#Nebulizers Market size

[industryinsightsandanalysis]

Nebulizer Market: A Comprehensive Overview

The nebulizer market is witnessing substantial growth, driven by increasing cases of respiratory disorders, technological advancements, and the rising geriatric population. Nebulizers are crucial medical devices that deliver medication directly to the lungs, making them essential for patients with severe respiratory conditions who cannot use inhalers. This article provides an in-depth analysis of the nebulizer market, highlighting key trends, segmentation, and regional dynamics.

Market Growth Drivers

1. Technological Advancements: Innovations in nebulizer technology are making devices more efficient and user-friendly. Companies are focusing on developing advanced models that provide better drug delivery with less effort from the user, enhancing patient compliance and outcomes.

2. Prevalence of Respiratory Disorders: The increasing incidence of asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), cystic fibrosis, lung cancer, and other respiratory conditions is a significant factor driving the demand for nebulizers. These conditions often require the administration of medication directly to the lungs, which nebulizers facilitate effectively.

3. Aging Population: The global population aged 65 and over is growing rapidly. According to the United Nations (UN), there were 703 million people aged 65 or older in 2019, and this number is projected to double to 1.5 billion by 2050. The elderly population is more susceptible to respiratory diseases, thereby increasing the demand for nebulizers.

For a comprehensive analysis of the market drivers, visit https://univdatos.com/report/nebulizer-market/

Product Segmentation

The nebulizer market is segmented into jet nebulizers, mesh nebulizers, and ultrasonic nebulizers.

1. Jet Nebulizers: These are the most commonly used nebulizers due to their cost-effectiveness, ease of use, and efficiency in delivering a wide range of medications. Jet nebulizers are expected to witness significant growth owing to the rising cases of COPD and other respiratory disorders. They are particularly effective for medications that cannot be delivered using pressurized metered-dose inhalers (pMDIs) or dry powder inhalers (DPIs).

2. Mesh Nebulizers: Known for their portability and quiet operation, mesh nebulizers are gaining popularity, especially among patients who require frequent nebulization. Their ability to deliver medication with high efficiency makes them suitable for both home and hospital use.

3. Ultrasonic Nebulizers: These nebulizers use ultrasonic waves to create aerosol droplets and are often used for specific clinical applications. They are known for their ability to deliver medication quickly and efficiently, making them ideal for acute care settings.

Modality Segmentation

The market is further divided into portable and table-top nebulizers.

1. Portable Nebulizers: Portable nebulizers are expected to grow significantly due to their compact size, affordability, and ease of use. The increasing adoption of portable devices is driven by the convenience they offer, allowing patients to manage their respiratory conditions effectively at home. For example, Omron Healthcare's launch of the portable nebulizer “OMRON NE C106” in 2020 has contributed to this trend.

2. Table-Top Nebulizers: These are typically used in clinical settings due to their larger size and higher power output. They are preferred for patients who require regular, intensive nebulization.

End-User Segmentation

The end-user segment of the nebulizer market includes hospitals & clinics, ambulatory & emergency centers, and home care settings.

1. Hospitals & Clinics: This segment dominated the market in 2020 and is expected to continue growing. Hospitals and clinics are the primary points of care for many respiratory conditions, and the availability of skilled healthcare professionals ensures proper use of nebulizers.

2. Ambulatory & Emergency Centers: These centers provide rapid treatment for acute respiratory conditions, making them an important segment of the nebulizer market.

3. Home Care Settings: The convenience and effectiveness of home nebulization are driving the growth of this segment. As more patients seek to manage their conditions at home, the demand for portable nebulizers is increasing.

Regional Analysis

1. North America: This region accounted for a significant market share in 2020, driven by a high prevalence of respiratory diseases, an aging population, and advanced healthcare infrastructure. The rapid adoption of new medical devices also contributes to market growth.

2. Europe: Europe remains a key market due to the region's robust healthcare systems and growing elderly population.

3. Asia-Pacific: This region is expected to witness substantial growth due to increasing healthcare investments and rising awareness about respiratory health.

4. Rest of the World: Other regions are also experiencing growth in the nebulizer market, albeit at varying rates depending on local healthcare infrastructure and economic conditions.

For a sample report, visit https://univdatos.com/get-a-free-sample-form-php/?product_id=22726

Key Players

Some of the major companies operating in the nebulizer market include Briggs Medical Service Company, Besco Medical, Flyp Nebulizers, DeVilbiss Healthcare International, Omron Corporation, Becton, Dickinson and Company, Feellife Health Inc., Pari Medical Ltd., Philips Respironics, Inc., and Graham Field (GF) Health Products, Inc.

Conclusion

The nebulizer market is poised for significant growth, driven by technological advancements, the increasing prevalence of respiratory disorders, and a growing geriatric population. As healthcare providers and patients continue to recognize the benefits of nebulizers, especially portable models, the market is expected to expand further. With ongoing innovation and investment, the future of the nebulizer market looks promising.

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UnivDatos Market Insights

Email - contact@univdatos.com

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[insightslicelive]

Nebulizer Market Sales Revenue Strategies Insights 2022-2032 | Rossmax International Ltd., Koninklijke Philips N.V., Omron Corporation

Nebulizer Market Sales Revenue Strategies Insights 2022-2032 | Rossmax International Ltd., Koninklijke Philips N.V., Omron Corporation

The Nebulizer Market 2023-2032 report is an authentic source of insightful data for business strategists. It provides the industry overview with growth analysis and historical & futuristic cost, revenue, demand, and supply data (as applicable). The research analysts provide an elaborate description of the value chain and distribution network. This industry study provides comprehensive data that…

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing. 

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink. 

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you. 

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself. 

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it. 

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him. 

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs. 

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream. 

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge. 

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

[sramfact]

The global medical tubing market size is projected to reach USD 7.9 billion by 2026 growing at a CAGR of 10.0% from 2021 to 2026. The increasing demand for medical tubing in various healthcare segments coupled with stringent regulations concerning healthcare safety is driving the market for medical tubing. The increase in demand for medical tubing and the growing industrial development in the emerging economies, such as APAC and South America, are driving the market

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Have you heard of the term "patterns mills"? These are shopfronts that quickly produce a pattern without any sort of testing or vetting, and then put it on the market with an AI-generated or stolen image for a very tempting price. Patterns produced this way are rampant in the cross-stitching world. However, I've recently noticed an uptick in these types of storefronts in the quilting and foundation paper piecing world. Since I'm well versed in FPP patterns, I would like to describe what an AI-generated quilt pattern looks like as well as provide other suspicious giveaways. AI will only get better, so while these mistakes are dead giveaways now, they might be fixed in the future. FPP patterns seem to be easier to replicate in AI than traditionally pieced patterns, which is why I will focus on FPP in this blogpost. However, you can apply the same clues to any sort of craft pattern (or really anything) you can buy online. Important: AI-generated images are not prohibited on Etsy. However, within their policies they state that you must disclose if you used AI within your listing, and these shops do not have that disclosure.

Below is a listing for a wolf face FPP pattern. When you first look at it, does anything seem suspicious?

First, I would like to draw your attention to the scissors in the bottom left of the photo. These scissors are physically impossible to use and are literally melting into the yellow cutting mat. The lines of this cutting mat are unresolved, as are the lines on the green cutting mat in the bottom right corner. These are your first giveaways. However, not all images have background sewing items that look a little funny. Let's take a look at the actual "completed quilt."

The first thing I notice is that the only background seam line (from this apparently foundation paper pieced quilt) is the one in the top left corner. The seam is merely hinted at and does not go all the way to the edge. Additionally, I notice that the eye is too round. One could argue that the cover photo is merely an enhanced version of the completed quilt, but there are no completed quilt photos in the listing. Another clue for identifying AI generated quilt images is that there are a ton of colors/prints used. The prints in this image seem nebulous and the prints around the eye whiskers (?) lose a lot of fidelity. The individual fabrics themselves do not have consistency.

In the image above, the things I notice are that there are curved seams within the gray and white colors. A typical FPP pattern would not have curved piecing interspersed between regular straight seam piecing. Also, piecing lines that are useless, especially visible in the bluish-gray piece on the left. The amount of piecing within that patch does not make sense. Below you will see another listing from a different Etsy seller.

From afar, it looks really good. Plus, the seller has great reviews! And it's a Bestseller! But let us take a closer look…

The first thing that sticks out to me is how the whiskers of the lion are resolved. You can see where they fade into the muzzle of the lion without a realistic piecing line. Some of the patches are straight up "smeary" and wrinkly, a telltale sign of AI. The program does not know how to accurately render the design so it creates an approximation. These are things that are hard to see unless you zoom in. Below is a listing for a legitimate lion FPP pattern from designer Pride and Joy Quilting so you can see the difference. It is clear that the first image is an actual completed quilt top.

Beyond the AI-generated cover quilts, I'd also like to cover other signs of a pattern generated from a pattern mill.

For the lion pattern, the cost is only $8.63. This is very cheap for what is supposed to be a full sized quilt pattern with a multitude of templates.

Both of these sellers have very generic names. While not an immediate cause for concern, I recommend being skeptical.

There are no actual completed quilt images within the listing.

Both of them are considered "Bestsellers" on Etsy, but the shop with the wolf pattern only has 10 reviews. It makes me wonder about the disparity between "buyers" and reviewers.

The 5 star reviews for the lion pattern are extremely generic and talk only about "how much their friend Lisa will enjoy the pattern" or "how easy it was to download." These are not helpful for understanding the quality of the actual product. The 1 star reviews are way more descriptive about the issues the pattern has. This makes me wonder about fake reviews.

Both of these patterns include a full layout of the FPP diagram within the listing. I personally would never do this and I don't know many designers who would.

The lion pattern says this within its description: "Before making a purchase, we'd like to inform you about some important aspects. The product stands out for its template, design, and print quality, serving as a valuable tool for sewing projects. The instructions include two techniques: direct fabric marking (with visible stitches) and invisible stitches. Both are general guidelines and not step-by-step instructions. You can choose these techniques or any other that you consider suitable based on your experience and preference. There are no refunds for the digital file. We appreciate your understanding and are available for any questions." This demonstrates to me that the pictures are not accurate because they are clearly attempting to depict FPP and are hoping that you won't read the description until it is too late.

Why is every lowercase i in the wolf pattern missing its dot? Like, why? I find that strange and off putting.

So, how do you avoid accidentally purchasing a pattern like this?

The first step is gaining experience in recognizing listings that seem a bit fishy. Use the bullet points listed above to see what kind of feeling you get when looking over a listing. I also recommend finding out more about the designer from their website or from their social media. Not all legitimate designers have these necessarily, but it's a great place to start. Try messaging the shop owner on Etsy. Does it sound like they know what they are even talking about? You'll then build a good list of designers and shops you trust. A big and worrisome thing to remember is that AI will only get better and produce better looking images. This will make it harder to identify pattern mills by the image alone. However, the clues that I've listed will help if you put them all together and come to a conclusion. I suggest using them for all your online shopping. I hope this helps!

[aritany]

How do you write a good, engaging summary?

hey anon!

this is a great question! i'm assuming here by summary you mean the equivalent of what goes on a book's back cover or dustjacket, and not the behemoth of a 10-page summary editors ask for, SO.

i answered an ask a while back talking about writing a hook and finding your 'ooh' factor which might be a good launching point, but let's say you've got that and you want to take that and give it some bones.

ideally, your summary's going to take you back to third grade and answer the big Ws. you can do this in bullet points. don't worry about making it taste good yet, we're just gathering intel.

who? (who is your story about?)

what? (what are they trying to accomplish?)

when? (this is sometimes less important. ask yourself: is the timeline of this story essential information? the when question is only essential as it pertains to your characters. sometimes you can answer the "when" just by saying "high school senior" but sometimes, if, say, your book is about the chernobyl disaster, include some "when" details)

where? (again with above: sometimes important, sometimes not)

why? (THIS IS THE IMPORTANT ONE. what are the stakes? what happens if your character doesn't accomplish their "what"? your why is your foundation. spend the most time here. squeeze that lemon for all it's worth.)

and sometimes, how? (in the cases of summaries for literary agents, they often want the how, too. i know. you gotta spoil the book. it SUCKS, but it's the way to make sure your plot has good bones. if you're writing a dustjacket, skip this step.)

once you've got that, time to polish.

(oh my god! how does one polish such a nebulous stack of information? all i have are these bullet points, and they don't even taste good!)

my favourite thing is to riff off the rubber duck method, except instead of a duck, i use an imaginary teenager (i write YA, tailor to fit your needs) who doesn't give a fuck about ANYTHING.

i'm going to tell this teenager about my story, and my goal is to win them over, but the whole time i'm talking, they're asking me one question: why should i care?

this teenager is giving my dust jacket a single glance-over. what do i have to convey to them during that single moment? how do i get them to stop and read further?

i LOVE starting with a question. a little hypothetical, if you will. my big marketing question for my debut, dead girls don't say sorry, is: what does it mean when your best friend dies and your instinct is relief? question or not, put your 'ooh' factor first.

my best summaries read roughly like this (and this is a good starting point, in any case):

[ooh factor!!]

[character A, who is Relevant Because Here's Why (include your where and when here, if applicable), is in a Sticky Situation]

[Oh My God, It's Even Stickier! tell some more about why, now!]

[repeat for other narrators, if necessary]

[if character a can't X, then Y, and if Y, then Z. (and, if that's not enough, talk about why Z is bad) and if Z, then.... ????]

[frisbee toss to your audience. can character A solve their problem before all is lost? (don't say this verbatim. that's corny. find a way to make that question speak to the story you're telling)]

i hope that helps, anon!

(p.s. if you're writing a summary that's straight up a recap of the story, like you often have to when querying, that's easier. you just get to tell your story, bite-sized. tell the story as it happens, top to bottom. don't leave out how they solve it, either.)

[misseffect]

7 snippets, 7 mutuals

Thanks for the tag @otemporanerys!

Tagging a lot of people who have already been tagged: @diaphanouso @helila @dispatchwithlove @kalliesa @angry-jager @dwarrowdams @serendipitys-teapot

All of these are from my Mass Effect F1 AU: Flashpoints

+++

Singapore Shower

One moment Garrus is holding her by the arms, water rolling over his shoulders – there's a knotted look on his face; his mouth is moving but no sound is coming out, which is weird – and the next she's lying on her back on the shower room floor.

"Shepard? Hey – c'mon."

Garrus is kneeling beside her, pinching her arm gently, holding her legs in the air with his shoulder. She feels heavy, like her bones are full of syrup, and the thumping behind her eyes is keeping time with the fuzz crowding her vision.

"Shit."

"It's alright." He sounds further away than he should, and so does the water still beating down on his back. "You passed out for a second, that's all."

+++

Shepard Does An AMA

probinguranus6969 - Would you rather fight 20 duck-sized Jokers or 1 Joker-sized duck?

janeshepard54 - I know your reddit handle joker

probinguranus6969 - damn it

+++

FaceTime Antics

She fishes another biscuit out of the packet while Garrus props his phone up on the side and heaves his suitcase onto the bed. It’s a nice enough room from what little she can see: old-fashioned, like the rest of the place, but in a plush, cared-for sort of way.

“Oh, by the way–” Crunch. “–you don’t happen to know how the dark web works, do you?”

He unzips the case and flips the lid. “Not really. Why?”

“I got called up for drug testing at Paul Ricard and my sample went missing,” she says, chewing glumly. “Joker’s winding me up about it; thinks someone’s selling vials of my piss on the black market.”

+++

Normal Thoughts To Have About Your Bestie's Car

The second he starts to ask the car for more, everything changes. 

It feels familiar – in fundamentals, sure, in throttle and steering output – but there’s something else, too. It’s more pliable than the Hierarchy car, more predictable than anything Omega or Archangel could give him; it's unlike anything he’s even driven, but somehow he knows it. Like catching a familiar smell in a place you've never visited.

And then it hits him.

It's not the car. It's her.

He knows Shepard's driving style almost as well as his own – reactive and twitchy, nose-heavy, late-braking, all faith and guts – and this thing lives and breathes it. It takes everything he's got to give, the good and the bad, and amplifies it tenfold. It grins and says c’mon, I dare you.

It’s not just a car designed with her in mind. It’s like wearing her clothes.

+++

Not To Be Dramatic But I Would Die For Mr Blobby

Shepard rounds the corner into the kitchen to find Mr Blobby loitering by the back door like a pair of cow-coloured slippers.

“He’s in a time-out," Hannah calls through the open window, paintbrush in hand.

“Aww, Blob.”

Mr Blobby makes a mournful rrrr sound. There’s a dab of brown paint on the end of his tail.

+++

Shepard Has PTSD Probably

It's not a nightmare really. Sure, it wakes her up every few hours, sweaty and unrested, and when she closes her eyes again, it drops her right back where she left off, but it's not scary. She's not being hunted or chased. She's not standing at the front of class with no clothes on. Nobody's dying.

Shepard's driving a road car on suburban streets - shifting, nebulous streets; faintly European but also faintly not - and somewhere in the distance, there's a fire.

There's a fire and she has to reach it.

She can see a column of black smoke in the distance, catch the odd lick of orange between buildings, but every turn she takes feels wrong and by the time she doubles back, the smoke isn't where she thought it was. It's in her rearview mirror, or out to her left when it was on her right. Sometimes a fire engine blasts past her in the opposite direction, the wailing siren fading before she can follow.

+++

Everybody Hates Conrad

Mathematically Shepard could win the Championship as early as Japan, five races before the end of the season, and it shows. Media seems to come naturally to her in a way it never has to him, but still; he’s never seen her so relaxed this early in the year. Al’Jilani can’t draw her in with pointed questions about Anderson giving her an easy ride and she doesn’t even bother taking a bite out of Conrad Verner.

“Any comment on rekindling your relationship with Thane Krios?” he asks, his big square face expectant.

Shepard scratches under her chin. “Why am I always the last person to find out who I’m dating?”

There’s a ripple of laughter. Emily is checking her watch and people are starting to shuffle their belongings around.

“Are you going to answer the question?” Conrad calls, but by then there’s enough ambient noise for everyone to plausibly ignore him.

[cjlinton]

TTRPG Goals: 2023

These are my goals for everything tabletop roleplaying game related in 2023.

Goals is a little bit of an oversimplification: some of these goals are concrete and entirely in my control. Others are more nebulous intentions that depend in varying degrees on the willingness and whims of others.

I find it useful to be honest about my progress for accountability—even when there is no progress, to see others’ processes, and to share what my goals even are in case someone is game to help me accomplish them. So they are listed below, and I’ll aim to provide updates every few months.

Play

Play 15 unique TTRPGs.

Add 2 epistolary RPGs to my ongoing asynchronous games.

Run Lady Blackbird again.

Run 1 short campaign.  

Say no to games when I don’t have time.

Continue to grow as a GM and facilitator.

Improve my setting and character descriptions.

Create better reference materials for my players, when needed.

Get better at scoping world size and narrative complexity for shorter campaigns and one-shots.

Better communicate my own needs and desires when I GM.  

Creation

Release Plant Girl Game.

Finish a draft of Neon City Next by June 2023.

Finish a draft of The Prince of Nothing Good by end of 2023.

Draft 3 additional Tomorrow on Revelation III mission modules.

Write an adventure, supplement, or playbook for 1 game I did not design or edit in house at Sly Robot Games.

Edit 1 game we did not design in house at Sly Robot Games.

Create something for #Dungeon23 / #City23 every day, even and especially if it’s just scrawling down a couple words.

Community

Share recommendations and reviews for games as I play them.

Run playtests for friends.

Come up with a way to share my marketing and communications knowledge with other indie TTRPG creators.

Attend 1 TTRPG convention, if safe to do so.

Wishlist games I’d like to play in 2023:

Apocalypse Keys

Bluebeard’s Bride

Errant

Hard Wired Island

Heart

Jiangshi

Lady Blackbird

Monster Care Squad

Neon City Next

Sleepaway

Thirsty Sword Lesbians

Tomorrow on Revelation III

Under Hollow Hills

Wickedness

Yazeba’s Bed & Breakfast

As always, curious to see what other folks are planning for next year if you're inclined to share!

[heathcareforallworld]

Micro Mesh Nebulizer Market Research: Comprehensive Analysis and Forecast to 2032

The global healthcare industry is experiencing significant transformation with advancements in drug delivery systems, and one such area seeing rapid evolution is the Micro Mesh Nebulizer Market. Micro mesh nebulizers are medical devices used to administer medication in the form of a mist that can be inhaled directly into the lungs, a critical treatment method for respiratory diseases like asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), and bronchitis. These devices stand out from traditional jet and ultrasonic nebulizers due to their compact size, precision in drug delivery, and the use of advanced vibrating mesh technology. As the prevalence of respiratory diseases rises worldwide, the micro mesh nebulizer market is anticipated to experience robust growth through 2032. This article explores the market dynamics, drivers, challenges, and future trends shaping the micro mesh nebulizer market.

Market Overview and Growth Drivers

The micro mesh nebulizer market has been growing steadily due to the increasing incidence of respiratory disorders. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), respiratory diseases are among the leading causes of death globally, with millions of people suffering from chronic conditions that require consistent treatment. Inhalation therapy, especially with nebulizers, plays a critical role in managing these diseases. Micro mesh nebulizers offer a more effective and convenient treatment option compared to traditional inhalers and nebulizers, which is driving their adoption.

Micro Mesh Nebulizer Market Size was estimated at 1,038.95 (USD Billion) in 2023. The Micro Mesh Nebulizer Market Industry is expected to grow from 1,119.68(USD Billion) in 2024 to 2,038.3 (USD Billion) by 2032. The Micro Mesh Nebulizer Market CAGR (growth rate) is expected to be around 7.77% during the forecast period (2025 - 2032).

Several factors are contributing to the growth of the micro mesh nebulizer market:

Rise in Respiratory Disorders: Respiratory diseases such as asthma and COPD are becoming more prevalent, primarily due to increasing pollution levels, smoking habits, and urbanization. As these conditions require long-term treatment, the demand for nebulizers is growing, with micro mesh nebulizers becoming the preferred choice for their accuracy and portability.

Technological Advancements: Continuous advancements in medical technology are improving the efficiency and functionality of micro mesh nebulizers. These devices now offer quieter operation, faster drug delivery, and enhanced battery life, making them more appealing for both clinical and home use. This has led to higher adoption rates among patients and healthcare providers.

Aging Population: The global aging population is another key driver of the market. Older adults are more susceptible to chronic respiratory diseases, and nebulization is a preferred method of medication administration for this demographic due to its ease of use and effectiveness in delivering medication directly to the lungs.

Portability and Convenience: The portability of micro mesh nebulizers has revolutionized drug delivery for patients with respiratory conditions. Unlike traditional nebulizers, these compact devices can be easily carried, allowing patients to receive treatment on the go, enhancing their quality of life.

Challenges Facing the Market

Despite the promising outlook, the micro mesh nebulizer market faces several challenges that could impact its growth:

High Cost: Compared to traditional jet nebulizers, micro mesh nebulizers are relatively expensive due to the sophisticated technology involved. This can be a barrier for adoption in low-income countries or regions with limited healthcare budgets. However, as the technology matures and becomes more widespread, costs are expected to decrease, making the devices more accessible.

Competition from Other Drug Delivery Systems: Other respiratory drug delivery systems, such as metered-dose inhalers (MDIs) and dry powder inhalers (DPIs), are well-established in the market. These devices are often cheaper and more familiar to both patients and healthcare providers, which could limit the expansion of the micro mesh nebulizer market.

Regulatory Hurdles: Medical devices, including nebulizers, are subject to stringent regulations regarding safety and efficacy. Delays in regulatory approvals, especially in emerging markets, could slow down the introduction of new micro mesh nebulizer products, impacting overall market growth.

Market Segmentation and Regional Analysis

The micro mesh nebulizer market can be segmented based on product type, end-user, and region:

Product Type: The market can be classified into reusable and disposable micro mesh nebulizers. Reusable nebulizers are widely used in home healthcare settings due to their long-term cost-effectiveness, while disposable nebulizers are primarily used in hospitals and clinics for one-time treatments.

End-User: The key end-users of micro mesh nebulizers include hospitals, clinics, and home care settings. The home care segment is expected to witness significant growth, driven by the growing preference for at-home treatments, especially for chronic respiratory conditions.

Regional Analysis: Geographically, the market is divided into North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America, and the Middle East & Africa. North America dominates the market, largely due to the high prevalence of respiratory diseases, advanced healthcare infrastructure, and the early adoption of new technologies. Europe follows closely behind, with a growing demand for portable nebulizers. The Asia Pacific region is projected to witness the fastest growth due to increasing healthcare expenditure, a rising aging population, and expanding access to healthcare services.

Future Trends and Market Outlook

The micro mesh nebulizer market is poised for substantial growth over the next decade, with technological advancements playing a crucial role in shaping its future. Manufacturers are focusing on developing more affordable, compact, and efficient devices to cater to a broader demographic. Moreover, the growing trend of telemedicine and home healthcare services is likely to fuel demand for portable and user-friendly nebulizers. Furthermore, strategic collaborations between pharmaceutical companies and device manufacturers to develop integrated drug delivery systems are expected to drive market innovation. With rising healthcare awareness, increased government support, and a growing focus on patient-centered care, the micro mesh nebulizer market is set to expand significantly through 2032.

[credenceresearchdotblog]

The demand for Asthma Therapeutics was valued at USD 26184.20 million in 2023 and is expected to reach USD 40620.29 million in 2032, growing at a CAGR of 5.00% between 2024 and 2032.Asthma, a chronic respiratory disease characterized by airway inflammation and bronchoconstriction, affects millions worldwide. The growing prevalence of asthma, coupled with increasing awareness of the disease and advancements in treatment options, is driving the global asthma therapeutics market. This article delves into the market's current landscape, key trends, growth drivers, and future outlook.

Browse the full  report at https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/global-asthma-therapeutics-market

Market Overview

The global asthma therapeutics market is a rapidly evolving sector, fueled by the rising number of asthma patients, innovations in drug delivery systems, and a growing emphasis on personalized medicine. According to market research, the asthma therapeutics market was valued at approximately USD 20 billion in 2023 and is projected to reach over USD 30 billion by 2030, growing at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of around 5-7%. The market's expansion is attributed to an increase in environmental pollution, lifestyle changes, and genetic predispositions that contribute to the disease's rising incidence.

Key Market Segments

The asthma therapeutics market is segmented based on drug class, route of administration, and distribution channels. The major drug classes include:

1. Bronchodilators: These medications, including short-acting beta agonists (SABAs) and long-acting beta agonists (LABAs), help relax airway muscles and are often used for quick relief during asthma attacks. 2. Anti-inflammatory Drugs: Corticosteroids and leukotriene modifiers are the most commonly used anti-inflammatory drugs. They help reduce airway inflammation, providing long-term control of asthma symptoms. 3. Biologics: Targeting specific components of the immune system, biologics are increasingly popular for treating severe asthma. Examples include omalizumab, mepolizumab, and dupilumab, which have shown significant effectiveness in reducing asthma exacerbations.

4. Combination Drugs: These include a combination of bronchodilators and anti-inflammatory agents, offering comprehensive management of asthma symptoms.

Route of Administration

Asthma drugs are primarily administered via inhalers, which provide direct delivery of medication to the lungs. Inhalers are preferred due to their rapid onset of action and lower systemic side effects compared to oral medications. Other routes include oral tablets, injectables, and nebulizers, which are used depending on the severity of the condition and patient preference.

Distribution Channels

The distribution of asthma therapeutics occurs through hospital pharmacies, retail pharmacies, and online pharmacies. With the rise of e-commerce, online pharmacies have gained popularity, offering patients convenience and often competitive pricing.

Key Trends Driving the Market

1. Advancements in Inhaler Technology: The development of smart inhalers equipped with sensors that monitor medication usage and provide feedback to patients is revolutionizing asthma management. These inhalers help improve adherence to treatment and optimize drug delivery, leading to better patient outcomes.

2. Personalized Medicine: With advances in genetic research, there is a growing focus on personalized asthma treatment. Biologics, for instance, are tailored to target specific pathways involved in severe asthma, offering a more effective approach than traditional therapies.

3. Rise of Biologics: Biologics have emerged as game-changers in asthma therapeutics, particularly for patients with severe, refractory asthma. These drugs target specific immune pathways, reducing inflammation and decreasing the frequency of asthma attacks.

4. Growing Awareness and Diagnosis: Increased awareness of asthma symptoms and improved diagnostic techniques are leading to earlier detection and treatment. Governments and health organizations are conducting awareness campaigns, further boosting the market.

Challenges

Despite the positive growth trajectory, the asthma therapeutics market faces challenges, such as the high cost of biologics, side effects associated with long-term use of corticosteroids, and limited access to advanced therapies in low-income regions. Moreover, the lack of adherence to prescribed medications remains a significant issue, affecting treatment outcomes.

Future Outlook

The future of the asthma therapeutics market looks promising, with ongoing research and development focusing on novel drug formulations, improved drug delivery systems, and gene therapy. The integration of digital health tools, such as mobile apps that track symptoms and medication use, will also enhance asthma management. Moreover, the expanding market presence of biosimilars is expected to make advanced therapies more affordable, further driving market growth.

Key Players

Teva Pharmaceutical Industries Ltd.

GSK plc

Merck & Co., Inc.

F. Hoffmann-La Roche Ltd.

AstraZeneca plc

Boehringer Ingelheim International GmbH

Sanofi S.A.

Koninklijke Philips N.V.

Becton, Dickinson and Company (BD)

Covis Pharma B.V.

Segmentation

By Drug Class

Inhaled Corticosteroids (ICS)

Muscle Relaxants

Combination Therapies (ICS/LABAs)

By Drug Class

Combination Therapies (ICS/LABAs)

Long-Acting Beta Agonists (LABAs)

Short-Acting Beta Agonists (SABAs)

Inhaled Corticosteroids (ICS)

Oral And Intravenous Corticosteroids

Leukotriene Modifiers

Other Drug Classes

By Treatment Type

Long-Term Asthma Control Drug Class

Quick-Relief (Rescue) Drug Class

By Route of Administration

Topical

Oral

Injectables

By Distribution Channel

Brick & Mortar

Hospital Pharmacies

E-Commerce

By End-use

Hospitals & Clinics

Ambulatory Surgical Centers

Homecare Settings

By Region

North America

US

Canada

Mexico

Europe

Germany

France

UK

Italy

Spain

Rest of Europe

Asia Pacific

China

Japan

India

South Korea

South-east Asia

Rest of Asia Pacific

Latin America

Brazil

Argentina

Rest of Latin America

Middle East & Africa

GCC Countries

South Africa

Rest of the Middle East and Africa

Browse the full  report at https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/global-asthma-therapeutics-market

About Us:

Credence Research is committed to employee well-being and productivity. Following the COVID-19 pandemic, we have implemented a permanent work-from-home policy for all employees.

Contact:

Credence Research

Please contact us at +91 6232 49 3207

Email: sales@credenceresearch.com 

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )