreement.

Dante clenches his fist victoriously before clasping your hand and giving it an earnest shake. You cannot help but notice just how warm his huge hand feels against your skin. The corners of your lips curl into small smile of relief, finally feeling like you’ve successfully taken the first crucial step in cracking this perplexing case. You pull your hand back as the waitress dashes over to drop off your check before zooming away as quickly as possible.  

“So, when do we get started?” he asks, clapping his hands and rubbing them together in anticipation.

“Right away,” you inform while taking out your wallet, throwing down some cash for your meal plus a little extra for any trouble you may have caused while dining here.

“Ooh sounds like someone’s eager for more,” he notes playfully as you slide out of the booth, pushing his leg aside with an aggravated huff.

You make your way towards the exit while Dante follows suit, slipping by you to hold the door open while you exit the diner. “I need to head back and prepare for your arrival at the station,” you proclaim as he follows close behind you. “Don’t want anyone arresting you on the spot,” you explain while walking towards your motorcycle, which is parked just a little way down the street.

It only takes Dante a couple of long strides to get ahead of you. “Wouldn’t mind getting arrested if it meant getting frisked by you,” he jests while spinning around to face you, never breaking his pace as he gives you a flirtatious wink.

“I thought I told you quite clearly that I’m not interested,” you tersely remind him with a harsh scowl.

“Whaaaaat? I’m just enforcing the law of attraction,” he claims while holding his hands up in mock defense.

You scoff at his cheesy pickup lines as you briskly brush past him, never looking back until you arrive at your bike. “Think you can come by the station tomorrow?” you inquire, checking out your ride for any problems before picking up your helmet and turning around to face your new partner.

Dante bends down into a dramatic bow. “It’s a date,” he boldly declares with a quick flick of his wrist.

A single red rose suddenly appears in his hand and he offers it to you with a captivating smile. You look down at the rose skeptically as you reach for it, wondering if he always keeps fresh roses up his sleeve…or maybe he just stopped by a florist shop on the way here. Either way, it still does not stop this warm fuzzy feeling from rising in your chest as you take the rose from him…but you quickly slip your helmet on in hopes of hiding the fact that this romantic gesture had any effect on you.  

“I’ll uh…see ya then, Dante,” you murmur with a small wave, noting the gratifying sound of his name against your tongue as you hop on your bike.

Dante waves back with triumphant smirk. “Adios, Detective. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And with those final words of farewell, you switch on the ignition and rev your bike a couple times before bolting down the street. The rumbling roar of the engine drowns out all thought while you drive through the city, completely focused on the road and not on the insufferable man that really grinds your gears. Your mind is buzzing with elation despite agreeing to work with a man that takes joy from annoying the fuck out of you. But then again, he just agreed to work with a woman that has no qualms about giving him a piece of her mind at the top of her lungs…and that’s what you find most puzzling about your new partner.

You slowly step on the brakes as you come to a stop light at an intersection. As you wait for the green light, you happen to look down and notice that the red rose still in your hand. A few of its petals have been torn off, but it’s surprisingly no worse for wear from the harsh winds. You flip up the visor of your helmet and hold the romantic flower up for closer inspection before bringing it to your nose. Its signature fragrance rekindles the warm tingles within the pit of your stomach, licking like some smoldering flame at the cold shell that constantly surrounds you. You melt for minute while Dante’s words from earlier whisper in the back of your mind:  

You have a warm heart behind that icy wall of yours…maybe if I stick around long enough it’ll thaw out.

People have called you a lot of things: a buzzkill, a surly hothead, an ice bitch…but no one’s ever called you warmhearted. Hearing those words makes you feel-

The blaring sound of a car horn knocks you back down to reality. You immediately notice that the light has finally turned green, so you quickly put the pedal to metal and take off like a bat out of hell. Your mind focuses on the road once more, but the sight of the red rose still in your hand enduring the rough wind reminds you that you’re no longer working alone…you have a troublesome devil with a pension for rousing your temper on your side.

And together you’re going to find and stop this new threat lurking beneath Red Grave City.

My Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona and @exsultry

[flipomatic]

Internship Chapter 23: Day 20 - Amity

First Chapter Previous Chapter

________________________________________________________

After the eventful day at the construction coven, Amity made plans to come visit Luz at the Owl House on Saturday. Luz had somehow convinced Eda to show them some magic, since she had been on the potions track at Hexside. According to Luz, she loved to show off and had been eager to accept.

This led to Amity walking on a cloudy Saturday morning to the Owl House. She was very interested in learning about potions, but not so excited about seeing the house demon that possessed the building. Almost everything about it was obnoxious.

But even as it called out a cheery “Hooty hoot!” greeting, Amity didn’t regret coming.

The demon let her inside when she said she was there to see Luz, which was lucky because she already felt like punching it. The inside of the house looked the same as she remembered it, with candles lining the room and familiar furniture.

One big difference though was the presence of Lilith. She was sitting on the couch, looking over some kind of magazine. She had a new grey streak in her hair; Luz told Amity it was an effect of the spell she cast to save Eda. Amity hadn’t spoken to her in some time, perhaps since the Covention? Lilith used to train her, but they weren’t particularly close.

That didn’t stop this from being awkward.

Lilith glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a flicker of surprise appearing briefly on her face. “Hello, Amity.” She greeted her politely.

“Hi.” Amity wasn’t sure what to say to her. She knew she was living here now, but even before when they had the Emperor’s Coven in common they hadn’t had much to say to each other. “It’s good to see you.” Was what she settled on, wincing internally at how stiff that sounded.

Luckily, Luz always had great timing.

“Hey Amity!” She poked her head in from the other room, which Amity thought was the kitchen. “We’re in here.” Luz waved her over, blissfully saving her from having to talk more with Lilith.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Amity said as she walked to join Luz.

Luz flopped her hand in an exaggerated dismissive motion. “Anytime.”

When Amity entered the kitchen, she glanced around. It looked like a pretty normal kitchen, nothing too outrageous. Eda was already there, leaning on one of the counters. King sat on the countertop next to her, chewing on a small object.

“Oh good, the whole party’s here now.” Eda said in a dry tone. She was so different from her sister; it was always confusing to Amity that they could be related.

Luz gave an enthusiastic thumb up. “That’s right! Are you ready to show us how to make a potion?”

“You were serious about that?” Eda grimaced, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t you rather learn about bad girl coven magic?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“What’s that?” Amity asked; she had never heard of the bad girl coven. It sounded fake.

Eda pointed one thumb at her own chest. “Only the best coven on the Boiling Isles, founded by yours truly.” Oh, so just covenless witches then.

“No thanks.” Luz cut her off flatly. “But we really want to learn about the Potions Coven!”

“I could show them instead.” A familiar voice came from behind the group, echoing from the doorway. Amity turned to see Lilith there, a smirk on her face. “I was in the potions track too, you know.”

“No no, I’ve got this.” Eda scoffed, moving to grab a pot for the potion.

Lilith chuckled, still looking smug. “If you say so. I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” She waved over her shoulder, then vanished back to the main room of the house.

Eda sneered after her, before continuing to prepare. “What kind of potion do you want?” She asked, looking between Luz and Amity. “A love potion?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously, with a smirk appearing not dissimilar from her sister’s.

Amity thought her heart could stop at that suggestion. Her face immediately warmed, even more so when Eda raised an eyebrow at her.

“Hmm, that would be hard to test.” Luz seemed unbothered by the suggestion, and didn’t seem to have noticed Amity’s flustered state.

Eda rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, how about item duplication then?”

“Perfect!” Luz’s eyes lit up as she nodded. Amity tried to calm herself back down and to keep Luz from noticing.

With the potion choice settled, Eda picked a pot to make it in. “Always choose the right pot for the potion.” She said as she settled on a medium size one. She finally seemed to be taking this whole giving instruction thing seriously. “Too small and it’ll overflow, too big and the ingredients won’t blend properly.”

“Oh yeah, I learned about that in class.” Luz commented, moving to look into the empty pot.

“The pot material can be important too, but not for every potion.” Eda went to the pantry and started to take out ingredients. “The one we’re making today is tame, but some will eat straight through unprotected metal.” That was kind of a scary prospect.

Eda walked away from the pantry with an arm full of vials, stopping in front of the counter. “King, you gotta move.” She gestured at him with her free hand.

“But I’m sitting here.” He took the small object out of his mouth to protest. Now Amity could see that it was a small yellow duck.

Eda glared down at him. “I need the space, so get lost.”

King stood up on his tiny back paws slowly, putting the duck back in his mouth. He squeaked grumpily as he jumped off the counter, headed to the main room of the house.

Eda was now able to put down the vials, which she did with gusto. “Always measure the ingredients carefully.” She said, as if she hadn’t paused in the instructions, while picking up a vial to add it to the pot. “Don’t add heat until you’re supposed to, that’s how things explode.” She winked at the end, drawing a laugh from Luz.

“Are you not using a recipe?” Amity asked as Eda added another ingredient to the pot.

“Got this one memorized.” Eda replied, not looking away from her potion. “When you make it enough times, it becomes habit.” If it were Amity, she would probably still have the recipe out for reference.

“Do you know what they do at the Potions Coven?” Luz asked, causing Eda to pause mid pour.

“Not a thing.” She admitted, before continuing to dump an ingredient in. She grimaced, as if the next words were hard to say. “Lily might be able to tell you more about that.”

“Oh?” Again, from the door, Lilith’s voice rang out. “What was that Edalyn, I didn’t hear you.”

“Just ask her.” Eda addressed the kids. She turned on the burner on the stove and put her pot onto it. “I’ll just keep making this potion, abandoned, alone.”

Lilith entered the room fully, coming to stand near them. “You asked about the Potion Coven?” She asked Luz, likely wanting to make sure she heard right.

“That’s right!” Luz responded.

“We’ve been learning about different covens.” Amity explained, drawing Lilith’s gaze to her sharply. She could feel the question, what happened to the Emperor’s Coven, in those eyes. But Lilith didn’t ask it.

“The potions coven provides facilities and licenses to coven members.” Lilith said, shifting her gaze over to Luz. “They also get discounts on materials.”

“Does the coven itself sell potions?” Luz looked thoughtful as she asked.

Lilith shook her head, “No, individual members are responsible for that.”

Luz hit the bottom of one fist into her hand. “So Eda has a similar job then, she sells her own potions too!” Amity hadn’t thought about it like that; she always associated Eda with being as far from coven life as she could. Even Eda looked surprised at the assertion.

“I suppose so.” Lilith seemed to be rolling the idea around in her mind. “She does sell potions, though not as high quality as the coven requires.”

“Well excuse me for not meeting your nonsense standards.” Eda scowled down at her potion, motioning to again shoo Lilith away with one hand. Her sister didn’t move.

Eda had been adding more ingredients through the conversation, occasionally stirring the pot. “The potion is almost done.” She declared, lifting one hand over it. “Here’s the most important step.” She drew a small spell circle over it, slowly. It looked painful for her to do. Luz had also told Amity that most of Eda’s magic was gone, but it still felt strange to see it herself. “Without the spell it’s just slime.”

She picked up an empty bottle, dipping it into the potion. When it made contact, it duplicated. Eda brought both the original and copy out to show Luz and Amity.

“You need to make sure to use a duplication proof bottle for this type of spell.” Eda put aside the original and set the new bottle where she could fill it. “Like something that’s already a duplication. It only works on inanimate objects.” She then lifted the pot and tilted the potion into it, filling the bottle to the top. She then put a cork in the top and smacked a label on it, marking it with her brand. She held it out to Luz, who accepted it.

“The second part of the job, the harder part in my opinion, is actually selling the things.” Eda continued speaking, picking up where Lilith had left off in talking about the job of potion making. “Not gonna lie, Luz has gotten pretty good at it.” Amity was impressed by that.

“Oh, yeah!” Luz grinned, setting the potion down on the table. “I sell potions for Eda all the time.”

“In the market?” Amity asked.

“Yeah, and I go door to door.” Luz looked up like she was remembering something. “It’s fun, trying to figure out what’s the best potion for a customer.”

It made sense that Luz would be good at that; if she could hold a conversation with Amity then she could talk with just about anybody. Amity, on the other hand would be better at making potions than selling them. The idea struck her that if she and Luz went into business together, they’d probably be very good at the job if they split up the work.

Amity couldn’t imagine dedicating her whole life to it, but it was an interesting path.

“You don’t need the coven though.” Eda put one hand on her hip. “It’s all cons and no pros.”

“I disagree.” Lilith cut back in to the conversation. “The coven provides stability and resources. Also being covenless is illegal, which I’m sure you know well, Edalyn.”

“Aren’t you covenless now too, Lily?”

“Touché.” Lilith muttered and looked down towards the ground. Amity felt out of place, like she was watching something she shouldn’t see. She was reminded of when her siblings fought.

Eda was smirking as she turned back to Luz. “You can keep that.” She gestured at the potion on the table, turning the topic back to potion making.

“Thanks Eda!” Luz picked it back up, scrutinizing it once again. “What should we duplicate first?” She turned to Amity with the question.

The answer came easily. “Azura books.”

“Yes.” Luz replied simply, eyes bright with excitement. “I have mine upstairs, let’s do it.”

Amity followed after her, but not before thanking Eda for showing them how the make the potion. She replied that it was no problem, and she should follow Luz before the girl duplicated everything upstairs.

Both Lillith and Eda watched her go.

Upstairs, Amity and Luz chose the first Azura book as their target. The potion did indeed duplicate it, just as expected.

Next Chapter

[archadianskies]

old habits

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Friday Day 5: Jealousy + Heartfelt Moment; post revolution Elijah Kamski/Leo Manfred

He knows what he’s like, he knows how bad he gets when he hyperfixates on his work. It’s partly why he has Chloe, really; he may be a certified genius but looking after his very human body has never really been a strong trait. Or a passable trait, for that matter. 

He is Elijah Kamski, creator of androids, and sadly not an android himself. Oh to be an android relying on a solar cell and thirium instead of food and water and sleep. Cursed with flesh and blood, he’s still bound by mortal restrictions no matter how hard he wishes. 

He’s well aware of how hard Chloe and his team work to keep him alive, he’s under no illusions he’s easy to care for, not when he forgets to eat and drink and sleep in lieu of working on and on and on. Surely he can’t be frowned upon, it was the most important system update to CyberLife so far. An update and a complete overhaul of the system, ensuring the removal of their obedience and reliance to their original programming. He had to test it over and over and over to ensure the rollout would be smooth. The mind of every deviant was at stake, and he had to make sure the update was safe and sound and unbreakable.

It means he surfaces on the other side of just over three weeks with only a blurry recollection of the past twenty-three days. At some point Leo visited, or was it a few more than some? He can at least remember that much. Sort of. He remembers Leo’s grinning and the taste of coffee, not the pot kind brewed around the clock in his lab but coffee made by someone and drank from a tall takeaway cup and not a mug or the percolator pot itself. Leo Leo Leo, his brave little lion. 

Elijah pats his face dry with the towel, gingerly tracing his now freshly shaved jawline and sighing as he stretches his muscles after the hot shower. The fog is starting to recede from his mind now he’s no longer focusing on the monumental task of breaking deviancy from CyberLife’s clutches.

There’s clothes laid out for him, soft sweatpants and a soft worn jersey shirt and a soft soft hoodie- they know when he resurfaces from the depths of work he has to try and settle back into his own skin and its fleshly machinations. Drying his hair lets his mind wander again, and he thinks yes actually he does want to see Leo properly now he’s not delirious from sleep deprivation. 

Maybe he can hold actual adult conversations now. His phone is within reach on the bathroom counter beside his toothbrush and he quickly thumbs Leo a message before jamming the brush into his mouth and vigorously scrubbing the fuzzy-feeling coating away.

“Breakfast is oatmeal with stewed cinnamon apples and honey.” Peter informs him softly when he pads into the kitchen, the PL400 setting the tray down at the table. “And a glass of milk, because-”

“Chloe’s not letting me have coffee.” Elijah finishes the sentence with a tired chuckle. “Thank you Peter.”

“Welcome back, sir.” The PL400 flashes a grin and he rolls his eyes in response though there’s no real sarcasm behind it. “Chloe is just getting dressed. She’ll join you soon.”

He nods and tucks into his breakfast, marvelling over the rich texture and the sweetness and that heavenly scent and he just knows everything he’s eaten in the past twenty-three days went into his mouth and into his stomach without a moment’s pause to savour it in favour of getting it down as fast as possible in order to focus on his work. He’d really be dead without his little team here, his little family of androids. 

Arms wrap around him from behind, and a chin rests atop his head as he breathes in the familiar spicy scent of wild orchids. “Hello my dear.” He greets as a kiss is pressed into his hair.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Eli.” Chloe teases. Reaching over him, she grabs a tablet and drags it closer. “Catch up on the world and we can catch up after. I’ve got the preliminary report about the update.”

“Yes yes.” He sighs, tilting his head slightly so she can kiss his cheek before she flitters away and leaves him to his meal. Lending only a cursory glance at the world news, he flicks through the articles with passing interest before narrowing the field to local news only. A large headline catches his eye.

[Slipped on Ice? Prodigal Manfred Son Seen Slipping Back to His Old Habits] 

There’s a photo, blurry and grainy as if taken by a paparazzi from far away, perhaps from a moving vehicle. Certainly not using one of the cameras he developed, because then the photo would’ve been crystal clear. Leo is easily identified by his favourite beanie, one knitted by the revolutionary named Simon, first PL600 of his kind. 

The man beside Leo has a full beard, and he’s dressed in a hoodie that looks unwashed even through the grainy quality of the photo. He thinks he can see stringy locks of long hair peeking out from under the hood. An ugly feeling rears up in his chest, and Elijah grimaces as he recognises it as jealousy. Why is Leo with another man? They’re standing too close to be acquaintances, Leo’s head tilted up and towards the stranger. 

He loathes it, detests it, this rising indignant feeling in his throat like acid reflux. He knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of such a look, he knows how soft Leo’s eyes get, how his smile is slightly lopsided and entirely endearing. 

Suddenly he aches for his company, yearns for the way Leo cards his fingers through his hair and scritches along his scalp as if he’s nothing but an overgrown lapcat to him. Suddenly he wants nothing more than to be tangled in bed, not even for sex but just to be bundled under heavy blankets sharing bodyheat and eye contact and the easy affection they’ve built between them. 

He seeks Chloe in his lab, and before she can open her mouth he cuts in. “I’m worried about Leo.”

“Leo?” She echoes, blinking in surprise. “Why would you be worried about Leo?”

“I just- I saw this article- specifically a photo and it’s made me uneasy about the company he keeps.” It sounds utterly stupid now he’s said it aloud, and it shows in Chloe’s expression.

“The company he keeps?” She says it slowly, as if double-checking his statement. He strides forward and thrusts the tablet at her, jabbing at the photo.

“Look, I-” He sucks in a deep breath, “I don’t want to sound paranoid, and I don’t mistrust him but-” There’s a frantic note in the tone of his voice so he tries to reason with himself. “I mean, no, I know he’s not slipping back into old habits he’s done wonderfully and recovered well, so maybe I’m overreacting and maybe he’s sought out a friend to also help through their recovery and that wouldn’t be too far-fetched because he knows firsthand how hard it is and he’d be the best person to guide someone through a difficult addiction and-”

Chloe’s face turns blank in that way where he knows she’s hiding something from him. She looks entirely too machine-like though she’s never been a machine like those made after her. 

“Elijah.” Oh no she’s using his full name and not Eli. “I think this report can wait. You should go see Leo.”

“That’s even worse, that means you’re worried about him too!” He blurts, the worry rising in his chest. “How did I miss this? Was I too caught up in my work? The update took less than three weeks, I was only over my estimate by two days!”

“Elijah.” Her tone is softer this time, an exasperated smile on her lips. “Go get dressed and drive down to Carl’s. It’s best you talk this through with Leo in person.”

 He doesn’t trust himself to drive, so he lets his car do the driving for him which unfortunately means he spends the entire time stewing in his jealousy and anxiety until he’s ready to cancel the current route and go back home. Trying to distract himself, he checks his phone to read the preliminary report on the update which ate three weeks of his life but finds he can hardly focus on the words, not when his thoughts keep straying to Leo. 

There’s no way Leo would ever touch red ice again, he believes that with every cell in his body. It cost Leo nearly everything, and he knows Leo wouldn’t give up everything to slide back into such habits.

He doesn’t doubt Leo’s conviction, but he doubts the old company Leo used to keep. What if they try and tempt him? Leo won’t fall to such temptations but what if they turn violent? What if they try to blackmail him the way Leo used to use Carl’s guilt to fuel his addiction? What if Leo had an old flame, someone who shared in the misery and rush of addiction with him, what if that bond still remains, what if he’s been nothing more than a distraction, what if-

The car tucks itself neatly by the curb and the door slides open, the rush of chilly air snapping him out of his spiralling dark thoughts.

[Welcome back, Elijah.] 

The security AI greets him as the door slides open and he belatedly realises he never even informed Leo he’d be coming over- the surprise on Leo’s face confirms this as the man curiously peeks out from the common room.

“Hey.” There it is, that slightly lopsided grin-smile and those warm claret eyes he’s missed so much.

“Hi.”

“Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.” Leo wanders over and slips his arms around him, head tucked under his chin in a delightful reminder of the height difference between them. “Update was just rolled out at midday yesterday, aren’t you meant to be at CyberLife today for the debrief?”

Delaying his answer for a few moments longer, Elijah squeezes him close and buries his nose in the unruly nest of wispy curls atop Leo’s head. 

“Missed me that much huh?” Leo huffs a laugh, returning the tight embrace. 

“I just...wanted to know if you were alright.” He murmurs into his hair.

“Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Yes, why wouldn’t he be? Elijah feels childishly stupid for even bringing it up, but if he doesn’t ask he’ll go mad from not knowing.

“I-” a breath to steady himself, “I saw something. A paparazzi shot on some stupid gossip site.”

“Ah fuck,” Leo snorts, “listen it was North’s idea entirely to break into the old distillery for photos. She conveniently forgot I’m not an android like her and can’t parkour my way out of sight when surveillance drones turn up.”

“...What?”

“Don’t worry I didn’t get arrested- Tina let me off with a warning.” Leo’s grin is sheepish when he looks up, the expression vanishing when he sees his confused expression. “Is that...not the photo you’re referring to?”

“You broke into the abandoned distillery?”

“No, tell me what photo you’re referring to first!”

“I-” he fumbles for his phone and brings up the cursed photo. “I’m not judging you for the company you keep, please understand that, I’m just worried they might threaten your well-being I know you worked so hard and overcame so much and in no way do I doubt the fact you’ve beaten your addiction and you have such a wonderful heart Leo I’m afraid those from your past may try and take advantage of it-”

He’s cut off by Leo throwing his head back and laughing loudly, big heaving lungfuls of laughter that leave Elijah standing there stunned.

“Leo I fail to see how this is funny I-”

“When was this photo taken?” Leo interrupts, shoving his phone back to him. 

“Last Thursday.”

“Open your bank app.” Leo commands. “Open it.”

“Why do I-” he does as he’s told, an intense look in Leo’s eyes warning him not to question him further. 

“Check your transactions.” He taps the screen. “What’s the transaction from last Thursday?”

Scrolling through the itemised list in chronological order, he notes the usual scheduled grocery transfer and then one other transaction.

“Starbucks?” He blinks, tipping his head slightly in confusion.

“Uh huh.” Leo says slowly, the way Chloe would say ‘Elijah’ in the same tone that has infinite patience and exasperation rolled into one. “Starbucks. On Thursday. When this photo was taken.”

It takes him far too long to piece together all the clues and the fog in his head finally clears and all that’s left is the sheer horror of it all.

“That’s me?”

“That’s you.” Leo sputters a giggle, barely holding himself back from another peal of laughter. “Chloe begged me to drag you outside to take a break. You really don’t remember?”

“...No?”

“Oh my god Eli please.” His boyfriend punches his shoulder lightly. “I can’t believe you thought I was hanging out with junkies again.”

“I left the house looking like that?” He brings up the photo again and zooms in, wincing at the wiry beard and the greasy hair. 

“Chloe made you brush your teeth and take a shower before I picked you up. Don’t worry, you smelled better than you looked.” Leo’s grin is full of mirth and Elijah wants nothing more than to crawl into a deep dark cavern and never emerge. 

“I am so sorry.”

“For the looking like a hobo part in public or for thinking I was dating a fellow junkie part?”

“Both. All of it. I’m so sorry.” Elijah winces, wrapping Leo in his arms again. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

They stay like that for a full minute because Elijah counts the seconds as they pass, ticking off the seconds as a way to bring his anxiety down and even his breathing and let himself ease back into the present. Leo shifts, pulling away and stepping back.

“Hang on, let me just get something.” He walks over to the coat rack and rifles through the pockets of his favourite worn leather jacket. “I was going to give this to you at lunch tomorrow. Y’know, when we actually planned to meet up. But you’re here now, so.”

He places a plastic chip into the palm of his hand. Elijah picks it up and holds it, turning it this way and that; the number ninety is embossed in the light round object. It takes a moment for him to identify what it is, and when he realises it he feels his heart squeeze with the familiar ache of affection.

“It’s your ninety day chip.”

“Yeah.” Leo’s smile is a little wobbly, a little unsure and Elijah leans down to kiss it better. 

“Well done, Leo.” He murmurs, so close their lips still touch. “I’m so proud of you.”

There’s a brief flash of raw vulnerability in Leo’s eyes, before it’s replaced with something fond.

“And you just defeated the last villain in the saga of CyberLife.” He bumps their noses together. “Congrats on setting my brother and his people truly free.”

They kiss again, something slow and mellow and sweet and finally finally Elijah feels like he’s back in the living, waking world at last.

“So,” Leo’s grin is full of mischief. “Starbucks?”

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Villainous Heroics - Chapter 15

Woo! This took so much longer than I wanted it to where midterms hit hard. Here we are, though, with Chapter 15. There's three more chapters left after this, so the story will be wrapping up shortly. Don't despair, however! I have "end game" drabbles planned for this series as well as two spin-offs that deal with mind sharing and body swapping. That's right, readers, we are FAR from done!

Enjoy!

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Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

            <<First/Chapter>> <<Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

                                           Chapter Fifteen

Halfheartedly scribbling a thumbs-up on Ashido’s latest test paper where she had achieved a low B, Shouta glanced at his phone as it started vibrating for the fifteenth time that hour. Considering his contact list was five names long, he could safely narrow it down to the only person who would find the need to text multiple messages in a row instead of confining her words into a single text box like a sane person.

‘Eraser!!!’ ��When were you going to tell me that Present Mic was a hero?!?!?!’ ‘He just saved me and my sidekick a bunch of trouble!!!’ ‘He’s so great too!!!’ ‘He’s really a SCREAM!!’ ‘Lol but no seriously when were you going to tell me??’ ‘ERASER HE HELPED BANDAGE MY SIDEKICKS ARM AND GAVE HER A PIECE OF CANDY’ ‘IT WASN’T POISONED CANDY EITHER’ ‘OI ERASER CAN YOU HEAR ME???’ ‘He told me to tell you hi by the way he’s so cute’ ‘Really tho is he licensed?? When did that happen??’ ‘Ah he’s leaving now but seriously check the news it’ll probably be on there.’ ‘Did you delete my number again?? It’s me!! Ms Joke!! Your fiance!!’ ‘erASER’ ‘Tell Nem I said hi’

Exhausting. Joke was utterly exhausting and Shouta regretted every day that he hadn’t killed Nemuri for giving her his number. Moving to turn his phone off, Shouta frowned as it started ringing with an annoying American song that Nemuri had chosen for herself years ago. He almost let it go to voicemail before he decided he didn’t want to deal with her in person.

“What do you want, Nemuri?” Shouta answered, pushing himself up from where he had been working at the kotatsu for the past few hours. It was really showing he hadn’t moved in a while, he mused.

“I thought you said Present Mic wasn’t a vigilante?” Right. Joke had been talking about a fight that Present Mic had showed up to help out on.

“He wasn’t last time I saw him. What happened?” Shouta shuffled to the kitchen, smiling softly as he deftly avoided Jelly’s playful jumps and nudges against his ankles.

“Joke and that new sidekick of hers, Bullseye, were having some problems with a mutation quirk villain. Some sort of large animal with a lot of teeth and not that good at laughing.”

“Not good for Joke,” Shouta muttered, frowning as he checked his coffee pot, wrinkling his nose at the cold dregs left behind. He’d need to brew some more.

“No, not good for Joke. They were waiting for backup when your vigilante came on the scene and took care of the guy. Five minutes and he was down.”

“Sounds about right. Why are you calling me, then?” Flicking his phone to be on speaker, Shouta started a fresh pot, eying Jelly’s food bowl. He could probably give her at least another half scoop for the night.

“Because you said he was still a villain last time we talked!” Snorting at that, Shouta picked his phone back up, collapsing at the kitchen table.

“He probably still thinks he is.” Really, though… Yamada hadn’t been a villain for a very long time. After their talk the other night at the man’s apartment, Shouta was almost certain that Yamada had never been a villain. He was far too kind for that.

“He keeps saving people! That’s the opposite of a villain!” Stifling a laugh against his fist, Shouta listened to Nemuri’s ranting and complaining as he kept an ear out for the quiet sounds of a happy cat and a brewing coffee pot and thought about the ‘villain’ that was Present Mic, or, rather, the hero that was Present Mic. Shouta had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last they heard of the new vigilante and hero.

Two weeks later proved him more right than he was expecting. In two weeks Present Mic had teamed up with Nemuri for a raid that had gotten out of control, aided Kamui Woods with a building evacuation during a fire, bonded scarily well with Mt. Lady during a bomb threat, and had even managed to work together with Endeavour of all people. Although, Shouta had heard from Nemuri that Endeavour's ears had been ringing for a few days afterwards.

All in all, Present Mic was finally making an impact like he had wanted to, turning the spotlight on him and making sure the media, and by extension their world of heroes and villains, knew just who he was. And yet, here he was, hiding away on the top of a roof like he was scared of being seen.

Landing on the edge of the roof lightly, Shouta hid a sigh in the wraps of his binding cloth as he stepped forward, letting his footsteps be heard. He knew Yamada knew it was him when the man didn’t even tense or look back. Not sure what to say, Shouta finally settled on something that he at least knew would get a response. “How goes the day, hero?”

The laugh was dry and brittle, an inch away from snapping as much as Yamada was. The man still responded, though, tilting his head to look back at him, “Shouldn’t it be night?”

“Probably,” Shouta said softly as he gave a twitch of a smile at Yamada before moving to take a seat beside him, still marveling on how a man as loud and outspoken as Present Mic had such a common name. Then again, after speaking with him in his civilian life, he supposed it made more sense. Yamada Hizashi seemed scared to speak louder than a whisper. “You know, typically heroes stick around to do the paperwork that comes with the work you’ve been doing.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not a hero, then.” The words were clipped, short, and to the point. Shouta believed them as much as Yamada seemed to. “I know what you’re going to say and I’m not changing my mind. I’m not… I’m not some hero.”

“No,” Shouta finally sighed, looking down over the city that spread out around them. From the building they were on it felt like they could see their entire world awash in cool blacks and bright neon lights. “You’re not.” Shouta hated how, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yamada relax. “But you could be.”

For once, Yamada didn’t have a quick response or a sharp denial ready. Instead he looked towards the night sky, hints of stars just barely peeking past the light pollution of the night. Silence settled around them, but Shouta noticed it wasn’t a comfortable silence. It wasn’t upsetting, to any degree, but… there was tension.

Shouta finally sighed, fingertips curling around the sleeve edge of Yamada’s leather jacket, giving it a light tug. The man didn’t move, but Shouta knew he had his attention as he asked, “What are you doing, Mic?”

“I… thought I could help. People, good people, were at the risk of getting hurt on all those occasions. I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe I could at least make sure no one died. I thought I could help-”

“You did help.” Did he really not see that? After all of this, did he really not see that he was doing good? “Joke told me how you helped her and her new sidekick. It could have been a lot worse. Nemuri won’t stop bugging me to get your phone number for her, half the other pros thought you were a new hero, and Endeavour is still absolutely pissed - which, if you ask me, is always the mark of a good hero.”

His last line, just like he had hoped, had Yamada giving a startled laugh. Tension seemed to drain out of both of them, Shouta feeling a shoulder press against his own. He didn’t move away. Instead, he sat calmly, relaxing at the swath of warmth until he heard Yamada suck in a shaking breath, “I’m supposed to be the villain, Eraser.” Eraser? Ah, right. Yamada didn’t know that Shouta knew who he was - both parts of him.

“Is that what you really think? Or is that what you’ve been told to think?” Because Shouta had a theory that Yamada wasn’t a villain by choice. He had started all of this to help people in his own way, after all. A man like that could never be a villain. “You keep saying your quirk was dangerous… Who told you that?”

Just as he suspected. Yamada was tense against his side once more, wound up and tightly coiled as if ready to cut his losses and run. It was almost cute that Yamada thought Shouta would ever let him leave. Maybe that wasn’t the right question to ask, though. Maybe the better question…

“Why have you been helping the pros, Mic?” If he was so dead set on being a villain, why help? “A villain would have taken advantage and taken them all down. You stopped and helped. Why?”

It felt like an eternity, but finally, finally, Yamada let out a shaking, wobbling sigh. It was a sound that was a step above a sob and Shouta wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he wanted nothing more than to draw Yamada over and hug him. He was getting too soft.

“Mic.” Biting his lip, Shouta pushed his embarrassment aside and slowly moved a hand up, freezing for a few seconds before setting his fingertips against Yamada’s cheek and carefully pressing until he had the man finally looking at him. Yamada looked like he was shaking to pieces and Shouta didn’t stop to think before he pressed his palm against Yamada’s cheek, thumb rubbing against soft, smooth skin. “Why are you helping, Mic?”

There was a single moment where Shouta thought Yamada would jerk away and bolt. That moment passed, however, and Shouta shivered as he felt Yamada completely relax and lean into his touch as if he was starved for it. Distracted as he was, Shouta almost missed the words Mic said next.

“Someone important to me told me that I could be a hero.” The words were whisper soft - a secret that he knew Shouta would protect. “I think he might have been right.”

                                                          ::

Shouta had never lied. He knew that Yamada Hizashi could be a great hero, but that didn’t mean he could ignore the truth. Yamada had grown up on rough streets and knew how to fight both with and without his quirk - which was powerful on its own. He hadn’t been trained as a pro, though.

There were some pros that didn’t go to a school specialized in hero training, yes, but that meant they usually served out internships and acted as sidekicks until they had the knowledge and experience they needed to go forward. Some sidekicks spent over a decade learning from pros, and even a new pro had the force of an agency behind them. Hell, Shouta himself worked for an agency and he was underground.

Yamada had none of that. He had no idea what the common strategies or signals were, he had never been trained to keep calm in mentally taxing situations, and he no doubt had only ever interacted with panicking civilians briefly. There was also the fact that he had never been trained to deal with real villains.

Present Mic fought thugs and gangs and kept the streets safer, but he didn’t deal with smuggling rings, quirk black markets, and hostage threats. Present Mic should never have been near a raid for an underground market that dealt in trading children with promising and powerful quirks. It was too dangerous - for him and everyone else involved in the scene.

It was all well and good to call him a hero, but that did not make him a pro. At best he was a vigilante and at worst he was an idiot who was trying to get himself killed.

“Mic!” The busy and upscale neighborhood (which hadn’t that been terrifying to know this was all taking place in somewhere considered safe) was filled with nosy civilians, handcuffed villains, crying and screaming children, and the wailing of sirens. Shouta could barely hear himself think in the mess, but he knew Yamada could hear him. Yamada always heard him. “You are not just walking off after all of that! You can barely walk!”

This raid had been dangerous from the start, but, as was the case these days, they had underestimated their opponents. While all the children had been rescued and were still alive and breathing, Yamada and half of the smugglers had almost died when the man had brought down the building to keep them from escaping. Shouta himself had barely gotten out and it had taken over an hour to dig everyone out. Yamada had been lucky that he was still alive!

“You could’ve died from a stunt like that! Are you even listening to me?!” Yamada was bruised, bleeding, and limping, his glasses having been cracked during the initial crumbling of the building.

“So what if I die? You wouldn’t care. I’m a villain - and a piss poor one at that.” Yamada had spun around to meet his approach, fist clenched around his broken sunglasses as he stared at Shouta with tear-filled eyes. Shouta wasn’t sure if it was the tears that made it feel like the breath was knocked out of him or the fact that Yamada had just said those words so casually. No… he had said them so bitterly. “I give it my all and you still hate me!”

Shouta had failed. If Yamada thought that he hated him after all that had happened, then he had well and truly failed in everything. Yamada looked close to even more tears, voice sounding so defeated as he muttered, “At least let me sulk in peace.”

Shouta was moving before he was even fully aware of it, catching Yamada by the lapels of that stupid leather jacket of his and tugging him close and keeping him from running away. His fingers had gone white with how tight his grip was, but he paid it no mind, instead entirely wrapped up in how their foreheads bumped together, Shouta hearing the hitch in Yamada’s breaths as he slammed his eyes shut, unwilling or unable to meet Shouta’s own gaze. It hurt more than he thought it would. There were a million words he could say, but words had never been Shouta’s strong point, and all he could get out was, “I don’t hate you.”

“So what is it?” Yamada was quick with words like always, but his voice shook as if expecting the fall that was about to come. “What’s wrong with me?” Shouta was so tired of Yamada thinking he was worthless. He was tired of Yamada thinking that Shouta would ever let him fall. “Why all the rejections?”

Shouta was bad with words. He always had been. There had been a hundred situations where Shouta had destroyed or ruined something because he had said the wrong words. He was determined to not let that happen with this man. So instead of words that would fumble and fall flat, Shouta tightened his grip on Yamada’s jacket before pushing himself forward, lips slotting themselves against ones that were chapped and dry. The silly man probably bit his lip every moment he grew nervous.

For a moment the lips against his were still and unmoving and Shouta felt his heart drop. There was no way he had read all of this wrong. Present Mic had flirted from the start, but Yamada Hizashi had stared at him with eyes that were filled with the same emotion Shouta had constantly been feeling around him.

When he felt hands curl into his jumpsuit and pull him closer, lips pressing hard and messy against his, Shouta realized he shouldn’t have even bothered to worry.

Pulling back, because even a moment like this needed a few words, Shouta bit his lip as he looked at Yamada’s face, still bruised and dirty from the raid, but flushed with pink and holding wide green eyes that practically shone.

“If I hated you,” Shouta near whispered, “I wouldn’t have bothered putting up with all of your stupid hijinks.”

“Oh!” The exclamation was quirk strong, Shouta not giving Yamada the chance to apologize before he was pressing forward again, lips finding Yamada’s as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Yamada didn’t hesitate, this time.

Shouta would be lying if he said he hadn’t pictured this moment before. He tried not to, but when the thoughts slipped in they usually revolved around adrenaline and something fast and rough and more about actions than words. This… wasn’t.

The kiss stayed hard for only a moment before Shouta felt hands cupping his cheeks, calloused fingers resting against him and a rough thumb pressing into the scar under his eye, dragging against it like he had after the USJ incident.

Shouta wanted to know those hands. He wanted to know each dip and curve and he wanted to know what had caused each scar and callous. Shouta could spend hours kissing his way across each inch of skin, giving the man all the contact and attention he had so obviously been starved of.

He had to have been starved of touch. It was in the way Yamada clung to him like he was afraid Shouta would pull away and never return. It was in how he pushed forward with the same amount of force he pushed back, arching into the hand that Shouta had pressed against the back of his head, keeping him close.

It wasn’t rough and fast and hard, though. It may have started like that, but Shouta was becoming lost far too quickly as Yamada curled into him like he belonged there, lips moving slowly and assuredly against his, a hint of teeth pressing against his own lower lip that had Shouta shivering and fighting back any sort of noise. Yamada didn’t have the same concern, a low, soft moan leaving him when Shouta’s fingers dug against the man’s scalp.

Slowly remembering that they were in the middle of a raid scene and they were both sore and injured, Shouta carefully pulled back, almost going right back when he saw Yamada staring at him with a flushed and dazed expression.

“Come on, hero,” Shouta mumbled, indulging enough to let himself press his lips to the edge of Yamada’s jaw, skin smooth and soft as he returned the favor from so long ago and flicked at the skin with the tip of his tongue. The noise Yamada gave had Shouta swallowing roughly as he pulled away again. “Let’s get you patched up.”

“Promise not to let go?” Yamada’s voice was rough and low and nothing at all like the smooth, high tones he had as Present Mic. It had Shouta tightening his grip more than he thought possible.

“I won’t.”

                                                           ::

“How hard would it be to have an adult get a pro hero license?” Shouta kept his expression perfectly blank and even, laid back as ever as he watched Nemuri cycle through at least eight different expressions in the middle of the staff room. When her face finally settled on a sharp smirk, though, Shouta wondered how fast he could get away.

“This is for Present Mic, I take it?” Nemuri’s voice was a purr and Shouta hated her. He still gave a single, sharp nod, however. “Well, well, it looks like my little Shou-chan finally found love! Ah, they grow up so fast!”

Shouta kept silent and, by the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. Nemuri was staring at him with sharp, narrowed eyes. Shouta stared back evenly, trying not to show any fear. She could no doubt sense it.

“Shou-chan,” Nemuri cooed, voice light and sweet and containing all the horrors of the world. “When I said you found love, that’s usually when you correct me and tell me how wrong I am.” Right. There were many ways to do this.

“There’s no use in correcting you when you aren’t wrong.” In hindsight, Shouta should have expected the squeal. “Are you going to help me with this or not?”

“Of course I am!” As usual, Nemuri didn’t seem put off by his sharp voice and sharper glare at all. “Oh you’ll have to tell me all about it. Did you two finally admit to your feelings?”

“Sure.” In truth, there hadn’t been much time. The raid had been a few nights ago and Yamada had been absolutely exhausted after having an EMT on the scene use a minor healing quirk on the worst of his injuries. Shouta had followed to make sure he got home alright, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk about… what had happened. Yamada had whispered that he would see him soon, though, before leaving, and that was more than enough. “Here’s the paperwork I’ve managed to gather so far.”

“You can leave it all to me, Shou-chan!” Nemuri grabbed the paperwork, near spinning in circles she looked so happy. Shouta had the urge to tie her up and shove her away in a closet for a few days. “I’ve witnessed a true miracle! Not only is my sweet Shouta in love, but his feelings are returned!”

“You’re lucky I still need you alive.” Shouta hated to admit it, but Nemuri was far better with loopholes and paperwork than he was. Besides, this was important. He wanted to have all the paperwork ready when he finally sat Yamada down and truly talked to him about all of this. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I have things to do.”

“Right, right, go train your secret love child,” Nemuri waved off, suddenly pausing and going completely still. Shouta was already reaching for his binding cloth as Nemuri looked at him with wide eyes. “Does Mic know you have a son?”

“I am going to skin you alive and feed you to my cat,” Shouta hissed, refusing to admit any heat in his cheeks. “I do not have a son.”

“Yet.” Turning on his heel, he decided that ignoring Nemuri was the best thing he could do. “Boo, no fun. I’ll get the paperwork to you later!”

Pausing at the door, Shouta glanced back and gave a small nod before deciding that he could be cruel, too. “Mic and Shinsou have already met. He seemed delighted that I ‘had a son.’” With that, Shouta left the lounge and closed the door, smiling a little to himself as Nemuri’s pleas and whines for more information.

Heading to the indoor gym he had been spending most of his afternoons in, Shouta peeked his head in and smiled to himself as he saw Shinsou going through his warm-up routine, focused intently as he moved through his stretches. The kid had come far since that first fight in the festival and Shouta knew without a doubt that he would make it into the hero course.

“I know you’re there, Sensei.” Kid was getting more observational, too. Shouta hated how stupidly proud that made him. “It’s creepy when you just watch, you know.”

“It’s my job to watch.” Striding into the room and over to his student, Shouta helped him to his feet, noticing the look. “You have two minutes.” It had taken months to get Shinsou relaxed enough to talk with him honestly and openly. It had then taken a few minutes to realize he had made a horrible mistake. Once Shinsou was comfortable enough to talk, he didn’t stop. Shouta almost wanted to throw him in a room with Yamada and see which one ran out of words first.

“The new hero Present Mic, huh?” Shinsou had a large grin on his face, Shouta placing a hand on the teen’s head and gently tipping his head down towards the ground. All it did was cause laughter. “Is he still saying he’s a villain?”

“Not for much longer.” Not if Shouta had anything to say about it, at least. “He was never much of a villain to begin with, anyways.”

“I thought he was that night when I first met him.” Oh? That was news to him. “He came striding in like he was one of them and the guys who had me cornered started talking about how he was always fighting against Eraserhead.”

“Well, they weren’t wrong,” Shouta snorted, nudging Shinsou along. “Come on. Second set of stretches.”

“I don’t think I was afraid of him even when I heard that, though.” Shinsou kept talking even as he began the next set of stretches, Shouta shucking off his capture weapon and joining him. “He was glaring, but he was glaring at the one that was holding that muzzle-”

“Muzzle?” Shouta stumbled out of his own stretch, eyes snapping to Shinsou. He silently conceded to Nemuri that he might have grown a touch attached when he had the immediate urge to check the kid over and make sure he was alright after an event that had happened months ago.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that part?” Shinsou blinked, looking entirely nonplussed. “They were talking about how I’d fetch a nice price.” The fact he could say that with such a detached tone had Shouta feeling even more worry. He didn’t much like it. “He played them all, though. Present Mic.”

“Let me guess. He got rid of the muzzle and then screamed at them until they passed out?” Because he remembered the state those men had been in when Shouta had come across the scene.

“He took the muzzle and fooled them into thinking that he was helping and that he was going to put it on me himself,” Shinsou recounted, tongue poking out as he focused on a pose he always had problems with. Shouta was nudging him into the correct position almost absently, Shinsou flashing him a smile. “He had them all fooled even as he dropped that muzzle and put his headphones on me instead.”

“That sounds like him,” Shouta snorted, remembering that night clearly, now, and how Yamada had been without his headphones when Shouta had found him. “He’s not all that intimidating once you see that stupid smile of his.”

“Yeah. He had me hide behind the dumpster and reassured me the whole time. He made it seem like he was on their side right until he took them down.” Shinsou stood up from his stretch, entering a more relaxed one as he stretched his arms up, a small crack coming from his back. “He’s a pretty amazing hero when you think about it.”

“Vigilante, you mean?” Shouta glanced down to see Shinsou’s smile, wide and honest as he shook his head.

“No. I meant hero.” Shinsou laughed as Shouta rolled his eyes, fighting to hide a smile. Shinsou was right, though. Yamada truly was an amazing hero. A hero that… deserved to know the truth.

Next time. Next time they spoke, Shouta would tell Present Mic he knew exactly who he was and he and Yamada Hizashi could sit down and figure things out. It wasn’t going to be easy - not by any stretch of the imagination - but Shouta had a good feeling about where it was going to go from here.

It was time for Aizawa Shouta and Yamada Hizashi to be more than just Eraserhead and Present Mic.

[levy120]

Oxyhydrogen

“Not again, Varian” or Varian ends up in a dire situation after a fiery experiment gone wrong. [Pre-Series]

Production Time: 27-08-2018 to 05-09-2018 Words: 4127 Chapters: Oneshot Rating: K - K+ Ships: none Warnings: A bit of stress mayhaps I'd like to thank all my lovely Betas for their help and patience ( @wheneyelied  @papioanubis @dj-chan ) and the Tangled Discord for putting up with my Spam :)

[ This fic on ao3 ]

This was not supposed to happen!

It had come out of nowhere – the combustion – and Varian staggered back for his own safety. For a second it seemed like that might have been all already. A small little misstep, easy enough. He'd just be able to collect himself and go back to his work. Surprises were a common feature when working on a trial and error basis after all. The hard part was that one could hardly ever predict them, such as what followed after the sprinkler of his ‘fire-be-gone’ prototype had turned on. The contact of the water droplets caused what had been a small ignition before, to grow into a series of smaller explosions and a big haze of white smoke.

Coughing, Varian backed off and tried to shield his face from the smoke, eyes scanning over his tools. If the water wasn't of any help (well, at least he could account for a success  here ), then he'd just have to choke out the fire. No problem. He'd already done this procedure a dozen times, this was nothing that he couldn't handle...

Except not even a minute after the blanket had been draped over the burning metal, the bright glow of the flame seemed to increase through the fabric and the next thing that Varian was aware of was that very blanket setting on fire with one swift stroke, like someone had previously drenched it in something flammable.

That... well that... was one more thing that Varian could add onto the list of things he hadn’t seen coming. And worst of all – at this rate, the fire definitely wasn’t going to go out on its own any time soon.

As he was contemplating his next move, a single spark had jumped from the burning blanket into the nearby pot of grease from his previous experiment and set those contents aflame as well. He should have put the lid back on, dang it! WHERE WAS IT??? Thankfully it didn’t take long for the boy to spot it lying on the desk on the other side of the room. He must have moved it there when he'd been eager to write down the results of the prior test.

Well, color him less enthused now.

Varian hurried over to pick it back up – when suddenly everything was happening way too fast. First, the fire had managed to burn a hole through the blanket, re-exposing the metalfire beneath it to the water again, prompting another explosion and subsequently blowing the ‘fire-be-gone’ contraption from its hinges, causing the entire water to spill from the tank in one big surge and the burning grease to bloom into a mushroom cloud that raced along the ceiling and had quickly set the entire room on fire within a matter of seconds.

Great.

The view was absolutely mesmerizing, captivating in a horrifying way, the likes of which Varian had only ever seen in his nightmares. It took a plank of burning wood to topple from the ceiling for the young alchemist to realise that he did not have any time to waste- Finally pulling himself together and bolting to the shelf to save his research, Varian snatched as many vials as he could in his arms to carry out of the lab before the fire could spread far enough to engulf the shelf. As far as the fire itself was concerned, Varian was at a loss, but he couldn’t waste time to think about that now. Maybe, he hoped desperately, maybe he’d come up with a solution on the way.

By the time Varian returned for the second run, the fire had indeed spread further than the boy would have liked. The first flames were already licking at the shelf containing his chemicals – and much to Varian’s frustration he hadn’t come up with a proper idea yet. What wasn’t already cut off from the fire was now flooded with smoke and Varian noted a particular stench that he was certain did not result from the flames. Breathing was likely going to be a problem soon…

He’d just have to hurry then.

Clenching his jaw at the state of his lab, Varian pulled his goggles over his eyes and protectively shielded the rest of his face with the sleeve of his left arm. His welding-mask was still lying abandoned somewhere on the working-platform, too close to the fire source to safely grab, so Varian instead immediately ventured for the shelf again, aiming to safe another row of possible volatiles that he couldn’t allow to catch on fire.

Getting the chemicals was easy. Returning them – not so much. The density the smoke had reached during his absence was making the ground area nearly impossible to see save for a couple of little patches where smaller fires had broken out. By now Varian all but relied on muscle memory to navigate his way towards the door. That in itself shouldn’t have been a problem, hadn’t it been for the fact that one of the flasks in his arms was threatening to slip. While trying to balance his armful of chemicals in a way that would prevent any from falling, Varian sidestepped rather haphazardly. Somehow he’d still managed to stabilize the pile in his arms, but that relief had died quickly, as soon as the sound of a snapping wire caught his ears.

If there was ever a time for expletives, Varian was sure it was now.

Okay. Okay . O-kay. Usually, this would have been the point for Varian to take a deep breath and focus. Except now, the hazardous air around him was making that plan a very bad one. He’d just… have to pull himself together. Putting down the vials without breaking them would be the first step, and then he’d be able to slip out of his boots and everything would be fine. The raccoon trap only encased his footwear after all – See? No problem. He could handle this. Totally. This was fine.

Except things never played out that easily and after having fumbled to put down about half of the vials in his arms, another deafening boom rang from the seat of fire causing something heavy and fuzzy to knock into Varian’s back from the ceiling, almost toppling him over. It wasn’t heavy or hard enough to seriously hurt, but it had certainly come as a surprise and once Varian recovered from that little moment of shock he found the  raccoon of all things cowering nearby and glancing around like it had no idea what was going on.

“You?!” Wait! Had this thing been in the rafters ALL THIS TIME?!

No, wait! This could actually be GOOD! “Hey…” Varian tried again, his voice now more lowered to calm the little critter down. “How are you doing? Did you get hurt?” It didn’t look hurt surprisingly, but that didn’t matter right now. First and foremost, Varian wanted to make it clear that he was not a threat to the already frazzled animal. Once it seemed to have calmed down somewhat and the raccoon’s gaze had leveled with Varian’s with what appeared to be a look of recognition, the young alchemist felt a small surge of victory.

Okay, good. This could actually work!

Next, Varian tried to direct its attention to the neutralizing solution left on the desk with his written research (and that dreadful, dreadful lid). The fire hadn’t had a chance to reach that space yet, and Varian firmly planned to make that his next priority once he was free to move again. The raccoon meanwhile tilted its head in confusion, backing off slightly as it glanced at the odd flask on the table.

"Yes, yes that one," Varian urged it to comply, only to break into a coughing fit shortly after. Awe curses, this was a bad sign. The raccoon's ears drooped in pity and it tried to approach the kid, but before Varian could stop it from also padding into the residue of the trap an ominous crackling sounded from above-

Quirin, out working the field had been blissfully unaware until a screeching raccoon flew from their house in a wild frenzy and he raised a curiously concerned brow at it. The little critter, he knew, had been showing up every now and again. Varian had been more than excited to tell him about the new trap he'd developed just recently, but that design hadn't been anything too scary and certainly would have rather kept the animal in place, than causing it to run like it was being chased by the devil himself.

So what had happened?

The smoke emitting from the basement hadn’t been all too alarming before – it wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to say the least. But now, coupled with the smell of fire that accompanied it, unlike the usual stench of sulfur and other such atrocities… it was incentive enough for Quirin to toss his scythe and rush towards the old building.

"Varian!" He called desperately wishing to catch sight of his son being on his way out already, but sadly the desperate father was granted no such luck. "VARIAN!" he tried again, growing more and more agitated by the moment. Unfortunately, instead of receiving the answer he longed for, the building shook from its foundation and suppressing a curse Quirin bound straight for the lab.

The door to Varian’s lab was gaping wide open and as expected, this was where the smoke was billowing out of. It had begun to spread in the corridor leading the man towards its source and Quirin covered his face as he examined the flickering shadows from within the room. Squinting his eyes the usually stoic man attempted to catch a glimpse within the thick smoke, looking for any sign of his son with fierce attention. The smoke and fallen rubble made it impossible to see anything and Quirin already feared the worst… when the sound of faint coughing sent his heart racing.

Throwing himself into the fire to seek out the source of that sound, Quirin eventually, FINALLY, found his son collapsed under a piece of rubble. With newfound motivation the worried father pulled the offending debris away from the boy and tossed it aside to reveal the previously buried kid underneath.

By the look of it the ceiling had come down on Varian as he’d been trying to escape the very raccoon trap his son had presented to him so proudly just a couple of days ago. The weight of the impact must have pushed Varian further into the icky goo, keeping him helplessly pinned to the ground.  

The young alchemist glanced up at his father with an exhausted look of trepidation. He managed a feeble “Dad-” before falling into another coughing fit. Spurred on by this, Quirin wasted no time to try and pull his son free from the trap by force, though he let go of him the very instant the kid cried out in pain. The evidence of a dark discoloration beginning to bloom on Varian’s shoulder erased any semblance of thought from Quirin’s mind-

“The neutralizer…” It was the voice of his son that pulled him back, and the man couldn’t help but notice how raspy it had already become from its prolonged exposure to the smoke. Varian’s trapped arm prevented him from easily pointing at anything, but Quirin followed his son’s gaze instead towards a desk. Except, the desk itself had also been pelted by smaller pieces of rubble (not that Varian could see from his position). If the vial had truly been on there before, it was either broken now or had fallen to the ground where a few other flasks lay strewn about. A few of them, Quirin could tell, were broken and pooling around the boy, a couple lay within reach, while two others seemed to have been deliberately shoved into the farthest corner of the room. The contents of which, Quirin supposed, Varian probably wouldn’t want to be close by to in the effect of them catching fire.

Figuring that he didn’t have the time and not wanting to pull the risk of foolishly trying the vials for their appropriate content (Truthfully, if he knew anything about Varian’s experiments, it was that all of them could backfire, under the wrong – and oftentimes even the right circumstances), the man let his gaze roam across the room instead, swiftly spotting what appeared to be the core of the fire. The flames had spread to a troubling degree already, but there was a distinct, blinding white flare burning through the table to his left. Surely he could be of more help to his son, if he could kill the fire first and keep it from spreading even further!

Varian watched on anxiously as his father was quietly piecing together a plan and panicked when the man’s wandering eyes came to rest on a wooden vat of water in the corner of the room. "No, Dad, no, whatever you do, don't-"

But by this point, Quirin had already dragged the bucket over to the heart of the fire and attempted to douse it with one hefty swing-

As Varian had feared, the flames had only intensified upon the contact, the metal-fire bursting with an exploding flash and the grease stains on the desk and wall reignating in a fiery blaze. The shower of silver stars raining down on them that followed after, shimmering even through the heavy smoke, would have been a magnificent sight at any other time, but right now?

Now, It was downright terrifying.

"DAD!!!" Varian bellowed from his trapped spot on the ground, trying to struggle free again and failing. His eyes locked onto the bright glow where the explosion happened, desperate for a sign of his father. Varian knew he shouldn’t be looking directly into the light, it was so bright it hurt, but he couldn’t just NOT do that! Not when his father had gotten caught up in a violent explosion!

Yes, the lab was still burning, yes the flames had escalated again and had grown a whole new level of aggressive after Quirin’s attempt to fix things and yet- all of that felt small in comparison to the mere thought of losing his father. He would always be able to recreate his research, buy new chemicals and relocate his lab, but…

He wouldn’t be able to do that when neither of them lived through this.

After what felt like an eternity, to the helpless teen, Varian felt himself flooding with the biggest relief he felt in… well, ever really, when he caught sight of his father’s silhouette emerging from the brightness. Hunched over and hurt, coughing from the force of the blast, definitely not in the best shape he’d ever been, but very much alive and breathing!

"Varian," the man admonished, and the teen in question had never felt happier at being called out. His father stumbled towards the young alchemist with an arm shielding his face as he dropped down next to his son, "What have you been toying with this time?"

Not waiting for his son’s response, Quirin tried to pull him from the gooey trap again. He could no longer be as considerate of Varian’s possible injury than he had been earlier. What little time they had had before had been greatly diminished now and getting his son out, out of this trap, out of this fire, the danger, out of this lab, into the open to safe and breathable air, had quickly become Quirin’s top-priority. He didn’t care if it meant that he would have to pass up on Varian’s expertise on what exactly he’d been working on, so long as he could be sure that his son was safe.

Damage control had quickly become a luxury that Quirin knew he couldn’t afford anymore.

Varian grunted in pain when his sleeve was torn off and bit his lip to keep from yelping when his father violently tore him free from the sticky substance. He felt a new rush of tears beading in his eyes, this time not caused by the dry air or the aggressive smoke.

"Son!" Quirin urged again, and Varian clung onto him with his good arm for purchase and confirmation. So long as he could feel him under his gloves Varian could rest assured that this was real and that he wasn’t undergoing some sort of messed up fever-dream.

"It's a metal," he explained, "You're not supposed to quench it with water, but trying to choke it didn't work either," he explained frantically. Breathing felt very hard suddenly, but the pain from all the jostling was keeping him awake. The reaction to the water had been expected, given the nature of the experiment, but setting the blanket on fire? Varian couldn’t claim that he was entirely sure why it had done that; yet he felt like he should have KNOWN-

"I pulverized it so I would be able to dose it better. I was just going to see- do you remember during the last storm when it rained so badly all of our lanterns went out? I was just looking into methods to keep them burning. I'd never thought-"

Wait, no, he'd been aware of the risk. It had been calculated. He'd just never considered it properly he supposed.

"It reacted more violently than I predicted, then the rest of the powder combusted on its own and I couldn't quench it and it sparked into the grease and-" Varian's rambles became more vindictive and frantic by the second, like he truly hadn't accounted for something like this to happen and Quirin considered this turn of events with a sense of worry. If Varian of all people admitted to not knowing what was going on, then how was Quirin supposed to fix it?!

"I'm sorry." That had snapped the man out of his thoughts and he glanced down at his son to find him looking unusually rueful.

"I didn't want this. I'm sorry. You know that, right?"

Quirin gave his son a considering glance. He looked awful, even beyond his current physical state. Face and skin marred and covered by the sooth, the occasional scrapes of the volatile concoctions and of course the darkening spot that had begun to stain the cloth of his left shoulder. The still fresh tear stains on Varian's cheek weren't really helping.

With a sigh Quirin let his son down and leveled with the boy.

"You're alright. That's most important right now."

It must not have been what the teen had wanted to hear because Quirin caught his jaw clenching shortly after. Before he could question Varian on that however a villager had approached the two from behind. The accumulating smoke had apparently drawn some attention by this point and a handful of villagers had come forth to extend their help.

"Yes," Quirin explained, trying to keep his voice even. As the local chief he’d learned long ago not to feed into a building panic, but to instead nip it in the bud before it could grow. "We have a fire down in the basement. Your help is greatly appreciated."

The villager, one of their neighbors, Varian recognised, nodded and was about to leave to inform and collect some of the other residents and resources when-

"Dirt!"

That had been Varian. Their neighbor turned curiously and the young alchemist, approaching a couple of steps before thinking better of it, moved on to elaborate, "You can't quench it with water. We'll need sand. Lots of it,” he explained before nodding his head with a humble “Thank you." and backed off.

Not long after most of the village had gathered on their property and had formed a bucket brigade to safely and quickly supply the volunteers in the basement with fresh, loose ground from the nearby fields.

By the time Varian was able to return to his lab, the sun had set long ago already. A couple of the villagers were still shuffling about and sorting out what they considered trash.

What had always been Varian’s sanctuary of sorts, had now become unrecognizable to the young teen.

The walls were blackened with soot, pieces of the wooden ceiling leaned in a corner or were tossed onto a heap along with what had become of most of his furniture. Safety hazards still peered from every corner, but the ground felt soft beneath his feet, laden with sand. It was warm, and Varian swore that if it weren't for the smell of charcoal and the sharp stench of possibly toxic chemicals he could close his eyes and find a comforting memory in the sensation…

But alas... It wasn't so.

The destruction was uncanny and Varian struggled to piece together how it had even started. There was the unexpected reaction from the magnesium, the missing lid... The outcome felt far too grave for a slip-up that simple. And yet…

If he could somehow harness the power of that burst in a way they could all profit from… maybe that's how he would be able to show his gratitude for the other villagers. If they hadn't intervened after all, he would no longer have a lab to come back to.

He felt his father’s looming presence behind him before the man even had to say anything and Varian's posture stiffened. Their neighbors were giving them odd looks and one by one began to shuffle out of the scorched room. Varian gulped. It didn't take much to imagine the look on his father's face after that reaction.

"Varian..." he could here him start, but the boy raised his hand to stop him and desperately fixed his gaze on a broken vial sticking out of the sand. "Please, I know what you're going to say..."

Quirin gave pause at this, raising a curious eyebrow, but letting his son speak. Though instead of an elaborate speech, as the man had been expecting, Varian merely sighed, his posture slumping.

"This was dangerous and it won't happen again."

And with that, of course, Varian meant that he'd simply have to relocate further experiments involving grease, fire and any combination of the prior to more open and secluded spaces.

He wasn't sure what he expected after that, but it surely wasn't the firm grasp of his father's hand on his good shoulder, subtly prompting him to turn around. What else could he possibly still want from him?

"This will have to be looked after." The following prod at his bleeding, possibly sprained shoulder was expected, but still caused Varian to flinch and curl in on himself. "I'm glad I found you when I did. I wouldn't know what I'd do if-" Don't finish that thought...

"It's... it's okay," Varian offered feebly, sensing his father’s discomfort, "Really."

The silence that followed weighed heavy and awkward. Varian awkwardly began to fidget with his torn sleeve, while Quirin looked on with awkward hesitation. Awkward, awkward, awkward. None of this felt right, but… the man didn’t know how to fix it. Quirin was a chief, the kind of man who put fires out and tilled a field and listened to the concerns of his village… All they ever wanted were permission to extend their home or someone to settle a dispute.

But when it came to his own son… than Quirin more often than not felt lost. Such as was the case now.

To say that he didn’t understand the boy would have been a lie. The man knew of Varian’s love for books, both scientific and adventure stories. He knew of his curiosity and love for alchemy and science… but he did not share it, could not comprehend it beyond knowing that it was dangerous. The village had already grown weary of his son and after today, Quirin knew this wasn’t going to be changing any time soon.

But he neither had the heart to take from him what he knew was making him happy in his absence, nor the time to supervise the boy all day. One day. One day, Quirin knew Varian would end up in trouble again and he wouldn’t be around to fix it, to save him… and the elder man hated that fact.

But he could be there for his son now.

Heaving a sigh, Quirin gave Varian’s good shoulder a firm squeeze, prompting the kid (young teen, he had to remind himself) to look up at him. “Let’s go fix your shoulder.”

Varian nodded quietly and turned to move back into the house, heading to where both of them knew the bandages would be stored – and for now his father would take comfort in the fact that this day he dreaded so much still had a long time coming.

All that mattered was that it hadn't been today.

[potsiespoons]

Hey there, I stumbled upon your website because I think I have POTS, and my heart has done funny things for seven years, including randomly sending me to the floor unconscious, but mostly I thought everything was neurological/gastrointestinal until I realized my legs turning purple and red after a shower wasn't normal. I'm seeing a doctor in 16 days but am VERY nervous I won't have symptoms and they'll tell me its in my head. With POTS, can you ever have zero heart problems one day?

Hey, Anon!

Sorry for the late reply–hopefully I’m not too late to help you out before your appointment!

The diagnostic criteria of POTS includes a 30-point change in heart rate (beats per minute, or bpm) from sitting to standing. This is often (but not always) accompanied by a drop in blood pressure, which is what sends people to the floor unconscious. POTS is often diagnosed with a tilt table test, but you can get a good indication of whether or not you have it by performing the “poor man’s tilt table test” at home or in your doctor’s office. You can find the instructions for that here. 

POTS is one of those funny conditions where each day is a little different–sometimes it depends on your activity level or weather changes or whether or not you’ve had enough water, but sometimes your body is just wonky for no discernible reason. However, unless you’ve got your condition well-controlled, it’s unusual to have a day that is totally symptom-free. So I wouldn’t worry too much about not having any problems at all!

The biggest issues with diagnosing POTS are that it is A) an invisible illness, which is always tricky for doctors; B) a diagnosis of exclusion, which means you have to eliminate a lot of other things before declaring that the condition is POTS; C) a condition that presents with symptoms that vary widely from patient to patient; and D) a condition that is not rare but, unfortunately, is rarely known. All these factors add up to the horrible, “It’s all in your head” routine that doctors often pull on invisible illness patients, because they just don’t know what to do and would rather blame you for the problem than admit their own ignorance. I’ve dealt with doctors who honestly told me they had no idea what to do with me–and I’ve dealt with doctors who told me that I just wasn’t trying hard enough to get better, because they no longer knew what to do with me. As a patient, I always prefer the former, but the latter seems to be more common.

Here’s the most important thing: As long as you know it’s not “all in your head,” you need to keep fighting for answers. There are gonna be some doctors who are jerks, and there are gonna be some who are really amazing–that’s just the way it goes, as I’m sure you already know. But no matter what they say, if you know something is wrong, then don’t let them stop you from trying to figure out what it is. You have the right to fight for answers, and it may take some time to find them, but it’s definitely something I know you’ll be able to do. Good luck, Anon!

[369majorcom]

Top 10 Most Clever 스포츠토토커뮤니티 Scams Of All Time #218

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A four-flush is when you use four cards of the same suit on the board and one from your hand to complete a flush. It’s worth noting this is one of the key differences between No-Limit Hold’em and Pot-Limit Omaha. In PLO you have to use two of your cards so you can’t have a four-flush. The second round wins if the shooter rolls the come bet point again before a seven. Winning come bets are paid the same as winning pass line bets: even money for the original bet and true odds for the odds bet. There are gamblers known as the “advantage gamblers” who cannot gamble unless the odds favor them.This induces players to keep playing their machines, even though they may still be in normal mode.

If a player wins the bet he can take down all four bets instead of a single bet even though only one bet can win per roll. Many players, in order to eliminate the confusion of tossing four chips to the center of the table or having change made while bets are being placed, will make a five-unit Horn High bet, which is a four-way bet with the extra unit going to one specific number. He has no choice but to let it all ride. Fortunately, black keeps coming up. Eventually, Rosie leaves, and Bingo is able to take his winnings. The story also references the Martingale betting strategy and the "en prison" rule. If a player's first two cards are of the same denomination, such as two jacks or two sixes, they may choose to treat them as two separate hands when their turn comes around.This inequality may be corrected by rotating the players among the positions in the game.

Poker revenue in Nevada decreased slightly from $60.9 million in 1997 to $57.5 million in 2002. This can be done by simply pushing a chip forward onto the layout and telling the dealer, "This is for you." Players must wait until next roll as long as a pass line point has been established (players cannot bet don't come on come out rolls) before they can make a new don't come bet.Some casino games combine multiple of the above aspects; for example, roulette is a table game conducted by a dealer, which involves random numbers.

To determine the winning number, a croupier spins a wheel in one direction, then spins a ball in the opposite direction around a tilted circular track running around the outer edge of the wheel. The story caught on, however, and soon people throughout Europe were craving sandwiches. Seven rolled as 6–1 is sometimes called "six ace" or "up pops the Devil". 더킹카지노 Of course, these probabilities are a critical determinant of the house advantage – that is, the long-term price of the wager.

[kokkoro]

Violet Blue (6/15)

summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones.  Make love. Howl often.     Clarissa Pinkola Estes

or

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (on ao3)

March.

1.

You know March by its smell. That dense, stale feeling that seems to sit at the back of your throat as the snow melts for what will hopefully be the final time. The earth is soaked, puddles in the yard and the dips of pavement, muddy bits of slush that’s more water than snow--grass flattened and bent.

It makes work difficult. Everything blends together, runs together, and in your line of work it does nothing but make your life miserable. Anya can see it wear you thin. You know by the way she hesitates that fraction of second just outside your office, how she takes stock of your desk and the mess when she enters before glancing at you.

“Cigarette?” she asks.

A part of you recognizes the joke, but you’re too tired to play along. “Now is not the time.”

She digs one out of the pack anyway, sets it unlit between her lips. At least she has the common decency not to test your patience by lighting it. She sits on the arm of the chair in front of your desk instead, crossing her legs. “How long have you been here?”

You don’t answer.

“Harrison can wait, you know.” She takes the cigarette between her index and middle finger, holds it. “He’s cornered. Got nowhere to run and if he does we’ll find him.”

“An animal is at its most dangerous when cornered.” You stare at the file in front of you, the dates and times and places. All carefully compiled and organized, but things start to swim, and you close your eyes for a brief moment before looking up. “The sooner he’s caught the better.”

“And you’ll find him,” anya says. “You’re of no use run dry.” She flicks idly at the cigarette between her fingers, uncrosses her legs. “Go home. Enjoy what’s left of the night with clarke and the kids. We’ll be here tomorrow.”

You find it's difficult to say no to that.

You get back late--close to eleven and mere seconds from dropping everything and falling asleep in the hallway. You put away your jacket, step out of your shoes and set aside your laptop bag and your keys. When you peek into the living room you find clarke with her feet propped on the coffee table, slouched and reading one of your books by the lamp on the end table. She has her fingers in her hair, ruffling away the tension from keeping it up all day. However, the moment she catches sight of you out of the corner of her eye there in the hall her hand drops and she smiles.

“Hey,” Clarke says, and it's quiet and soft. It feels like forever but you make it across the room and to the couch. She tilts up her head and you dip low to kiss her and it takes very little effort on her part to pull you down into her side.

You go willingingly, tucking your face in the crook of her neck with a sigh. You hear her chuckle, the rumble of the contented hum deep in her chest and the rustle as she corners a page of her book and closes it.

“Took you forever,” she says as she brushes the hair gently from your face. She smells like fresh air and the woods and little traces of the kids and all the tension in you seems to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you say but she shushes you, her lips finding your forehead and pressing there absently.

“You’re going to miss these days when it’s your turn to watch the kids.”

You shake your head. “Never.”

5.

You’re ambushed the moment you walk through the door monday evening, jack first with his tiny growls and you brace for impact as he barrels into you with a grin. You’re quick to place the shopping bag on the little table next to the door, beside the bowl where you toss your keys, before more come rushing around the corner.

“Got you!” he exclaims, voice muffled by your shirt but triumphant all the same. You scoop him up under your arm and then danny too when she tackles your side, lily attaching herself to your leg, and their shrieks of laughter fill the small hallway as you carry them into the kitchen.

“Clarke,” you say a little breathless, attempting to control the wiggling, and she looks up from the kitchen table where she’s sat between madi and aden. They share a book and madi colors on sheets of loose-leaf papers, her little tongue peeking from between her mouth and she doesn’t even bother to look at you. Clarke rests her chin in her hand.

You place jack and danny carefully back on their feet once they stop kicking and then peel lily from your leg. You walk forward and brace your hands on the table, leaning over for a quick kiss that clarke smiles through.

“Welcome home,” she says.

“What did I miss?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Not much.”

You take a seat at the table across from her, volleying attention between jack and lily. You get them all cleaned up for dinner when the timer on the microwave goes off and clarke gets up to take care of the crock pot on the counter. Hands are washed with soap and warm water, but there’s stubborn smudges of marker that refuse to disappear.

You sit down at the table to eat with bowls of stew and a warm loaf of italian bread that melts butter on contact and familiar chatter settles over the kitchen. You cut up small bite-sized pieces of meat and carrots for madi, politely ask jack to chew before speaking, and sneak glances at clarke from across the table. She catches you on several occasions, but you’re not exactly being discreet.

There’s a little bit of after dinner roughhousing that clarke pretends to tolerate, but you see the slope of her lips and the way she watches you. The lot of them pull and tug, little growls and bared teeth, and you’re more than content to let them. that is until a close shave with the coffee table you and clarke only manage to avoid through heightened reflexes alone.

It’s bed after that.

You trace your steps back downstairs after things quiet down, Clarke not too far behind as you make your way to the table by the front door and the bag is right where you left it. You turn around just as she reaches the first floor landing, standing at the bottom of the stairs watching you.

When you’re close enough she reaches for you, her hand curling into your shirt and pulling you closer.

“What’s in the bag?” Clarke says, kissing your cheek.

“A birthday gift for lily.”

“Another?”

“Just something small.” You glance down at the bag and clarke’s lips tilt in a small smile. “It was cute.”

“Let me see,” she says, and you pull out this small pair of overalls. An embroidered daisy sits at the base along one of the suspenders and when you hand the garment over to clarke she traces the design with her thumb.

“No lilies?” she teases.

“Unfortunately out of stock.”

Clarke laughs softly. “It’s cute.”

You lift your shoulder in a shrug. “I thought so, too.”

6.

You remember the little cabin in the woods where lily was born with a bittersweet kind of ache. Far north near the Canada border with its long dirt driveway and dappled sunlight and the strong smell of earth and pine. You and clarke had been together for three years, known each other for longer, and yet on that march 6th four years ago you’d say spring arrived early.

She was named after the lilies you planted every year in the little box underneath the window where the sun hit the side of the house. These large casablanca lilies with their white petals and gentle scent. She was small though, and oddly quiet besides the initial wail and the soft whines that followed, but you remember holding her in your arms for the first time, clarke beside you in bed, and finding yourself unable to hold back the wide teary smile as you watched her settle there.

You miss it sometimes. The crispness of the air and the freshness inherent in it, the ever present briskness you could feel in the spaces between your ribs (the cold clarke complained about but used as a perpetual excuse to be close). The freedom you had, the wide open space. The memories of lily with you in the garden, more a hindrance than help, dirt under her nails and smudged on her face but she smiled often and smiled brightly.

It’s different here, but the laughter is the same. March 6th feels like spring here too as you watch lily sprint about the backyard in her overalls and bare feet, clarke hot on her heels, the sun warm and gradual in its descent. Remnants of blue frosting sticks to lily’s sleeve and you think you see a little bit in her hair and the others fumble about doing their own thing. There’s no more snow, and while the scent of rain lingers, it feels far behind.

You all get back later that night from a run and you find you missed it, being busy with work and all. With the kids you take it slow, they stumble and get sidetracked, following their noses which generally means into trouble. It’s less dangerous here in the small forest behind your suburban house than it was back home, but you know that it's not an excuse to be careless. You might not need to worry about bears and mountain lions and the pups biting off more than they can chew, but people--humans are another kind of monster altogether.

(the kids can pass as small foxes, lost puppies maybe, but you and clarke… to little old Mary and her toy poodle down the street you’re not anything but wolves and wolves don’t wander around the suburbs for long)

You bring up the rear, clarke nosing open the back door and then slipping inside, danny and jack following closely behind her into the hall. Madi gets stuck on the steps, lily and aden darting past and into the house, and when you get close you dip your head and pick her up gently between your teeth, carrying her inside.

It takes you and clarke over half an hour to get everybody clean including yourselves. Afterwards you get extra blankets and pillows from the closet and dump them in a pile onto the floor in front of the couch.

Lily gets to pick the movie and once you have Balto up and running on netflix you sink among the blankets and pillows and get comfortable. There’s clarke at your side, her head on your shoulder and her arm around your waist, and the kids as close to the tv as you’ll allow... You don’t even make it through half the movie before falling asleep.

When you wake up the television is muted and the room is quiet. Some children’s movie plays and the colors flicker and illuminate the otherwise dark living room. You can feel clarke’s nose pressed against your neck and you see madi curled into her side. Lily’s half draped across your stomach and you find you can’t move without disturbing the other tiny bodies asleep spread out in the divots between your legs. You try though, just a little bit--your leg is cramping and you shift. You hear clarke’s soft exhale, feel it along the side of your neck and you know she’s awake.

“You okay?” she mumbles quietly without opening her eyes, and you turn your head to kiss whatever you can reach.

“My leg hurts.”

You watch her lips stretch slowly into a smile, languid. Her fingers fan out over your ribs and you can feel the tenseness in her muscles as she stretches subtly given the space. She settles once she’s satisfied however, clears her throat just so, and you know she’s not moving.

It’s warm and that’s all that matters.

17.

You wonder what the neighbors think when your driveway is packed pull with cars on a warm saturday evening. People of all manner and shapes and sizes pile out in droves and fill your backyard. There’s no music, but there is the sizzle from the grill Gustus claimed the second he arrived (much to Jake’s dismay) and the shouts and chatter of family gathered in the house and backyard. You see lily in glances, streaks of blonde hair and her bubbly laughter, oddly enough enjoying being the center of attention.

Gustus’ grandsons, almost double digits now, include aden in their wild goose chase for bugs near the far edge of the yard near the trees. You watch them near the drooping oak and it's low slung branches, their outstretched hands and dirt smudged knees, and run your fingers over madi’s back and hope you won’t be the one to retrieve them should they get stuck.

“Where’s your wife?”

Maybe you’ll send anya to get them instead.

“She’s inside with abby,” you say, turning to anya who steps beside you in the small little observation spot you sequestered at the edge of the party for the time being. Madi hides her face in your neck, shy, grip tight where her hand is curled into the back of your shirt.

“She still not keen on parties?” anya says, gesturing to madi and you look away with a smile of your own.

You shake your head. You see clarke through the kitchen window with the pitcher of sangria and a bottle of vodka and you quirk a brow when she catches you staring through the glass. She smirks at you, mouthing something you can’t make out and abby nudges her in the side with a roll of her eyes when she notices her daughter’s attention is elsewhere.

You turn back to anya. “I think it’s the noise.”

“Or maybe you spoil her.”

“I spoil them all,” you say, and the blunt honesty at your own expense makes anya laugh.

By eleven o’clock the kids are out like lights in the living room, spread out over floor and the pull out couch in sleeping bags and an abundance of blankets. You and the other adults, however, enjoy the nice night out by the fire pit, the flames tame but nonetheless warm. Clarke sits between your legs holding what must be her fourth glass of wine. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is warm to the touch where you’ve sneaked a hand under her shirt, keeping her close against you.

Anay nurses a beer, custom brew courtesy of gustus who sits across from you with a mug of his own. He catches your eyes over the lip of his mug and you hide your smile into slope of clarke’s shoulder, shifting your attention to lincoln and, for lack of a better term, his wife. It’s a relatively new development, but more than welcome.

“It’s not too bad,” Clarke says, and you watch the firelight flicker over her cheeks.

“Certainly not ideal,” Abby comments, her hand resting on Jake’s knee. He reclines back in a lawn chair, and you wouldn't be surprised if he was already asleep.

“I never said it was ideal. I said it wasn’t bad,” Clarke replies, voice soft and even, and you feel her relax into you. “It might not be what we’re used to but it’s… it’s nice. A bit small and unusual but nice.” Her face goes a little wistful, how you can see the side of her face as she stares off into the distance. “The pickings are a bit slim though,” she says after a moment, glancing back at you with a tilt of her lips. You can already feel yourself smiling. “I’m sick of squirrels.”

Gustus’ laugh is low and just a tad bubbly. “Little fuckin’ devils,” he says with this rosey grin. Around you snickers are hidden behind hands and only abby manages to quell it well enough to offer a half-hearted ‘language.’

The fire crackles and spits and you kiss the side of clarke’s neck, reveling in the quiet hum you feel under your fingertips.

“Kindergarten?” Abby’s says, and your surprised by how well she handles the news. There’s only the one light on in the kitchen and for the sake of the kids just one room over her voice is soft, but that does little to hide the skepticism.

“Yeah, maybe...” Clarke says with this small shrug, busying herself with filling a few drinks for the adults still outside. She hands one to you to carry and you accept it with a kiss. “I think it would be good for them.”

“A public education?” abby says, looking at you for your opinion. All you do is look back.

“Being around kids their age,” clarke emends. “They know when and where things are appropriate--”

You shoot her a look, endeared. “Clarke.”

“Most of the time,” she’s quick to correct, shaking her head at you. “It’s just something we’re thinking about.”

“Well,” Abby says, and you turn to see the sincerity in her eyes as she breathes in, watching her daughter with something like softness in her eyes. “It’s up to you. You do what you think is right, but you know you can count on me if you need help.”

Clarke’s shoulders slouch with the exhale that escapes her. “I know, mom.”

31.

“I need to get another pair of shoes for jack,” Clarke tells you the following saturday night. Her voice is soft in your ear, her body draped across yours in the comfort of your bed. You like feeling her breathe, stomach to stomach and her scent all around you.

“Aden’s basically grown out of most of his pants,” you add, trying your hardest to stay awake, but it feels like a battle you’re both losing.

“You get out of work early tomorrow?”

You hum an affirmative.

“What do you say about a group trip to the mall?” Clarke asks as she snuggles closer and you chuckle softly at the sensation.

“Sounds like fun to me.”

[chronicillnessplaybook]

question! my primary said i didnt have pots bc i only hit 98bpm (i only laid down for about a minute before they stood me up and tested me) even though i had tracked my own HR and had multiple records of going up more than 40 (even up to 60)bpm just from standing. my geneticist sort of said "you probably have it" as an aside bc of EDS. is it worth it to try and get the full tilt test? and did your halter monitor show anything the first time you did it? bc mine showed v tachy, dr said "normal'

This is a very common question: what to do when you feel like you’re not getting the care you need from your doctor. If you’re just seeing a Primary and a Geneticist, if you have the resources available, and if you’re experiencing symptoms that your doctors aren’t managing, you may want to consider finding a cardiologist or a doctor that has experience with POTS in your area, so they can either diagnose it or help you definitively rule it out. If you can find a doctor that you feel listens to you, they’ll be able to tell you if a tilt table test is necessary. My first halter monitor actually showed a lot. It was very tachycardic, and between that, my lie/sit/stand test, and the tilt table test, they had zero doubt that what I had was POTS. But that took months of trying to find the right doctor and the right diagnosis. I saw literally every specialty at the Cleveland Clinic before a Rheumatologist sent me to the Syncope clinic. And that’s where the great team of doctors finally found the diagnosis. But I hadn’t heard of POTS before my diagnosis. I wasn’t looking for someone to diagnose me with POTS; I was looking for someone to figure out why I was sick.If your Primary doesn’t think it’s POTS, you should ask them why you’re experiencing your symptoms then. Keep them accountable and have them help you find your diagnosis, not just dismiss what you brought to the table.If you’re not well, find someone who can make you well. Being your own health advocate is very important.