#heart rate training benefits

[happywhispersdream]

The Complete Guide to Target Heart Rate Zones and Monitoring for Exercise

Target heart rate and heart rate zones are crucial concepts for anyone looking to optimize their exercise routine and training. Your heart rate serves as an objective measure of exercise intensity and ensures you are working at the right levels to achieve your fitness goals, whether that be improving cardiovascular health, building endurance, or boosting speed and power. Read More

[snaileer]

Call to My Bedside - Part 2

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/733019972168761344/call-to-my-bedside

Danyal wakes the next time with a weight to his limbs. From the moment he opens his eyes, he realizes he is not where he is supposed to be.

This is a medical bay, but it is not in the league, the constant twittering of League doctors monitoring his health is suspiciously gone. No shadows on guard outside the door.

The most glaring thing though, there was no Lazarus Water in his veins.

Perhaps Ra’s had decided he was no longer worth the expense, had decided-

No.

It was something else. That wasn’t an option he would consider.

Danyal tested the feeling of thin metal on his right wrist. Handcuffs, not shackles. It was odd.

But again, this wasn’t the league.

But he’d need to go back before Ra’s became angry. Danyal couldn’t fail.

He glances to the door as it opens, an old man-the one from before- and a younger, slender man standing just behind him.

Danyal stays still, his breathing even, forcing his heart to stay at a constant, stable rate. He watches them, analyzing.

The old man blinks, “It’s good to see you’re awake, young sir-,” He steps into the room, left foot a second slower, old weakness?- English accent, in Europe? the man behind him follows- stiff posture, rib injury, core focused strength, gymnast, combat trained and familiar- Richard Dick Grayson, Nightwing, he’s in America, Batman- “You gave us quite the shock earlier, myself especially.”

Nightwing watched Danyal warily, he saw him as a threat, and by the angle of his feet, a threat to the older man. He remembers now, he’d attacked him before, Nightwing was here to prevent it again.

They are heroes.

He was a part of the League of the Assassins.

He doesn’t fit here, could never.

Danyal considers the merits of speaking English, he wants to, deeply, and perhaps it would even benefit the situation; but his chest clogs with fear before he can even compose a sentence. It’s been too long anyways, the League dialect is easier.

“How long have I been here?” Danyal says, still not moving enough to even jostle the cuff at his wrist.

Nightwing sighs deeply, “We rescued you and Damian from a League of Assassins boat yesterday.” The words of the language are stilted, either by unfamiliarity or awkwardness, and who’s Damian? There’s a pause, “Do you know who I am?” Nightwing asks, caution in the words.

Danyal takes a deep breath, finally sitting up, despite the rattling of the chain on the cuff, “You are Nightwing, Dick Grayson, correct?”

Nightwing nods, his eyes briefly flitting to the elder man, “And you?”

Danyal’s eyes narrow, trying to find the trap, “I am Danyal Al Ghul, Heir of the Demon’s head, Blood of the Batman.”

Danyal watches the eyebrow of the old man tick up in his peripheral.

Nightwing pinches the bridge of his nose, “God I can’t believe Talia did it again,” He murmurs under his breath. In English. And Danyal would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear the language again, even just a little.

“Perhaps it would be best to bring Master Bruce back from his meeting,” the old man says pointedly. Danyal ignores as he changes and resets the IV attached to him, familiar with the autonomous care. With or without his consent.

“I’ve already notified him, he should be here soon.”

“Very good. In the meantime,” he turns to Danyal, “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. It seems I did not get the chance to introduce myself the last time you were awake.”

Danyal can’t help but blink at the almost joking tone Alfred says it with, knowing that Danyal had been the one to knock him out. It makes his lip twitch, and he silently huffs, surprising himself with the action.

The amusement vanishes as the door opens once more, footsteps barely audible in the second before.

The man standing there is large, tall and broad shouldered, strong- dangerous, calloused hands from training- his eyes stay glued to Danyal, blue and steady amidst the square jaw and sharp features, black hair tussled like he’d been rushing, just like Dad always-

Danyal feels his jaw wire shut, back straightening.

The thin chain of the handcuff jingles in the sudden silence.

This he remembers. This is Batman. The Dark Night of Gotham. The Detective.

The source of every expectation Ra’s Al Ghul has ever placed on Danyal.

He feels his face try to screw into a sneer, because he hates him and everything he’s done that has ever affected Danyal, but his face remains still. Controlled. Because there’s nothing he can do about it anyways.

Batman had introduced himself before.

As another name. A civilian. His training forces him to remember it.

Bruce Wayne.

It means next to nothing to him. But the man doesn’t stop looking.

It’s Nightwing that speaks next, “Danyal, this is Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father.” The smile is at odds with the weary tone of the words, “He was there when we saved you and Damian a few.. yesterday. God that feels like longer.”

Saved? The sentiment makes him want to scoff. He doesn’t, because Batman’s eyes already narrow with Nightwing’s words, and Danyal doesn’t need to make it worse.

A thousand more questions rush through his head. Each one bitten back with practiced force.

Instead he dips his head briefly, aiming for a show of respect, whatever that might mean here. However little he means it. Danyal can adjust regardless.

“Hn.”

Danyal lifts his head. That was the only response?

They uproot him entirely, chain him, throw him into unfamiliar waters where everything-everyone- is in new danger and all he does is grunt?

Danyal bites his tongue hard, letting his head lift, carefully non-defiant. He’s not quite sure his eyes get the message because he can feel the glare from them.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred pipes in, tone sharp.

Batman sighs, but the set of his shoulders changes, no longer so heavily lined with suspicion.

“What do you know about why Damian was-" There’s an even sharper cough from Alfred. Another sigh, “Fine. What has Talia already told you about me?”

Danyal glances between them, purposefully keeping his eyes from jumping down to the metal around his wrists.

No one else speaks.

“I know that you are Batman, the Dark Night of Gotham. You are also the detective, great enough to impress the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul. The Demon’s daughter informed me you were dead.”

There’s a slight twitch on Batman’s face. “I survived Darkseid’s attack, although it led to me being lost in time and assumed dead for nearly a year,” Batman’s eyes flick across the room, almost considering, “Red Robin was responsible for my return just over a year ago.”

Red Robin. Timothy Drake. The one Ra’s favored. The second source of expectations placed on Danyal.

And he was lost in time? What did that consist of, what did it mean for Batman? Did it matter if it didn’t affect Danyal?

“I see.” He says. Silence lingers. They still expect him to speak. He hedges his bets, asking something he actually cares about, “Why am I here, Batman?”

The question seems to be expected and yet still strike with surprise.

“I… regrettably, did not know you were… present at the league. I do not believe in their methods and would not have left you there had I known.”

And that makes it all okay. Danyal wants to scream. But he narrows his eyes instead, only more suspicious, “And why were you there then?”

“We followed the shadows that had taken Damian. He told us who you were.”

Danyal pauses, leaning back slightly. They were willing to answer his questions, to actually talk with him. Of course they were, they were meant to be heroes.

But it had been so long since he’d actually talked with anyone other than Ra’s, and their conversations were a battleground of expectations and tests.

He fights with his conscious knowledge of this and the habits that have been beaten into him so thoroughly.

“Who is… Damian?” He asks, watching their reactions for the answer.

All three seem surprised by the question. But not angry. Of course not, he reminds himself.

“You’ve mentioned him several times like I am supposed to know who he is.” He had barely been told anything since his forceful return, and any knowledge he had from before stopped at Dick Grayson. And then Timothy Drake.

Danyal had purposefully ignored the hero world he had lived in-

He forces his eyes up to meet Batman’s, noting the hesitance in the set of his shoulders.

“Damian is… your brother. He was.. Talia’s son, before he came to me just a few years ago. He was raised in the league.”

Danyal blinks, anger disbelieving in his chest. Is that what she did?

“When.”

There’s no response, save a twitch of Batman’s eyebrow.

“When,” Danyal says again, his breathing controlled, “Did he come to you? How old was he? How long ago?”

They seem to pick up on the way Danyal’s tone has changed. Good for them.

“Nearly three years ago. He was ten.” Batman answers, voice rough. Tinged with curiosity and unfulfilled questions.

Danyal breathes deeply, his heart rate picking up against his wishes. Icy rage flares.

The beeping of the machine at his side matches the pounding in his chest, uneven, unbalanced, uncontrolled.

Keep it under control. Keep it. Under. Control.

Control is power. Control is strength. Control is the only thing that will ever be enough.

He breathes deeper. Holding his breath. Once. Twice.

The beeping is steadier with each tone.

“Danyal?” An old voice asks beside him. It’s Alfred. The butler.

Danyal shifts his jaw from its clench, “I am fine.” His eyes slide back into focus, still on Batman, “Damian is your son then.”

Batman nods solemnly, a heavier sigh through his chest, “Talia and I have had an… interesting relationship. But I loved her. Once. She has never failed to make me regret it.”

That was why she had visited him. Her words. What she had almost said. Talia had wished he was Damian, wished he was Bruce. Just not Danyal of course. The weapon she discarded for a better version. One she could love.

One who would be heir.

Batman continues, “Talia is Damian’s mother, told him he would be my heir, as I’m sure you were but-” Batman stops, looking at Danyal as confusion flicks across his face, “You weren’t.”

“I was never told I would be heir of the Batman, only of the Demon’s head.” This, at least, Danyal is familiar with, “That’s the only reason they needed me: to be their weapon made from the Demon Head’s enemy.” Danyal breathes, “A weapon does not have parents, and I have never been more than a weapon to them, crafted for the league’s purpose. For Ra’s.” 

Ra’s is the reason Danyal is alive at all. Is the only reason he has survived the league, but he is also the reason Danyal had to, no- has to survive.

Danyal drops his eyes, tired, so so tired, like he always is. Unerringly, his eyes find the shine of the metal around his wrist. Arm held carefully still to keep from jostling it, even as his other hand has found its way to his lap.

“You can’t really believe that,” Dick says, disbelief in his own voice, unsurety in the frame of an unfamiliar language.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

And it doesn’t. It only matters what he can do. That’s he’s strong. He just has to be strong enough. Ra’s is the reason Danyal suffers, has always been, and Danyal will never let him escape that.

Silence lasts. Danyal quickly grows tired of it.

Luckily, Batman breaks it, “Why were you exposed to the Lazarus waters?” He asks, voice rigid and flat once more. 

Perhaps the casualness is getting to him because Danyal manages to lift one lip in a slight sneer, “The only reason anybody uses the Lazarus Pits.”

The Batman stays silent, clearly talking about the unorthodox method of exposure they had resorted to.

Danyal sighs this time, serious, “My heart is damaged. Electricity. The pits are a short term solution for it. Grandfather had said he found a long term one.” Danyal doubts it matters now. Whatever care his grandfather’d had was fragile, dependent on Danyal’s performance. 

The palm of his left hand tingles sharply.

Would this be enough to tip the scale against him? What would he lose for being here? Who would he-

Danyal looks into Batman’s eyes, “Am I to be a prisoner here?”

The man glances over him at the two on the other side, Danyal doesn’t follow it, nor the silent conversation he’s sure is happening.

Instead, Danyal focuses his ears, senses sharpened by training, by the pits, by his accident… and turns his attention to the person hiding in an alcove above them.

Low breathing, higher pitched, the scent of sword polish and hair gel. The person was small and armed.

“You’re not a prisoner… but if you leave.. you’ll be in danger,” Batman says, voice deep, “We can’t let that happen.”

So either be followed or don’t leave. What great options.

Danyal tries not to scowl, not to show any inflection at it, “And do I have to stay here? In your…. Cave?”

“It might be difficult to move- uh.. the medical things-” Nightwing starts, but Danyal cuts him off by swiftly removing the IV tucked in the crook of his elbow.

He presses his thumb against the small well of blood as he looks forward.

Alfred shouts, jolting towards him, “Master Danyal! That is hardly sterile-“

Danyal’s eyes snap to him the moment the title leaves his mouth, heart stilling for a second, commands in his eyes. Alfred falls still.

Danyal lets it fall away the next second, barely two beats missed. The beeping starts again.

“I see.” Alfred straightens, stepping forward slowly to turn off the IV and coil it, removing other monitors, “Another one for the dramatics then.”

Nightwing steps up, hands out placatingly, “There’s..mm really no need, Danyal, uh-” He glances back to Batman, “Of course you can leave the cave-,” the next words are in bright clear English, “I’m sure there’s already a room picked out for you.”

“Right you are Master Dick,” Alfred says, “Young sir, do you need any help moving?” He directs to Danyal.

He wants to rip his hand from the metal cuff. Snap the thin chain to pieces.

Instead he looks to Nightwing, then Batman, “The restraints?” He says, voice as empty of want as he can make it.

The click of the key in the lock echoes in his ear and it’s only through practiced calm that Danyal does not immediately jerk his arm away from it. Instead, he calmly retracts his hand, bracing slightly against the bed as he turns and plants his feet on the floor.

The others have already moved out of his way, watching intently, waiting for him to fall- to fail.

Danyal straightens his legs. He stands. He breathes. He controls his heart. He walks forward.

He does not fall. He doesn’t have the option to fall.

“I can go now.” He says, looking at them. His knuckles are white on the edge of the bed.

Nightwing looks at Batman once more. The man grunts, then turns from the room in a way that he can only imagine would perfectly flare a cape.

Danyal’s feet feel like they’re filling with cement. Nightwing stares at him expectantly. Danyal understands expectations- but these ones, it leaves him helpless and-

“Follow me then, dear boys,” Alfred says, stepping in front smoothly, already moving towards the door, “We can go upstairs, I’ll start on a meal and Master Dick can show you the rooms.”

Nightwing goes next, leaving Danyal to follow not quite behind him, the angle purposeful to keep him in sight.

Nightwing casts a wary glance to him every few minutes, continuing a light chatter with Alfred. Danyal stares forward, taking in the cave from his peripheral - computer, showers, training mats, an unfamiliar shadow watching him, armory, swords, knifes, suits, cars and vehicles lined up on platforms, a t-Rex, giant penny, a glass case- Danyal lets his eyes linger on the shadow, never faltering his steps.

His neck itches at the attention.

He looks forward. Nightwing is looking at him again, snapping forward the moment Danyal’s eyes narrow. Good.

The steps are slightly narrow, dark, but they come out to a warmly lit study. Dark wood, papers, books on shelves, a portrait on the wall, pictures on the desk, three black hair boys, another of only a single with stiff posture, a ballet dancer- they keep walking. The door-clock- closes behind them like the clamping of an artery.

Nightwing and Alfred’s conversation continues in smooth, low-toned English. Danyal blinks, slowly, slower than he needs to, for a breath of a second relishing in the almost familiarity of it all, the dissonance from the last three years alone enough to well emotion in his chest.

His eyes open. He continues after them.

“This is where I’ll leave you, I’ll be up with some food young sir,” Alfred says abruptly, turning towards a swinging door that reveals a glimpse of a stainless kitchen.

“So…” Nightwing says, swinging his arms a bit at his sides, “uh… I can show you the room you can sleep in, yes?”

Danyal’s shoulders tighten, rising from a subconscious millimeter slouch. He nods stiffly.

His heart remains under control. Always under control.

“So this is the Wayne Mansion, you can go for food any time, uh…” There’s an unsure pause as they start up the stairs, “You can meet the rest of us soon maybe, a correct introduction to Damian…depends on Bruce really… he can be … over …over.”

Nightwing looks at Danyal properly, “I’m usually better at this, most of the bat kids know the League dialect but… I haven’t exactly practiced it.”

Danyal stares at him. He doesn’t want to hear the sound of the League’s twisting words, he wants to leave. He wants to find his family, protect them, get them as far away from Ra’s al Ghul and the league as possible. He wants to go back to Ra’s convince him to let his family go if Danyal stays willingly. Wants a blade strong enough to run the man through and-

“I know you are probably stressed and this is all unfamiliar but … we want you to stay… you won’t be hurt here. This is different than the league, you’re safe.”

Danyal scoffs, not bothering to stop it, he hasn’t been safe since the day he tripped over a wire and died.

Nightwing doesn’t seem surprised by the response.

“This can be your room,” He says, opening a door in the hallway and gesturing a wide arm to Danyal. “The rest of us are just down the hall.”

Danyal steps in, looking around, counting exits, tactical advantages, possible listening devices- He turns around, giving Nightwing a stiff nod, “Thank you for the room.”

Nightwing still stands at his door, “Anything else I can help with for you?” He says.

Danyal considers staying silent, obedient, but he hates hearing the language at every turn, he never wants to hear it again, the words they forced in his mouth, ripping away what was in their place-

“Can you just speak English?” He says, realizing too late how weak it sounds, “You don’t have to use the league tongue, I can-English is.. fine.” Fine. Better. Familiar. A remnant of a family he’s almost certain he’s lost now.

Nightwing barely quirks a brow, eyes flicking over him.

“Can do,” He nods, “Well then… Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danyal.”

And he closes the door behind him.

'It’s just Danny, please.' He wants to whisper to the silence. But he’s grown too used to shadows and it catches in his throat.

He goes and sits on the bed. Staring out of the window. A window he can’t leave from. Where would he go? He doesn’t have anyone, they’re all in danger because of him. He can’t leave.

He’s trapped.

Always trapped.

Bound. Stuck to one place. One thing.

Emotions well in his chest, in the back of his throat, thick and dark and painful. He wants to cry. He can’t. Emotions constrict around his lungs.

And Danyal sits, staring at the wall, wishing he could cry. But the emotions just twist themselves until they’re tight enough, heavy enough to fall down, settle back like a layer of heavy chainmail over his insides.

Danyal turns on the bed, facing the wall.

It’s empty tan-beige. Neutral colors. No personality. Temporary.

This is familiar to him. This he can do.

Danyal stands again, he strips down his tunic, his shin-guards and pants- notes the lack of his typical weapons- methodically placing it on the dresser. Not his dresser, he already has one, painted blue with yellow stars back in-

Danyal gets in the shower, glad to find soap there, contemplating not using it, not wasting the energy. He watches condensation develop on the glass walls, water droplets collecting until they finally rush down the glass.

His finger lifts, already wanting to trace the letters he knows. Three lines, an H. One. i. Or e, he could write hello. Or ghost. Mom. Dad. Jazz, Sam, Tucker. Write it in English so he wouldn’t forget the way they were meant to be spelled, let the water wash it away.

His fingers ache where they’d been broken for it. For tracing letters in dirt or on mirrors, in the foggy glass at night. A break for every word.

Danyal can see his hand shake, inches from the glass. Pain and fear a leech on his bones.

He drops the hand. Turns to wash away the soap and get out, towels left on the counter.

He doesn’t even glance at the mirror as he goes out.

His tunic is where he’d left it, neatly set on the dresser top… but…

Danyal opens the drawers, changing into the boxers, the next one is dress pants and collared shirts, but in the third-

Rough denim scuffs against his fingertips.

They’re dark wash jeans, fancy and nothing like the ones his mom would buy on sale from the thrift store but…

He doesn’t let himself debate it further, he has to wear clothes and no one is here to tell him which. They put them here so they should expect him to wear it- it could be a test but he doesn’t care, let them do what they want if only to pretend the jeans are stiff from ectoplasm stains instead of fresh starch.

He chooses a white t-shirt, ignoring the collared shirts and polos that are probably meant to go over it.

He breathes, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, pretending for only a second that he’s getting dressed for school. Jazz is across the hall getting her books together, Sam and Tuck are on their way to walk together, his parents are already downstairs working.

'See?' He wants to say, 'I’m still the same person, nothings changed!'

The metal of the door knob clicks and Danyal’s head snaps towards the sound.

There’s nothing. Danyal doesn’t trust it, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the tall double doors.

“I know you’re there!” he calls out, fists ready, “Open the door and show yourself or I will!”

There’s a harsh tutt behind the door before it swings open, revealing a kid standing there. Short, black hair- hair gel-, dress slacks and shirt hiding multiple bladed weapons-

“Clearly I meant for you to know I was here, I am not incompetent,” The kid scoffs. So Nightwing wasn’t lying about them all knowing the league dialect…. Yet somehow, it sounds different coming from the kid, familiar in a way that makes Danyal's skin burn. He looks irritated, arms crossed in front of him even while his eyes wander over the room and Danyal with curiosity. And judgement.

Danyal rolls his eyes at it, “Did you need something from me, or did you just want to stand there looking like a hair gel commercial?”

The boy’s face goes red impressively fast, “How dare you-” he moves- and a knife is flying at his face, Danyal dodges, catching it in a second, shifting to throw it back but stops, half way extended. He looks at the hilt, there’s a League marking engraved on the bottom no larger than a droplet.

Danyal's eyes flick up to the boy still standing in front of him, glaring him down.

That’s all it takes before the boy jumps forward, another knife in his hand.

Danyal blocks it, twisting the arm as he drops his own acquired knife to his other hand and lunges forward.

The boy flips over his arm, and Danyal doesn’t let his surprise show as he reaches to grab the second knife he’d forced the kid to drop.

The boy tutts at him again, “So this was who Mother replaced me with? Street rabble?”

Danyal blinks, Mother? Then it clicks.

So this was Damian. The child the demon’s daughter wanted, beloved by all. Treasured. Preserved.

Danyal grits his teeth against the bitter taste in his mouth. He lunges forward, already expecting the larger dagger Damian uses to block him as he’s forced to retreat.

Danyal doesn’t stop, continuing to press him, “The Demon’s Daughter is no mother of mine,” he spits as he slams a kick against Damian’s elbow, blade dropping once more. Danyal cuts a shallow slash across Damian’s left cheek before dropping his own stolen knives.

He doesn’t stop though, continuing to push Damian back- Damian swerves to the side, grabbing his arm, flipping him, Danyal retaliates, grabbing the others shirt and taking him with him.

He catches his feet a second before the other, using it to pin him face to face with Danyal’s arm at his throat, “Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn’t have had to be replaced at all and I never would have been forced to be here, this is your fault. I was free,” He grits out, teeth bared, “You got to live these last three years because I paid for it, and you’re angry because they don’t want you!?”

There’s something startling in Damian’s wide eyes, “What are you talking about?” He snaps, “I am Damian Al Ghul, Heir to the League, Ibn al X-“

Danyal slams him harder against the floor, cutting him off. Green simmers, almost boiling, under his skin. He grits his teeth harder against the sharp pain through his chest.

He leans closer to Damian, snarling, his grip bruising, “You don’t even know what you escaped, what Ra’s really wanted with you, do you? What being heir means. You’re nothing more than a -”

Damian jerks his head upwards, colliding with Danyal’s forehead and knocking him back with a grunt. Danyal’s grip loosens momentarily and Damian pulls free.

He slams a palm strike into Danyal’s front, pain lancing through his chest as he gasps, heart convulsing.

He moves through it by force, both rolling off each other with violent hands.

They stand opposite each other once more. Blood drips from the cut on Damian’s cheek. Danyal’s ragged breaths join Damian’s in the silence. He can hear footsteps on the stairs. His heart clenches in his chest painfully. There’s barely enough Lazarus water in his veins to keep it pumping for a week, less if he keeps this up.

The door flings open with a slam, both of them turning to look.

Batman stands there, battle calm in his eyes.

Damian turns fully at the sight of his father, but Danyal doesn’t shift from his stance.

“Father, I-“ Damian starts, but Batman just lifts a hand, silencing him.

“What. Happened.” Batman says, looking straight at Danyal, not even a question. A demand. Green tinted steel shoots up Danyal’s spine and he does nothing but glare back at the man.

Batman doesn’t break eye contact, “Damian.”

“I was determining if he was a threat. He is from the League, Father,” Damian says  shortly, standing tall despite the blood on his face.

Batman looks between them briefly, and oh what a picture they must make.

Two kids, both born in the same cage, one trying to claw his way out of the chains and the other trying to fight his way in.

Exhaustion washes over Danyal, and he drops his fists, letting them hang by his sides.

Batman hums, barely a sound, but a muscle twitches in Damian’s jaw.

“Father-“

“Go Damian. Now.”

Damian looks back at him, not-quite-hate in his eyes, before dropping to a crouch to grab the knife closest to his feet with one hand and turning to leave.

Faced with Batman’s sole attention, Danyal lifts his chin defiantly, daring him to take action, to punish him, to do something that he can predict, can defend, can justify the anger he feels when he sees him.

“I know it was different in the league, but here, this is not acceptable.”

Danyal half-scoffs. He finally steps out of his stance, “I could leave.”

“That’s not-” Batman pinches the bridge of his nose, voice like gravel, “I am trying to protect you, the manor is not the league. I understand what it must have been like to be raised like that, but you can’t hurt others, no matter what teachings you’ve had. I can guarantee you won’t be hurt here, I won’t let-”

Danny huffs a dry laugh, “You won’t let?” He steps forward, rage bubbling back up, “Hurt me? I’m not worried about me, Batman. You can’t stop him. Ra’s is going to get what he wants, and as long as that is me, everyone around me is in danger, I’m dangerous. I'm a weapon, a weapon of your enemy. You can’t fix that, can you?”

“We can protect ourselves-”

Danyal scoffs again, “Because you’ve done such a good job of that already? Don’t forget, all of this is because of you, they wanted you, and now they want me because of you, Batman. You.”

Something stricken shoots through the man’s face before it flattens. Batman nods and steps back, a hand on the doorhandle, “Don’t leave.” Is all he says, before the door clicks shut.

Danyal feels the walls closing in on him like a cell.

He looks to his left.

The bathroom door is open. He can see his reflection in the mirror, any condensation gone.

Danyal stares.

When he had been younger, back in- before. Danyal would stand in front of a mirror and pick out parts he thought looked like his parents. Like a Fenton. His shoulders were from Jack obviously. His eyes and hair too. His jawline was from Maddie, his hands from Jack, and the love of engineering and planning from Maddie. He had the same legs as his mom. Same voice as his dad, always loud. If he didn’t look too hard, he could almost convince himself he was really their kid, their son.

But he could never quite place his tanned skin, or the texture of his hair. The shape of his eyes and nose. Always just a little bit wrong.

What had pretending done but put them in danger?

Danyal turns on his heel, flicking the lights off and putting a glass soap bottle on the door handle.

He knew he’d wake up regardless… but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Danyal rubs his chest with the heel of his palm as he lays down on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, staring out at the city beyond the window glass.

How close would he come to freedom before he’d have to give it up again?

And he knew he would.

For his family, he would give the Demon’s Head anything.

Everything.

If that’s what it took.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he would fall asleep.

———

Bruce runs over Danyal’s words again and again during the flight.

'This is because of you, Batman,'

He flicks a switch.

'You.'

The landing gear lowers.

'You can’t fix this.'

He can see the way the shadows of the forest twist around the clearing.

'Dangerous.'

Wheels touch grass. Batman lands at the coordinates, just on the side of the field in front of the woman waiting for him.

'Because of you.'

He breathes.

“My Beloved, how are you?” She greets him as he descends the ramp.

Bruce says nothing. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would say if he did.

Instead, he stares at her. A woman who had once meant so much to him, whom he had nearly thrown away everything for. And who had nearly done the same for him.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t. And it had hurt him, but he had recovered.

And then she hurt him again.

She had stolen and lied to him in his vulnerability.

And still, he had found himself loving her.

Had allowed her to continue hurting him. Again and again. Out of a vain hope that she would change. Because he thought that he could change her. That she would change for him.

It was foolish. It was senseless.

Yet he found it just as impossible to stop.

And so she had hurt him again.

“Talia.” Her name grated against his heart, “Why did you not tell me I had another son?”

“The boy is no more yours than he is mine, Beloved,” She says with a roll of her eyes, as if explaining a basic fact, “He belongs to my father. And to the league.”

Bruce is silent. He notices a slight bruise forming on her left cheek.

Talia’s face is tight, “Do you not care about the son I have given you? Has Damian not satisfied you?”

Bruce feels the leather of his gauntlets stretch over his clenched fists.

“I deserved to know,” He near growls, “Just as I did Damian, just as I did with Jason. You cannot continue to keep my children from me-“

“If it was not for that boy, you would not have met Damian at all,” Talia snaps.

Bruce blinks. Hard.

“His return brought Damian into your arms, you should be grateful.” She spits at him like an accusation, “Damian is ours, Bruce. From our love. That boy was made before we truly knew each other, before we understood each other as we do now. He was borne of nothing more than my father’s obsession. Damian is our son, not him.”

“His name is Danyal, Talia!” Bruce bellows, “He is a child, and he is a person! Just like you, and me, and Damian, and he deserves more than to be written off as one of Ra’s al Ghul’s projects! He deserves better than this!” Than us, he doesn’t say. Deserves better than him.

Talia straightens from already perfect posture, “I made a choice Bruce, for Damian. To protect Damian. I knew our son was never meant to bear my father’s hands, he was never meant to be what Danyal is.” Talia pauses, eyes sharp on him, and he can see when she chooses her next words. Already knows they are meant to cut him, to hurt him. He steels himself and listens anyways.

“Perhaps you should ask him where he’s been all these years I’ve supposedly kept him from you, Beloved.” She says coyly, stepping forward.

“What are you talking about.”

She takes another step, “The truth of the matter is that Danyal could have gone to you any time he wanted. He chose not to. Chose to stay away.”

He stays silent.

“Oh- Did the boy not tell you?“ Talia says, barely hiding the falseness, “Danyal was living in America before he returned to his rightful duty. Almost didn’t work, but…” Talia hummed, “His gifts were fortuitous in the end. A risk well calculated, my father’s doing I suspect.”

Talia almost seems blaisé as she talks about it, but he can see the way it irks her. Her father had tricked her. Somehow. Or had manipulated her into some choice she hadn’t known about.

Batman says nothing, analyzing, taking in clues.

“Beloved,” Talia sighs, “Surely you must know, the boy must return.”

“And surely you know: I can’t let that happen.”

Talia glowers at him.

“It’s him or Damian, Bruce, you must choose, just as I did.”

“No.” Bruce growls.

“You cannot have both,” She snaps at him.

Batman stands firm, staring her down, resolute.

“You invite his anger on them both,” She snarls, “You save no one.”

Batman ignores the words. He has made it his job to make sure that’s not true. He’ll die before it is.

“Fine.” She snaps again. But she lingers for a few seconds more. The lines of her face softening.

“I remember I once loved that same unbending drive.”

It feels odd to hear her confirm something he’s not sure ever really existed.

Then Talia turns away and walks into the forest. Shadows contort and reform around her at the edges of the clearing. Slowly emptying until there’s nothing left but the trees and the grass and him, standing alone at the center of it all.

He turns to leave.

He won’t choose between his children.

He climbs the ramp.

He will protect them.

He sits down in the pilots chair, flicking switches and gears.

All of them.

Engines roar to life below him.

He will not fail.

And yet… he cannot forget her words. Twisted they may be, and just as easily lies.. but, her irritation at her father’s plans… he had always been good at telling when it was real.

'Living in America… chose to stay away,'

Living in America?

Had he been secluded at one of their bases here? Had it even been close?

Had Danyal been just miles away, suffering, and Bruce hadn’t known?

But it felt wrong. What Talia had said sat like a jagged puzzle piece, poking and prodding at him, not quite fitting the theories he threw at it.

‘Returned.’

Did she only mean returned to the League’s home base? Closer to their original strongholds in Asia?

It didn’t make sense. She would have crafted the words differently, to drive her point home.

She’d said ‘supposedly kept him from you’ like she hadn’t. Like she hadn’t kept Danyal hidden, the way she had Damian. It didn’t add up.

She could have just been lying. Bruce didn’t think she was. It couldn’t be that simple. No, there was something specific about the way she’d phrased it all, like she was telling him a secret. Like it was something Ra’s had hidden. Like something Danyal was hiding.

Batman narrowed his eyes, staring out at the landscape in front of him as it rushed past.

Whatever it was, whatever she wasn’t telling him, Batman needed to figure it out before it came back to hurt him or his family. Danyal included.

Then there was the rest of it.

The ‘gifts’ that Talia had mentioned.

He knew Danyal had been forced to interact with the Lazarus waters, but he didn’t know to what extent. What it had done to him.

It’d had an effect on him, that much was clear by the acid green of his eyes when he stood off against them in the Batcave. And earlier when Bruce had first interrupted the fight with Damian.

He didn’t even think Danyal had noticed they were glowing then. Too defensive to think about it. Or perhaps he was used to it.

How many times had he been submerged? Had been so injured that Ra’s saw fit to put him in?

How many times had Bruce not been there to protect him from it?

Even if he was only acting out of defensiveness… was that not Bruce’s fault too?

That he still felt unsafe in the Manor. That he didn’t know if Bruce would act the same as Ra’s, as the League.

And Danyal was right, he was responsible for the pain the league caused him, for them hunting him. If he had never let himself be pulled into Talia’s web- or if she was to be believed… even before that.

When exactly? When had Batman become enough of a threat that Ra’s had decided to use him? Was it because he had refused to be his heir? Or before that? Before or after Dick? Jason?

He doesn’t even know how old Danyal is. How long Batman had let him suffer because of h-

“I do hope you aren’t planning to brood like this with your children around, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, cutting through his thoughts, “I don’t believe your pride would survive the repercussions.”

Bruce glances at the monitor Alfred has decided to call from.

“Hn.” Bruce grumbles.

Alfred is right, his children would tease him mercilessly for ‘brooding’ as they called it. If only Dick at least, who hasn’t missed a chance to do so since he’d been a freshly christened Robin.

How would Danyal fit into that? Would he grow to tease like the others? Or remain stoic like Damian?

“I’ll be approaching in 30 minutes, A.” He says. ‘Will Danyal be there?’ He doesn’t say.

Alfred says nothing in response. The engines fill the silence.

He grits his teeth, he just wants to know the situation, to stay updated, he wants to know if something’s happened or anything’s changed.

He sighs, forcefully loosening his jaw, “Who’s going out tonight?”

“Mm, I believe Miss Brown and Master Tim were discussing going together. Master Thomas is in bed, as is usual, though he did mention he’d be out early.. and I believe Madame Cassandra is staying in. She seems to have found a new project.”

Batman hums in confirmation. He wants to know what Cass had found interesting. More than that, he wants to know if Danyal was okay, Damian too.

“It seems it circles around our newest resident, though she hasn’t shown herself to him yet. Master Dick also seems to think the young sir is his duty as much as Master Damian had been.”

Batman feels his lips tug downwards as he grunts in response. Damian’s first year with them was… a regret. His own absence was devastating. He’d have to find some way to assure Dick that Danyal wasn’t his responsibility this time, that he could still be his own person. Perhaps he should encourage Dick to return to Blüdhaven. Affirm the family would be alright without him.

Batman sees Gotham’s cloud of smog come into view. The bay follows soon after, and the buildings next.

“I’m coming in now.”

“Very good sir.” Alfred answers, nodding in his peripheral before the call clicks off.

When the Batplane arrives to the cave, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. The other’s suits are missing as well, meaning they are already out for the night.

Batman doesn’t pause more than to look around, already heading to the Batcomputer with determined steps.

He enters his access codes, running through his security checks unconsciously, mind spinning on theories and clues.

He picks apart his and Talia’s interaction again and again, trying to pull everything he can from it and put it into his report file. Maybe if he can just read over it again, remember something else, maybe it will be enough to protect Danyal, maybe it will be enough to stop Ra’s, maybe it will be enough understand why Talia did this to h-

A gentle hand slides over his just as his finger goes to slam the enter button of the keyboard.

He looks over his shoulder, already recognizing the feeling of stitching against his suit.

Cass looks at him meaningfully. Her gentle hand shifts into a lean against his arm, the pressure a comfort. She stares up at the Batcomputer and reads through his writing piece by piece.

Bruce waits for her. He knows she struggles with so many words. Knows that she gained more from watching him type it than she will from reading an exact account but the details will be helpful anyways.

She nods to him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as she thinks it over, scanning and rescanning the document.

Cass has been developing fidgets recently, small twitches of movement that don’t serve a purpose than to let her move.

Bruce wants to smile every time. He’s pretty sure they’re on purpose, but still.. it’s freedom for her.

She nudges him, reaching for a button across the keys. It flicks to a camera screen a second later.

The one in Danyal’s room.

Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the disappointment Cass aims at him before they both refocus on the image.

The empty image.

Danyal is not in the room, and Bruce feels his eyebrows scrunch as he goes to pull up the other camera feeds to locate him, make sure he hasn’t been taken-

“Downstairs.” Cass says.

Batman gets a half turn around, checking the cave for a foreign presence, before Cass stops him again.

She points to the screen, drawing his attention to a bottom square.

Danyal stands in the hallway of the manor, staring at the portraits on the walls.

He feels a light tap on his shoulder in parting before Cass’s presence at his side disappears silently.

He stares up at the figure of his son standing in the hallway, mind still whirring about possibilities and clues and lies and secrets.

Danyal continues to stand in front of the portrait for another minute, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

He rips his eyes away from the portrait, turning down the hallway and ducking into the kitchen.

It’s empty when he gets there. Then again, the whole mansion had seemed empty. Aside from the ever constant, ever familiar feeling of eyes weighing down on him.

Danyal considers making himself food.

He considers jumping out of the window and seeing how far he could get.

He wonders if their cabinets have something he’d know and could do himself or if he’d be hopelessly lost.

He wonders how long it will take for the Demon’s Head to find him. Wonders what he’ll do when he does. Wonders if his-

He stops himself short.

“May I offer you some tea and snacks, young sir?”

Danyal turns slightly to face the old butler-Alfred- who’d entered behind him and nods.

Can he even say no?

Alfred gestures to a chair set up by the built in breakfast nook.

He sits. Even as the domesticity of it all throttles his heart in his chest. The way they must eat together every morning, appear together in every photo, smiling. A family portrait. Batman’s family. Batman got to keep his. But Danny’s is tra-

Danyal breathes purposefully, staring down at his hands, clenching them tighter.

Suddenly a hand reaches across his vision, pressing a button on an ancient looking miniature TV sitting just tucked into the kitchen corner.

It flickers to life on some random news channel, low mindless chatter softening the air.

Danyal feels his shoulders lower slightly, just barely, as the silences retreats. He glances up, expecting to find Alfred there staring at him, questioning him, why he’s acting like this, why he-

Alfred’s back is to him. The man busy at the stove with the tea kettle.

“I hope you like lemon ginger tea,” the man says, getting a small jar from a cupboard, “It’s been quite a bit since I’ve had the opportunity to make some.”

Danyal doesn’t quite trust it, still watching the man warily. He doesn’t understand why they would welcome him into their house, Batman or no, he was a threat to them. He was nothing but a threat.

“How about something to eat?”

Danyal watches the man move over to the fridge.

Something moves in his peripheral and his eyes jump to the side.

Narrowed eyes comb over the fancy china case against the wall. But he can’t see anything odd. The glass is clear, refracted reflection shining back him over the china. A dark phone sitting on the ledge. Dark wood pressed against the wall. He doesn’t know what he saw.

Alfred sets a small plate down in front of him with a light clatter, immediately turning back as the tea kettle begins to screech.

The movement makes a small carrot tumble off, rolling across the counter to Danyal.

He stares at it.

He breathes in, out, in out, in out in out too fast. Too fast-

A finger rolls to a stop in front of him and he can only stare at it as strong arms grip and pull him back, keeping him restrained.

Granite counters blend until they are stone floors.

He can’t look away from it. Confusion bleeds in with denial and regret and bloodthirsty stubbornness.

“Look at me, boy.”

Danny’s head is jerked back by his hair, forcing his eyes up to his instructor.

The man glares down at him.

“I have taught warriors better than you by a thousand, and you dare to try to escape under my hand?”

Danny tries to grin, barely managing a crude sneer, coppery blood in his teeth, “You should have kept a better eye on me, you fucking nutcase.”

His eyelid flicks closed automatically as cold gunmetal rests against it.

“Say that again.”

Danny swallows his regret, in for a penny in for a pound. He juts his chin up, forcing the man to follow the movement with his gun.

“What, were you dropped as a bab-” His open eye strains to see his instructor’s thumb press down the hammer of the gun. A warning.

He can feel his hands shake under the assassins hold. His throat burns.

“You scared of a chil-?” He barely has time to register the hand moving before the butt of the gun slams into his nose with a sickening crack.

Pain floods his face. He gets half a shout out before his chin is grabbed by unforgiving hands.

He stares into the man’s cold eyes.

Danny says nothing. Too focused on trying to breathe when his nose is filling with blood and his mouth is clamped nearly shut.

“Better.”

He resists the urge to spit in the man’s face as he steps back, straightening and waving a hand to the assassins. Even without their hands on him he can feel their presence looming behind him.

Danny drops his head, curling in on himself as much as he can, trying to ignore the feeling of blood as it slides down his face.

His eyes are left to stagnate on the finger thrown to the ground in front of him.

Pale skin stands stark against dark floors, contrasted by blood and dirt marring it. He can see the calluses and small scars.

He doesn’t understand.

He might.

He doesn’t want to.

“You are not the only one I can punish to get my point across, boy.”

He looks closer at the finger. At the nicks of careless knives and tools, of a hand that had cradled- no- please no-

“The oaf was very insistent it be him.”

Danny snaps his head up, fear striking through his chest, “No! Please-“ he catches himself, “Please don’t hurt them! They don’t- Hurt me, just me! They don’t deserve it, they didn’t do anything-!”

Sharp eyes stab into him. Fury behind them.

“Hurt me, Master Shrike, just me. Please.”

There’s a pause as the man continues to stare down at him before he lifts one lip in a sneer, “Do you think you command me, child?”

Danny freezes, “I don’t- I- No, Master. I don’t.”

“Then why,” Shrike near growls, “Do you beg me? Why do you plead like you have a right to ask for anything?”

“I don’t-” 'I don’t understand,' he starts to say but he’s cut off by Shrike’s boot hitting his face. He’s learned by now when not to dodge. He can’t give them another reason to hurt his family.

A second kick lands.

“You will be quiet!”

Danny waits for a beat, then slowly pulls himself up from the floor, not lifting his eyes.

He can still see his father’s finger on the floor.

“You do not command me. You are a tool! A weapon in the Demon’s hand! I choose to act, to punish or break you! You do not act, do not speak until you are to be used!”

Danyal stays silent.

He wants to scream, to fight back, they train him and they train him but he can’t fight back because if he does- his eyes flick to the bloodied finger.

He can let them. For his family, he can let them call him a weapon, can let them say he has no will. He can do this one thing.

He’s not giving up, he tells himself. But for his family’s safety, he can let them think he is. Just this once.

Danny stops, eyes shutting for just a second as he bends into a kneel, holding his hands up in front of him.

There’s a pause, cruel satisfaction radiating off the man in front of him.

Danyal licks his lips, steeling himself, “I am ready for my lesson,” Danny forces the words out, “Master Shrike.”

He doesn’t bother to look up and see the man’s sneer.

“Good.”

He sees the kick coming.

He still doesn’t move.

He stays still.

The world moves around him. Voices. Muttering. The sound of dishes, water being poured.

There’s a carrot.. orange and bright in front of him.

His heart is beating too fast. His eyes sting.

Calm down. Control it. Control it. Stop, stop-

A tea cup clatters in front of him.

“Sir Danyal, are you quite alright?” He hears someone ask. Alfred. It’s Alfred. Batman’s butler. He’s not-

He tries to speak, ‘I’m fine’ he tries to say. But his throat constricts. He simply nods, staring down at the carrot.

A freaking carrot.

It’s ridiculous.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s. Fine.

Danyal takes a deep breath. He breathes out. Silently.

He does it again.

He holds it until his heart slows down, stops stuttering from beat to beat.

He breathes out.

He reaches for the tea, ignoring the eyes on him-always watching him- ignoring the way his hands shake.

He drinks the tea. Let’s it burn his throat and distract him.

He breathes.

Alfred does not turn to look at him. Staying busy at the sink with dishes that already look clean.

He is thankful.

He breathes.

Low murmurs fill impenetrable silence. Danyal drags his eyes over to the small TV.

His breath stops.

A banner of words crawls across the bottom of the screen.

‘DalvCo factories shutting down after mass destruction.’

He tries to tear his eyes away.

‘Four buildings exploded just after midnight on Saturday in downtown Chicago, Elmerton, and Red Lake. 12 workers dead. Police have not caught the perpetrators.’

And they won’t.

Danyal can recognize a message.

He knows what it means. Who is sending it.

He tries not to let it show how his mind begins spinning. Churning out plans and strategies- If an attempt had cost his father a finger, what would they do to them now, because of Danyal?- he had to fix this.

He looks down to his shaking hands. He stops them. And the tea in his cup stills.

He stops. Pauses. He eyes Alfred still at the sink without looking up.

He places it just on the edge of the counter. Then turns away and lets go.

The cup falls.

It shatters against the floor. Danyal jumps up from his seat at the same time Alfred turns around.

“What’s happened?” He says, already hustling over with a towel. “Are you hurt?”

Danyal steps away and around him, towards the door.

He almost bumps into the display case until the reflection of light off the phone catches his eye. A small ballet sticker sits on the back of the case.

His hand moves before he can think and slips it into his pocket. He looks at Alfred.

“It’s no trouble, Young Danyal,” Alfred says as he crouches over where Danyal had been sitting, “I’ll clean this up and get you more. You can help me prepare for breakfast-“

Danyal considers knocking him out, so he can’t stop him, or alert anyone, but a body is more suspicious. Instead he paints his face with fear and steps out of the room as quick as he can.

He turns down the hallway, trying to remember where he’d walked from the cave.

Mere hours ago.

He goes the opposite direction, following a halls as far to the outer edges of the mansion as he can, typing in Vlad’s number with nervous hands as he goes.

He makes a final turn before he opens a window, glances backwards, and jumps out.

He lands in a roll, already running. His finger presses call and he listens to the phone ringing as he runs.

Once. Twice. He swipes branches out of his way. Three times. Four. Five. Six.

‘We’re sorry the number-‘

Danyal hangs up and presses again.

He doesn’t stop running.

He just has to protect them. He has to warn Vlad. Warn whoever he can. Tell someone.

It rings again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six- ‘We’re sorr-‘

Danyal presses it again and runs faster.

If he can get caught by the League maybe Ra’s will overlook it. Maybe he can still protect them. He can fix this. Please just let him fix this.

‘We’re s-‘

He tries again.

And Danyal continues rushing through the woods, wishing his feet would carry him faster, further, higher-

The sound of his steps pounds in his ears. The phantom feeling of eyes on his back.

He slams his finger down on Vlad’s number again, letting the dial tone drown his heartbeat out.

Once. Twice. Three times, Frick! Vlad pick up! Four- the speakerphone clicks.

“Vlad!”

There’s barely a pause, “DANNY!?”

Danny nearly trips, his heart stuttering dangerously, hopefully.

“Dani?…” He says, then jolts to his senses and continues running, a glance thrown behind him, “Dani, how do you have Vlad’s phone, are you okay? Have you been to Amity?”

“Danny, where the hell are you!? I’ve been looking all over for-“

“Dani, you have to listen okay, there’s dangerous people after me- after us-“ Danyal jumps another log, scaling a small stone wall, “You can’t fight them, you have to run, they’ve got my family, Tuck, Sam-“

“Danny wait no listen to me-!”

“You can’t fight them! You can’t, okay!?” Danny scans his eyes back and forth frantically as he runs, mind spinning, calculating how he’s going to get out, away, controlling his heart rate as much as he can, “You have to promise me! Just find Vlad, get out of Amity. Warn him- I couldn’t - my parents- you have to-“

“Danny, listen to me!” Dani yells, stopping him in his tracks.

“Your parents are out, Danny,” She says, voice rushed, but his ears barely hear it. “They escaped, they called us weeks ago to start looking for you- Danny, they’re out.”

She goes quiet. Waiting for Danny.

His parents were-

Danny draws in a deep breath, standing stock still in the middle of the trees, stolen phone still pressed to his ear.

He couldn’t believe it.. they were-

Something clangs against a tree behind him and Danyal whips around ready to-

His head blossoms with pain.

Everything goes dark.

This is included in my one-shot collection(for now) on Ao3, under same name. The collection is Things that Could Exist by Snaileer.

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/760212137159294976/call-to-my-bedside-3?source=share

Tags:

@thecrystallabyrinth @isnt-that-grape @riverdancingwerewolves @mimblizzy @chaos-deimos-et-eris @miraculousandmore2 @mys-tia @jitteryjuttury @moonlight-opal @nerdypaintbrush @thedragonqueen1998 @luminanightfall @cowarddragon @cyrwrites @kamireadsmcu

[reasonsforhope]

"In a highly-anticipated world-first, the Texas Heart Institute has successfully implanted an artificial titanium heart that uses the same technology as bullet trains to pump blood mechanically throughout the body.

Called the Total Artificial Heart (TAH), the feat is seen as a major step in keeping people alive for longer and longer periods while they wait for heart transplants.

Texas Heart partnered with the medical tech company BiVACOR to create the TAH. It’s a titanium-constructed biventricular rotary blood pump with a single moving part that utilizes a magnetically levitated rotor that pumps the blood and replaces both ventricles of a failing heart.

The benefit of using magnetic levitation is that none of the moving parts ever scrape or slide against each other, reducing friction, and dramatically increasing the longevity of the device. But what’s really cool is the TAH can pump blood at a rate of 12 liters per minute, enough to allow an adult male to engage in exercise.

The first-in-human clinical study, overseen closely by the FDA, aims to evaluate the safety and performance of the BiVACOR TAH as a bridge-to-transplant solution for patients with severe bi or univentricular heart failure. Following this first implantation completed at Baylor St. Luke’s Medical Center in the Texas Medical Center, four additional patients are to be enrolled in the study.

“The Texas Heart Institute is enthused about the groundbreaking first implantation of BiVACOR’s TAH. With heart failure remaining a leading cause of mortality globally, the BiVACOR TAH offers a beacon of hope for countless patients awaiting a heart transplant,” said Dr. Joseph Rogers, President and Chief Executive Officer of The Texas Heart Institute and National Principal Investigator on the research.

“We are proud to be at the forefront of this medical breakthrough, working alongside the dedicated teams at BiVACOR, Baylor College of Medicine, and Baylor St. Luke’s Medical Center to transform the future of heart failure therapy for this vulnerable population.”

Heart failure is a global epidemic affecting at least 26 million people worldwide, 6.2 million adults in the US, and is increasing in prevalence. Heart transplantations are reserved for those with severe heart failure and are limited to fewer than 6,000 procedures per year globally. Consequently, the US National Institutes of Health estimated that up to 100,000 patients could immediately benefit from mechanical alternatives.

The successful implantation of BiVACOR’s TAH highlights the potential of innovative technologies to address critical challenges in cardiac care, such as long transplantation waitlists.

“This achievement would not have been possible without the courage of our first patient and their family, the dedication of our team, and our expert collaborators at The Texas Heart Institute,” said Daniel Timms, founder and CTO of BiVACOR."

-Article via Good News Network, August 1, 2024. Video via 7News Australia, July 26, 2024.

[notedchampagne]

Could u picture Gideon getting a service dog (for ptsd or another reason) n then it accidentally therapising harrow too? I feel like Harrow would benefit from a service animal but it seems unnatural for her to do the first step or think of it. What do u think? Or would it be random animal distribution system and oops Harrows a cat father now (one of those dads who 'never wanted/hates' the cat but is obsessed)

in quinns words: "gideon will never get a service dog bc that would require her to admit she has a problem And be a good dog owner, both of which she will not do" its more likely that nonas service dogs will end up alerting harrow from time to time since theyd have similar medical conditions + harrow is constantly under a state of stress. your fucking heart rate babe

gideons actually the guy who never wanted a dog - she wanted marrow out of there but noone can resist the charms of a stupid little puppy. later on she gets a soft spot for another dog, a badly behaved pitbull named bechdel (becky for short). shes a mid dog owner btw. she is not training that thing she is giving them her leftovers and leaving them outside to catch birds

*marrow will never get bigger. harrow only gets smaller

[salt-baby]

POTS Medication Vocabulary

after about the third time a doctor prescribed a medication that made my POTS drastically worse, and about three doctors visits past giving up on being an easy patient, i started asking my doctors the following questions whenever they prescribed a new long term medication:

is this medication a hypotensive? (will this medication lower my blood pressure?)

does this medication have a risk of tachycardia? (can this medication raise my heart rate?)

is this medication a diuretic? (will this medication dehydrate me?)

can this medication cause hyponatremia? (will this medication cause my body to lose salt?)

your doctor likely doesn’t know all of this off the top of their head for every medication, but they should know the most common adverse reactions. some may simply tell you they have no clue. i still think it’s worth asking to force them to consider these mechanisms.

for additional consideration:

your pharmacist likely knows the answers to these questions better than your doctor does. 

an additional list of types of drugs which should be avoided is available here, in the table on the fourth page. (note that propranolol, a beta blocker, is often prescribed for POTS but is discouraged by this paper. as someone whose taken it, it’s worth trying to see if it will improve symptoms, but didn’t for me. Additionally, these are just guidelines, and in those with, for example, both hEDS and POTS, the benefits of opiates for pain relief may be worth the risk of worsening POTS.)

regardless of what the doctor says, I always look up the FDA info sheet before taking a medication. these can be found pretty easily on google (your med + “fda pdf”), and list most of the adverse effects. I’m happy to make a post about reading these info sheets.

there’s a reason prescribing medication is left to those with years of medical training - it’s a complicated and difficult process. but oftentimes those who do this work are so overworked and burnt out, they don’t have the ability to read someone’s entire medical file, or be aware of an adverse event that only affects those with an uncommon condition. I find asking these questions forces my doctors to think about my chronic conditions, and after so many adverse events, I always check a medication for myself before taking it. 

remember that you can and should refuse to take a medication that is making your life worse or harming you. even pediatric patients have the right to refuse a medication, and often times, I’ve found nothing other than a very firm “no, I refuse” will get a doctor to consider other options. and even though its against the norm, remember that you have the right to ask your doctor why they’ve chosen that medication for you.

as always, feel free to ask questions, they make my day!

[supertrainstationh]

CHARITY CASE CHAMPION

by A. Griffin / Super Train Station H ---------------------------------

I round up with pride at the checkout for Autism Speaks, but insult adults who like "Thomas the Tank Engine", and call them freaks.

I want to help the disabled, my bumper sticker proves it, truly, but when they get older, they better not enjoy "Bluey".

I support the autistic, and buy charity merch gladly, but I harass them online over things that make them happy.

There's no way those people could be autistic in any case, because I'm normal, so how could them, and me, be in a common space?

Leading brand charities told me what to look for: kids, often pitiable, easy to be adored, typically male - if they don't look like that, they're surely faking it, without fail!

I trust groups claiming to speak for disabled folks, without a doubt, but when they speak for themselves, it proves they're acting for web clout.

I "light it up blue," so those with hardships won't be silenced, but if I meet them online, I pelt them with written violence.

If they were really autistic they wouldn't and shouldn't have mentioned it! Speaking to me is for equals, I know I'm better than them!

How dare adults speak of benefiting from therapy courses? They should feel terrible for stealing disabled children's resources!

My heart goes out for those with sensory issues, in their younger days, but when they grow up, seeing them happy makes me outraged.

God forbid an adult enjoy things rated for all ages, or draw themselves as creatures from the comic strip pages.

I sympathize with web videos of disabled kid's meltdowns, but I see an adult happily flapping online, I'll run them out of town!

Why should it be on me to stow my righteous hostility?

Those phonies are mocking the plight of children with special needs!

"Autistic adult" is clearly an oxymoron. I browsed a charity website, so I know what's really going on!

Autistic people aren't legit unless they're kids that don't talk, that means adults that use vocal speech are committing fraud.

And as for those with different brains who happen to be silent, why consider their feelings, when they belong in asylum?

Stories put forth by autistic adults, are clearly embellishments, since for disabled people, they sure seem oddly intelligent.

I'm a well-balanced person, doing what little good I can manage, so I lurk online seeking targets to hate and disparage.

Exposing the lies of those that falsely claim to be special, makes me such a good person, that I deserve a gold medal!

So pitch in this April, every penny will be spent well - the cute kids on the posters, need every bit of help.

Their lives have been stolen, only your cash can restore their dreams!

But know, they shouldn't be cared about, after they hit eighteen!

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

[Twitch] [VOD Channel] [Writing FA] [Ko-fi]

[lexikamics]

Luka Character Analysis

While all the characters in alien stage deal with some theme of control given the fact that they are literally pets I wanna explore how Luka deals with this theme specifically.

This is all my opinion and I would love to hear if u disagree or have anything to add cause I loveeee talking about this stuff. I’m probably just restating a bunch of stuff other ppl have said but I think I got some new stuff here… hopefully.

Main points

1) he’s a designer baby

2) his branding location

3) his heart

4) his age

5) his training

6) how this control leads to him manipulating others

7) other things

Luka is THE designer baby

Luka’s biology is not even something he can control. Even his genetics were designed by aliens showing how not even his nature and bodily functions is not something he has autonomy over.

Luka has surgery scars possibly from treatments done to benefit the aliens.

(From Luka’s bday post) Luka looks towards possible attempts to create him or recreate him IN HIS BIRTHDAY POST. This image always has an affect on me omg..

“Luka was born this way because I created him” (the guardian interview thing)

Luka’s Branding

All of the other main characters in alien stage have their brand either on their arms, neck, or shoulder area. This is why it’s odd that Luka’s branding is on his hip. This could mean a lot of things and probably does but my ongoing analysis is this. Brands are meant to be seen, they exist so people can look at them. Lukas is the only one with a brand in a place that stays hidden.

To me this is because the aliens like Luka because he appears to want to participate in Alien stage. He appears to enjoy being on stage and barely even wears a collar. In the same vain his brand is hidden as Heperu, his alien, doesn’t want other aliens to see Luka’s reluctance. He places his brand in a place inconspicuous so that the aliens can pretend Luka has control over himself. This is aided by the extent of Heperu’s control as it is so ingrained in Luka that even if it isn’t acknowledged Luka has no other choice but to obey. The fact that Luka can appear so willing is proof of just how much agency he lacks.

Another advantage of his branding placement is that while it remains hidden to other people it is obvious to Luka. It is very easy to see something on your hip when compared to you neck. The brand is to remind Luka he is under control while not reminding anyone else.

(Guys I couldn’t find the bigger version) when getting branded Luka lifts up his shirt while others seem unconscious or constrained. Showing just how deeply Luka is controlled that he willingly helps getting branded in order to give himself the illusion of a choice.

His Heart

Luka has immense control of his heartrate like his first song is literally called “ruler of my heart”. (For this section I assume the amount of purple on his finger correlates with the pumping of his heart.)

Luka was trained since birth to control his heart rate and fear. This reflects how even his most basic and unconscious actions are manipulated in order to benefit Heperu. It shows how collar or not he is under Heperu’s control.

An aspect of this can be seen in the flashbacks from All In when after the incident with Hyun Woo his finger tips turn purple. Whether Luka is surprised by this because it shows he was able to change his own heart-rate for the first time or because his heart-rate changed without him allowing it is ambiguous. Regardless it shows how even during important emotional situations Luka is always striving for more control over his heart just as Heperu had intended.

(Both images from the interview w Luka)

His Age

Luka is 30 years old. All the other competitors are in their early twenties, a time in your life when you are still not completely independent. Many people their age are in higher education and may still live with their parents. While other competitors should definitely have much more independence then they do they still are children in a way. Overall compared to the other contestants Luka is supposed to be in a stage of his life with much more autonomy. This further reflects his lack of control as he is at an age when he should be in control of himself and still has less freedom than a toddler.

Training

Growing up Luka has been under much more training than most. Heperu often trained him or outreached doctors and specialists to help make him into Heperu’s image. Heperu himself even notes it more extreme than what most aliens do showing how even compared to other humans Luka has very little agency as most other aliens simply enroll their humans into Anakt Garden.

(guardian interview)

(Interview with Luka)

Luka’s diet being monitored also shows how Heperu controls all aspects of Luka and how this harms Luka.

How this leads to Luka being manipulative.

This affects the way he interacts with the stage. I’ve seen many people say he manipulates his fellow competitors to survive and while I think this is in part the reason, given how his popularity already protects him I don’t think it’s the main one.

Luka controls his heart rate not only because he was so thoroughly taught to but because he wants to himself. Being able to have complete control over his body and actions brings him comfort as he has usually has none. His heart rate is something that only he can change which leads him to control it heavily and this pattern continues outside of his heart as well.

On the stage Luka does the same thing. He manipulates the performance and his performance mate for the sake of simply being able to. It’s clear his owner has no control over his performance. He seems shocked when Luka is beat up by Mizi while Luka clearly had pushed her to do so. The stage is the only place Luka is given autonomy and as such he wants control to the fullest extent pushing him to control every aspect of the stage, including others.

This is seen when Luka frowns as soon as Till notices Mizi as suddenly the round is out of Luka’s control.

In a way it’s a self fulfilling prophecy as his whole life Luka has been controlled to benefit Heperu and now the only way he can achieve any sort of control is by doing exactly what heperu wants. To gain control of his heart he has to give into his training. To gain control of the stage he has to win. Even the control Luka does have has little power. He can do what he wants but it changes none of the effects.

(Lukas interview) shows Luka is less focused on survival on stage and instead performance and control.

The whole comic where Hyuna describes singing as the one place she has control over herself to Luka describes this rlly well. Especially as when she does this the text is placed over Luka singing showing how he himself uses singing as his only pathway to freedom. This is even further explored in the last panel where Luka says that Hyuna is his. While interpreted as something sweet by Hyuna it definitely could have darker undertones when considering Luka’s tendencies to control anyone he can, or even foreshadow what happened to Hyun Woo.

Other stuff

Theory:

Now we’re getting into theory territory. The resistance has attempted twice to rescue someone. Both happen to be on Luka’s matches. Luka specifically led to Mizi’s ability to be rescued, directly pushing her to fight him which led to Hyuna having the chance to take her. It is possible Luka could be working with Hyuna.

With this theory you could also explain the moment where Luka gets upset when Till notices Mizi. If Luka is aware of Hyuna’s plan and Mizi being in the crowd ruined it, then it would be reasonable that he would accidentally break his mask by showing his distress at this.

This is definitely a reach of some sort but I think the concept could still be interesting as it implies Luka could’ve escaped with Hyuna but instead chose to stay to help others escape, or due to brainwashing. Possibly leading to Hyuna’s complicated feelings towards Luka. Overall though Hyuna and Luka’s relationship needs to explored a lot more before any of this could be close to true.

Character profile

Luka is the only character whose profile shows neither his likes nor dislikes, this could represent how due to the extreme control Heperu has over him he has been unable to form his own identity or express any of his opinions.

The end

Anyway that’s my rambling. Definitely missed some stuff but hoped you liked it. Thank you for reading this. All this is my opinion and I would love to hear critiques and other opinions please anything if it means more content.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You’ve been working hard toward being able to take Johnny fully. Now that you can, you can’t help but go dumb on his cock. Pairing: Johnny x fem!reader Tropes: friends with benefits au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language Smut Warnings: size kink, strength kink, fingering (f receive), dirty talk, stomach bulging, unprotected sex Word Count: 1,050 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Yeah by Usher (ft. Lil John & Ludacris)

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Johnny questions for the millionth time.

You laugh lightly, “I’m sure Johnny, we’ve been working on it. I’ve worked on it a bit on my own. I’m ready to take your whole cock.”

Johnny looks you up and down before coming to sit down beside you on your bed. The atmosphere of the room completely shifts as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close to him. There’s a palpable sexual tension in the air as he looks deep into your eyes.

“You promise? Last thing I want to do is hurt you.” 

You may not be dating, but the genuine concern he shows for you makes your heart melt. You lean close and place a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

“If it does hurt, then I’ll tell you. You know I will.”

Johnny smiles at you before pulling you to straddle his lap. You immediately kiss him and bury your hands in the hair at the back of his head. Johnny’s arms wrap around your waist tightly as he melts further into the kiss. Eventually, you start grinding against him, feeling his well-endowed cock beneath his clothing. Johnny shifts and moves your body to be lying against your bed. He’s above you and starts lining kisses down your throat. You sigh from the pleasure and tug at his hair lightly. He starts to slowly peel away your clothing followed by his own. Johnny knows your body as well as he knows his own. Multiple hookups over the past few months have helped with that. 

“You’re so pretty and tiny under me.” He whispers against your collarbone, “You think these past few weeks of training your tiny little pussy have paid off?”

“Johnny, please,” You whine.

He hums against your skin, placing more wet kisses on your skin. You can feel his hard cock tap against your thigh as it hangs heavy between your bodies. A small gasp escapes your lips as you feel his fingers run lightly through your folds. Even his fingers were a bit much for you when you started hooking up. Your body is simply so small, and he is so much larger. Now, you spread your legs further apart and furrow your eyebrows together as he focuses on your clit for a few moments before sinking his fingers into you. 

“You’ve come such a long way, little one. Look at your greedy pussy taking my fingers so easily.”

“Johnny, need your cock, now.” You practically beg.

Johnny smirks against your skin and continues to play with your folds. You buck your hips against his hand, only for him to pin your hip down with his free hand. He uses his strength to his advantage and holds you exactly how he wants you to be. Soon enough, your orgasm washes over you, and you let a string of curses and his name fall from your lips. Once you come back to him, he kisses your lips sweetly before manhandling you up the bed so you’re ass up on the bed. Your face is buried in the pillows as you feel him grind his bare cock against your ass.

“So pretty and tiny for me, you ready to take my cock?” His voice is heavily laced with lust.

You nod against the pillows, “Please!”

Johnny pushes his tip into you, keeping an eye on you to ensure you’re not hurting. He pushes in inch by inch, watching how your face contorts in pleasure rather than pain. It’s not until the final inch that you gasp at the stretch. Johnny stops and stares at you, hoping that you’re not hurting too badly.

“Do you need me to stop here? Do you want me to pull out?” He asks. You can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head.

You turn your head to make eye contact with him and shake your head. Instead, you just put a hand behind your back, and Johnny knows immediately to take it in his. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes yours back.

“I‘m okay. How much more do we have to go?”

“Just an inch, baby.” He reassures, “Do you want me to push in all the way?”

“Yes, I can take it.”

“I know you can.”

He slowly pushes that last inch into you. You relish in the feeling of his pelvis against your ass. It’s not something you’ve gotten to feel until right now, and you’re already obsessed. Johnny doesn’t move for a few moments, making sure you’ve adjusted. When you start grinding and moving against him, he groans. He starts thrusting, doing his best to control himself so as not to hurt you. He slips his hand under your body and presses against your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he groans, “Baby, your tiny little body can barely handle me. Your belly is bulging from taking my cock.”

“Johnny, I’m not gonna last!” you moan, moving your ass to meet his thrusts, “‘S good– fuck! Johnny!” 

Johnny keeps his pace even and gentle while still simultaneously making you see god. His thrusts grow the slightest bit harsher as his reserve crumbles. When your body spasms underneath him, he pulls you up against his body and continues to thrust. He takes one of your hands and presses it against your belly under his. Each time he thrusts, you can feel the bulge of his cock. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm until you start whimpering from the overstimulation. Johnny pulls out and cums against your lower back and ass. 

Gently lying you back down on your belly you let out an exhausted laugh. Johnny leans over your body and kisses your shoulder. Your thighs twitch once in a while due to how intense your orgasm was, but your friend finds it cute.

“I think you and your stupid big cock have ruined me for every other man.” You tease as he cleans you up with a wet rag.

“Good.” Johnny chuckles, with a kiss to your waist, “I should be the only one who sees you like this.”

You don’t want to address the implications of his statement. But in your half-asleep state, you think you wouldn’t mind being his. He clearly wouldn’t mind being yours.

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

[illiterateaffairs]

DISTRACTIONS VI | NIGHTCALL

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 5,071

summary: you don’t know what to do about your feelings for jamie anymore. luckily you know a few people with thoughts on the matter. 

A/N: posting a little early for the holiday weekend! this chapter and part seven were supposed to be one chapter but it got too long. so i apologize for the cliff hanger in advance. :)

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

How do you simultaneously savor something while avoiding it?

That’s what you’ve been trying to do the last few days. 

After deciding the best thing to do would be to end your relationship with Jamie, you’ve been putting off doing so and have maintained your routine of dodging him at every encounter. You knew ghosting him was cruel and you didn’t want to do that. In fact, you were trying to hold on to every last ounce of him you could get, not knowing how your friendship would evolve once you called off the benefits part. But you only spoke to him for a few minutes, or over very brief text exchanges because you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. But you wanted to spend time with him while you could. Clearly you’re in quite the predicament 

The whole thing was ridiculous and you would be the first to admit that. If you were a normal person, you’d have either ended things with Jamie already or just gotten a grip and told him how you felt. But you were not normal. You were emotionally manipulated into thinking you weren’t good enough for your last boyfriend, so why would this be any different? 

You know your brain is working against you, but your heart is also aching. And while in this moment avoiding Jamie was hurting it, you wanted to protect it from more hurt down the line if he just ended up rejecting you. 

You’ve been trying to figure out the best way to break things off, and when you got overwhelmed by the thought, you dissociated by working on your book. Calling it a book was generous, but that’s what you hoped it would be eventually. A fake-it-until-you-make-it mentality. That’s also what you told yourself to do regarding Jamie. If you acted like you were going to get over him and everything would be okay, eventually that would be true. 

Of course, it was hard to convince yourself of this when he was so ingrained in your life. Even without seeing him after hours, you saw him around the club. You managed to limit your time with him over the last week, and Rebecca was surely becoming suspicious, but you expertly avoided her concerned gaze as well. Unfortunately, today you weren’t so lucky. Seemingly as a punishment for leaving her in the dark, Rebecca tasked you with getting some footage of the team while they trained. When you looked like you were about to protest, she hit you with, “or is there something you want to tell me, that would prohibit you from doing so?” And for a moment you considered breaking down and telling her everything. Then you remembered she would definitely give you reasonable advice, such as getting your head out of your ass, and you weren’t ready to hear it. So you faked a smile and headed for the pitch. 

Today, the boys were doing some sort of drill that involved them switching positions with another teammate. You didn’t really understand the ideology, but apparently it had to do with this new “Total Football” strategy Ted wanted them to try. Having not been around in a while, you were also confused why there were fans in the stands watching practice. You suspected this was Ted’s doing as well. There was a group of three fans you recognize as regulars at Crown and Anchor who called out to you with a wave. You kindly waved back before turning to Trent who stood beside you.

“How the fuck do they know who I am?”

The journalist only snorted, and went back to writing in his notebook. 

For all your effort to avoid Jamie, including eye contact while he practiced, you couldn’t help but gaze at him as he spoke with Ted and Beard. He looked particularly good today, for some godforsaken reason. The wind was blowing his hair around, making him look extra appealing. As he walked away from the coaches, with a confused smile, his eyes found yours, and his smile brightened a bit. That was your last straw. You gave him a quick smile, that you hoped he couldn’t tell was forced, and turned away as he jogged back onto the field. 

As the team started playing in their new roles, you walked further down the pitch to film from different vantage points. You were so focused on what you were doing, while also being amused by the team’s role-swap, you didn’t notice Roy slowly moving closer to you every few minutes. As you posted a clip to the team’s Instagram, you saw him out of the corner of your eye. He was facing the field, with his arms crossed, but you could tell he was chancing glances at you from the corner of his eye. You bite back a smile as you pocket your phone. 

“Can I help you?”

Roy doesn’t move. He shrugs, “Just observing training.” 

“Hmm,” you nod, crossing your own arms to mimic his posture. 

He side-steps a bit closer to you. You follow suit, and the two of you are only a foot apart now. You watch curiously as Roy’s expression turns into one of annoyance and you can’t wait to hear what he’s going to say.

“So...you and Jamie have been spending a lot of time together.”

That was not what you were expecting him to say. Jamie had told you a few things about their time in Amsterdam together, but he did not mention telling Roy about the two of you. They must have really bonded. 

“He told you that?” you don’t mean to come across so nervous but you definitely do. Luckily, the rest of the team, coaching staff, and Trent are out of earshot. 

“Yeah. Thought that was...interesting.” Roy grunts out. In other circumstances, you’d be more amused about how awkward he was in this conversation, but you were too concerned about why you were having it. 

“Well,” you debate your next words but ultimately spit them out, “Jamie told me he taught you how to ride a bike, which is also interesting.”

Roy’s eyes fall closed as he quietly groans. 

You continue, “So, I guess we both know a secret about each other.”

Roy finally turns to you with narrowed eyes, “I didn’t come over here because I wanted to tell everyone. That's your fucking business.” 

While you’re relieved that your secret is safe, you were still confused, “Then why did you?”

Roy studies you for a few seconds before letting out a long breath, “You mean a lot to Jamie.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as your heartbeat rises. 

Roy keeps going, “He’d never say it himself, but you’re important to him. And what you’re doing, avoiding him or whatever, is really fucking with him. As much as it pains me to say, he’s a good guy and he doesn’t deserve being jerked around like that. He’s gotten enough of that from other people in his life. You don’t have to pretend to be in love with him or anything, but just…don’t give up on him completely. That’s all I’m saying.”

After digesting his words, you nod slowly. You’re not sure if Jamie said something to him about this, or if he was just looking out for his friend, but you know he means what he says. No matter the nature of Jamie’s feelings for you, you were clearly such a fixture in his life, that even Roy Kent could see it. And from the little Jamie’s told you about his father, you could tell he had something akin to abandonment issues. While you didn’t plan on cutting him out of your life completely, you knew your method of pulling away from him suddenly and withholding information while you got your shit together was not fair to him. 

“Thank you for saying that, Roy,” you finally say softly, knowing this was out of character for him, making it a big deal, “I would never, ever intentionally hurt Jamie. But I appreciate that you’re looking out for him.”

Roy nods back. You two let the moment hang before Roy quickly spits out, “You can’t tell him I said any of that to you.”

You laugh lightly, “I promise.”

You share a look of understanding as Roy turns to head back down the pitch. He makes it only a couple steps before turning back around. He opens his mouth but you beat him to it.

“I promise not to tell anyone about the bike thing either.” 

Roy sighs, giving you another appreciative look. This time, you’re the one who stops him as he turns back. 

“Roy?” he pauses and looks at you with a question in his eye, “You’re a really good friend to Jamie. He’d never admit it either, but you’re probably one of his best.”

While Roy is pretty good at maintaining a poker face, you can tell this affects him. You can also tell he’s not sure what to do with the information, so you give him a smile before jutting your chin in the direction he was headed. 

“You’re dismissed.”

Roy huffs out a small laugh, giving you one last nod, before finally making his way back down the pitch. 

As you stare back at the field, pretending to focus on the team’s training again, you take in Roy’s words. As you told him, you never planned on hurting Jamie, but that was mostly because you didn’t think that would be an issue. 

Jamie was not a relationship and feelings guy. He made that very clear, not only with his reputation, but also in his promise to you when you started sleeping together. You knew he cared about you. You don’t look out for someone the way he does with you if you don’t give a shit about them. But after talking to Roy, you found yourself wondering if maybe his care for you went beyond the realm of friendship.

No. No. You couldn’t get your hopes up. You still needed to end your sexual relationship with Jamie. You just needed to do it in a way that made it clear that you weren’t going anywhere.

Then another terrifying idea entered your mind. How the hell were you supposed to be Jamie’s friend without wanting to make out with him all the time? 

Moving to Richmond was supposed to make your life less complicated. 

For the next few days, you mull over your plan to break off things with Jamie between work and bursts of inspiration to write. By the time the team’s next match rolls around, you’ve thought about it so much it felt like you’ve simultaneously run through every scenario you could execute and made zero progress whatsoever. It was like saying a word over and over again until it lost all meaning. So you decided you needed reinforcements. 

Keeley would probably have really great advice, but you didn’t want to broach the ex-boyfriend of it all yet. Rebecca would definitely be helpful, but you didn’t think you could handle an “I told you so” yet about your developing feelings for the footballer. And regardless of either of those things, you came to one realization recently. 

You just really wanted to talk to Sam about it. 

He was your closest friend here - and probably ever - and he also knew Jamie pretty well. And in you’re effort to avoid Jamie, Sam had become collateral damage since that meant avoiding the whole team when possible. You’d also heard from Ted that Sam had been having a hard week with some social media blowback due to his activism around immigration. Which is fucking stupid, but you understood why it upset him. On top of that, his restaurant was vandalized in retaliation for his words, and the same week his father was visiting. So you figured you owed him a shoulder, too. And you just really missed him. 

That’s why you found yourself popping in the locker room ahead of their game against Arsenal. You spot Sam right away from your spot in the doorway. Unfortunately, he was sitting next to Jamie, so when you call his name and gesture for him to come talk to you, it gets the other boy’s attention, too.

As Sam makes his way over to you, you give Jamie a kind smile and a wave. It makes your chest hurt when he seems caught off guard by your act of kindness and gives you a timid smile back. He definitely knows you’re avoiding him and that makes you feel awful. You really need to talk to Sam.

As your aforementioned friend joins you at the front of the locker room, you instantly feel comforted by his warm smile. 

“Hi, it's so good to see you!” he greets. Okay, he’s definitely felt your absence as well. 

“You, too,” you smile back, “I met your dad a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, really?” his smile brightens, if that were possible.

You nod, “Rebecca met him, too.” Sam had told you about their brief stint together a little while ago, after you eventually confided in him about Mason. 

His smile falls slightly, “Oh, really?”

You chuckle, “Don’t worry, it was fine, and when it almost got awkward, Keeley defused the situation.” 

Sam lets out a relieved laugh as he rubs his forehead, “That’s good.”

Glancing around, you see the rest of the team preoccupied, including Jamie and Ted. Still you lower your voice, “So, I know you’ve probably got plans with your dad tonight, but would you be free to talk for a few minutes after the match? I kind of want your advice on something.”

Sam nods, but gives you a questioning look, “Everything okay?”

You nod eagerly back, “Yes, don’t worry. Just something I’ve been trying to figure out for a while and would love my best friend’s perspective.” 

The phrase slips out before you can process it. For a split second you worry you came onto strong. God, you were supposed to worried about like Jamie too much and now you were worried you were taking your friendship with Sam too series, as well? Thankfully, his bright smile returned to his face. “Well I would be honored to help my best friend out.” 

Thank God. You can’t remember the last time someone called you their best friend, and while you had (inadvertently) said it first, it still makes your heart flutter. 

“Great, I’ll see you after? Good luck out there,” You squeeze his arm before turning to the rest of the room and raising your voice, “Good luck today, guys!”

The room fills with a chorus of “thank you’s” and other words of appreciation. Before you head out, your eyes meet Jamie’s again, and you find yourself mouthing “you’ll do great.”

While he still seems surprised by your attention, he gives you a genuine smile this time. 

Richmond is not off to a great start as they round out the first half 0-3. It seemed they were trying out Ted’s new tactics, but they couldn’t get into sync. Jamie was at the center of it all, and from your spot in the suite with Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins, and Sam’s dad, Ola, you can feel the frustration radiating off of him from the field. 

However, the team seems to reenter the pitch with renewed energy for the second half. It takes them a few minutes to get there, but eventually they’re playing in perfect harmony. You’re not sure you understand exactly what they’re doing - not that you ever do - but whatever it was seemed to be working. By the end of the match, they had expertly managed to maneuver the ball across the field, with Jamie passing between other members of the team, for their first goal in weeks. And while you couldn’t explain any of it, you knew it was incredible. You want to ignore the part of you that feels proud of Jamie in particular, but you allow it. 

You wait for Sam in the parking lot with Ola afterwards. The two of you can’t help but cheer for Sam when he approaches. His dad shares how proud he is of him and the team, before he jumps in the car to leave the two of you alone. That wasn’t before the older man implied he suspected the two of you were an item. You and Sam laugh, before he corrects him and once again refers to you as his best friend. Ola smiles and tells you he’s grateful Sam has such good friends here.

“I’m proud of you, too,” you smile, shoving his arm playfully. “You guys are finally back in it!”

Sam chuckles, “I appreciate it, but honestly it was all Jamie.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, “It was his idea to drop back to mid-field and pass between all of us, even though it meant he probably wouldn’t have the chance to score.”

You huff, “That seems out of character.”

Sam shrugs, “Maybe two years ago, but Jamie’s been different, especially lately.” You almost feel yourself take credit when Sam continues, “It's probably all that training he does with Roy.”

You laugh quietly to yourself, “Must be.”

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Sam asks.

“Funny, it actually has to do with Jamie.”

Sam’s eyes reflect curiosity, “Really? What about him?”

“We’ve sort of, you know,” You try to figure out the best way to explain it, but you can’t bother beating around the bush, “Well, we’ve basically been sleeping together the last few months.”

Sam’s jaw drops and his eyebrows shoot up so high they’re almost nonexistent. “You’re serious?”

“Yup,” you nod, popping the ‘P’, “It’s a classic no strings attached, friends with benefits situation.”

“While those are excellent films, I would have never expected you to take part in something like that. Especially with Jamie.”

“Me either - on both accounts - but it just sort of happened.” 

Sam nods slowly, looking off in the distance, as he takes in the news, “I’m a little afraid of what advice you want from me.”

You laugh, “Don’t worry, it's nothing salacious. The opposite, in fact. I’m trying to figure out how to break things off.”

Sam’s eyes snap back to yours, “What? Really? Is…” he lowers his voice, “Is Jamie bad at it?”

You almost choke on air, “What? No! He’s good. He’s really good. Like really, really good.”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Sorry.”

“So why do you want to stop?”

You sigh, “Because I like him. I really, really like him. And that wasn’t a part of the deal.”

Sam nods in understanding, “You attached strings.”

“Yes,” you laugh lightly despite yourself. “So many strings.”

“And you don’t want a relationship with him because…what? Your ex sucked and ruined the idea of dating forever?”

You shake your head, “No, it's not that. I think I'd really like to date Jamie. I’m just not sure Jamie wants to date me. Or anyone for that matter.” 

Sam’s face scrunches up. He pauses and then, “I’m not sure you’re right about that.”

You squint at him, “What do you mean?”

Sam lets out a laugh, “Actually, now that I know about you two, things suddenly make a lot of sense.”

“What? What makes sense?” you question impatiently. 

“Jamie definitely likes you.”

You scoff, “And you think that because??”

“It’s little things. Nothing too crazy, but all together, plus the fact that you’ve been hooking up this whole time, it adds up,” Sam begins to explain, “Like when you first got here and we started hanging out, Jamie was very interested in what we were doing.”

“Yeah, he asked me if we were dating around that time,” You bring up softly, recalling your first conversation in the club’s parking lot.

“See!”

“See what? He told me he just didn’t think people on the team could date club employees.”

“Yeah, why do you think he wanted to know that?”

“I don’t know! Maybe he also wanted to bang Rebecca.” Sam gives you a look and you unclench, “Sorry, that was disrespectful to you and Rebecca, and probably Jamie.”

Sam shakes his head, “It wasn’t just that. A couple months ago, one of the guys - who shall remain nameless for the sake of this conversation - made an innocent but suggestive comment about you.”

“It was Richard wasn’t it?”

“He shall remain nameless,” Sam barrels on, “But Jamie flipped out and defended your honor. I thought it was because he’d been trying to be less of a prick, but it was probably jealousy. Or at the very least protectiveness.”

“I buy the protectiveness thing because we’re friends,” you roll your eyes, “but he was definitely not jealous.” 

“Come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how attached to you he is? He’s always the first person to volunteer when you need social content, and the first to say hi when you stop by during practice.” 

You shake your head, trying to find words to argue, but you’re losing resolve. 

“A couple weeks ago, a few of us were at Crown and Anchor, including Jamie, and this girl started flirting with Jamie, and she was gorgeous, probably one of the most beautiful girls we had ever seen, she was-”

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I get it.”

“Sorry. Anyway, this girl was definitely the type Jamie would normally go for, but he didn’t even bat an eye. Isaac started teasing him but it didn’t bother Jamie. He said he wasn’t interested. Before you got here, he would have gone home with her, no questions asked.”

You break eye contact with Sam. “...Maybe her breath smelled bad?”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Or maybe there was someone better he could see.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. 

“I’m not saying you have to stay with Jamie,” Sam continues, “You are a strong, independent woman who definitely doesn’t need anyone to define her. But if you want to be with Jamie, then you shouldn’t punish yourself. Just because some other idiot didn’t treat you right, doesn’t mean the next guy will do the same thing. I guarantee Jamie will treat you better, because he clearly already does.”

You swallow the lump that's forming in your throat, as tears pool behind your eyes. Looking back at Sam, his face drops, clearly taking your emotional expression as a negative reaction.

“If I overstepped-”

You don’t let Sam apologize as you cut him off with a bear hug. He quickly wraps his arms around yours and squeezes you tight. 

Not only does Sam Obisanya know exactly what to say to you, he also gives the best hugs. 

“Are you alright?” he whispers over your shoulder.

You nod into his, “Yeah. I think I really needed to hear someone else say that.”

“Good. Because your ex was an idiot. Like the stupidest person I’ve ever heard of.” You laugh as you pull away, “You know that right? That whatever he did to make you feel less than the incredible person you are was on him. You’re amazing and it was his fault for not seeing that.”

You smile, wiping a stray tear away. “Yeah, I do. My brain likes to work against me sometimes, but I know that.”

“I understand that,” Sam gives you a reassuring smile, “Brains are dumb sometimes.”

“God, they’re so dumb!” You laugh as you catch your breath. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Of course. I’m here for you anytime, you know that.” You nod. Sam bites his lip before speaking up again, “So, does this mean you’re going to profess your undying love for Jamie?”

“Shut up,” you shove him gently, “I wouldn’t go that far, but yeah, maybe I’ll tell him.” 

“Good. And I better be the first to know when he tells you he feels the same so I can gloat about being right.”

You laugh before another thought occurs to you.

“Wait, if you picked up on all of this from Jamie, do you think anyone else has?”

Sam shakes his head as if you’ve said something insane, “No way. No else on the team is that intuitive.”

You huff, but press, “Not even the coaches?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam tilts his head, “Why?”

“That is a story for another day, my friend.” 

Before saying goodbye to Sam for the night, you ask how he’s handling everything after the Twitter backlash and the break-in. While he assures you he’s doing okay, you can tell he’s putting on a strong front. You’re relieved his dad could be here this week. You’re sure it's been a great comfort to Sam. As you start heading towards the car Rebecca arranged for you, you also bid adieu to Ola, who made you promise to get dinner with him and Sam before he returned to Nigeria. 

Gazing out the window on your way back to Richmond, you reassess your plan to call things off with Jamie. After hearing how he took one for the team today, coupled with everything Sam said about him in regards to you, you feel yourself becoming hopeful that it did mean Jamie may have feelings for you. At the very least, you could put yourself out there. Because Sam was right, you couldn’t let Mason cloud your brain anymore. The way he treated you was unacceptable, and just because he made you feel like you weren’t good enough doesn’t mean you were. And sure Jamie never made you feel like that. But as of late, you’ve been feeling more confident on your own. You were good at your job. You had amazing friends who liked you for you. And you had your creative spark back and started writing again. So even if Jamie didn’t feel the same, you knew you’d be okay. Because you were more than your relationship with him.

It would just be the cherry on top of everything else. A really fucking good cherry.

Eager to see him, you quickly take out your phone and find his contact. Pressing call, you suddenly hate the sound of the dial tone. Thankfully you don’t have to listen to it for long, when Jamie picks up after the second ring. He says your name like a question, reminding you that you haven’t reached out to him on your own in quite a bit. Brushing past the guilt you felt, you greet him.

“Hi,” you say softly, “How are you?”

“Um, I’m alright. Yeah. How’re you?”

You close your eyes, still hearing the unsureness in his tone and you curse yourself for making him feel insecure. 

“I’m good,” you force out cheerfully, “You were incredible today. At the match.”

“Oh?” Jamie says, a bit surprised, “It was nothing. Richard scored the goal.”

You sigh at his modesty, “Yeah, but you were the one doing all that work getting the ball across the field. If you ask me, you were the star of the show.”

“Oh yeah?” you can feel the confidence creeping back into his voice, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” your words hang in between you for a moment, but you speak up again before you lose the nerve, “So, I called because I wanted to know what you were up to tonight. Thought maybe you could come over?”

“Really?” you can almost see Jamie’s wide eyes.

“Yeah. We haven’t really seen each other in a while, and I promise there’s a reason for that, which I can explain. And I just…miss you.”

You close your eyes, anticipating his response. You bite your thumb as Jamie sharply inhales. 

“I miss you, too,” he says softly.

“Really?” you respond just as quietly. 

“Yeah.” He pauses for a second. Then, “Shit.”

“What?” you say back quickly, heart racing. 

“It's just…Isaac and I thought it would be nice if we did something to help Sam with his restaurant since someone vandalized it. So, now a bunch of the team is headed over there to help fix it up. I was actually just about to leave.”

You exhale quietly. You didn’t think you could like him more than you already do, but you were wrong. 

“Jamie, that's really great. It's sweet that you all would do that for Sam.”

“You could come join us?” Jamie suggests hopefully, though you can feel the nerves in his voice. 

You laugh lightly, “While I would love to help, I think you guys should just keep it to the team. It’ll be more special that way.”

“Yeah,” Jamie sighs, disappointedly. 

“But you could come over after if you want?” You suggest quickly, with a lilt in your voice. 

“Yeah?” Jamie perks up, “Are you sure? It might be late.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “I’ll wait for you.” 

“Okay,” you hear the smile in his words, “I’ll text you when I’m on my way, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Bye Jamie.” and with a giddy smile, you hang up. 

You’re too anxious to go home right away, especially knowing you’ll be waiting for a bit. So, you text Rebecca to see if she’d meet you for a drink. Keeley had a date with Jack tonight, who she’d been seeing for a bit now. But that just gives you a chance to fill Rebecca in on your rollercoaster of emotions. 

Of course, she says :I told you so: when you admit to falling for Jamie. But she’s also happy for you. She’s glad to see you so happy in general, and that you didn’t close yourself off to the possibility of happiness with someone. Apparently, that was something she used to do. 

You also “ooh” and “ahh” when Rebecca recounts her misadventures in Amsterdam with a mystery Dutch man. You hope the successful encounter also encourages her to put herself back out there. And hopefully she’ll learn the next guy’s name. 

After a couple hours of girl talk, Rebecca drops you off at your flat. Checking your phone, you still hadn’t heard from Jamie, so you pump yourself up to change into your pajamas and throw some comfort TV on while you camp out and wait for him. 

But as you make your way up your apartment staircase, you see a figure lingering outside your door. For half a second, you’re excited at the prospect of seeing Jamie sooner than expected. But as you near the top of the stairs, your eyes recognize the figure as someone you definitely didn’t plan on seeing tonight. 

Softly, you gasp, “Mason?”

A/N:

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[ageofevermore]

SO SCARLET IT WAS

REQUEST — can you do a blurb of Wanda and reader? where reader has been sending wanda love letters anonymously. in the end it's revealed it was reader and wanda asks why they would do that when they are already married

WARNINGS — mentions of canon age of ultron events, mentions of canon civil war events, mentions of natasha’s death in endgame although very brief for my own sanity more then yours, parent clint and nat although it’s more nat focused, fluff to the max

AUTHORS NOTE — i don’t wanna talk about how this was supposed to be a blurb. also, for the sake of this timeline, wandavision is genuine not a scripted reality. wanda and reader did everything the right way and found a life together in westview

AGE OF ULTRON

You shouldn't have fallen in love so easily, especially not with her, you were a trained Avenger for thors sake, love was supposed to be at the bottom of your priorities barrel. That was easier said than done, because from the very first time that your eyes met across the battlefield, everything inside of you froze, skipped, and stuttered all at once. You should’ve been alert enough to detonate the blast before it could wound Clint, usually you were steps ahead of it, but her eyes were absorbing all the explosions around you and the soft watercolor green was alight with fireworks so beautiful you couldn’t look away. After that, you stood no chance of ever clearing her from your head. Even if she was supposed to be the enemy, even if you’d never experienced love before. Nat and Clint gave you the benefit of the doubt at first. You never missed your mark on a mission, but the cold temperatures and the fact that Helen said your heart rate was alarmingly high for your average bpm had given them the slightest indication that something was bothering you. That maybe, you hadn’t been so recovered from your history with Hydra as they thought. So, they sent you back to therapy.

Truthfully, therapy distracted you from her for a while, revisiting your past could distract you from anything for a short amount of time, but then you started having dreams. Not the nightmares that tickled your belly and drenched you in sweat and had you knocking on Natashas bedroom door at three in the morning looking for evidence that you really had been saved, but dreams of what ifs that all included her. Dreams where Natasha and Clint weren't the ones who found you barely clinging to life in an abandoned facility in Russia, dreams where it was her. That should’ve been the second indicator that you were never going to escape the curse she laid upon your heart without a single word. But you still tried to convince yourself that you could get over this, that you could see straight with clear judgment.

When she got inside of Natasha’s head the second time you crossed paths, you should’ve been enraged. You should’ve been cured of any delusion you harbored in your heart, but the attack only made you hurt for her. If things had played out differently, if Natasha and Clint had found her like they’d found you, maybe she wouldn’t be the enemy. If Natasha and Clint hadn’t found you, maybe you’d have ended up in her shoes, afraid to go against the only orders you knew. In moments like these, where Natasha’s half unconscious lost in her mind, and Clint is rolling in panic, and Tony is enraged and defeated, you seem to be the only one aware enough to recognize that maybe this is all she knows. That maybe, she’s just trying to not to get hurt again.

Natasha sees your feelings for what they are a few hours after landing at the farm. You had been sorting through your small selection of clothes that Laura organized in the back of the guest room closet while Natasha took a shower. You wanted to find something loose that didn’t irritate the healing wounds on your side from the first mission, but you were so far in your head you’d looked at the same shirt four times without realizing. Natasha had watched the entire event unfold, and like she never could when it came to you, fought feelings of rage and pride. You are the closest thing she’s ever going to have to a daughter, and watching you fall in love with someone so dangerous, she doesn’t know what the appropriate reaction is.

“You like her.” The assassin's tone was even, not giving away if she felt one way or another about the predicament you’ve landed in, but keeping her posture open so you wouldn’t shut down like you had a habit of doing. She and Clint knew you like the back of their hand, how had it taken them this long to realize you weren’t just reeling at the confrontation of your past, but falling in love with the enemy. You hadn’t even noticed she was still in the room with you, and that the shower water hadn’t been running at all. Every muscle in your body tensed, you were caught, and this could only go so many ways.

“I'm sorry.” With wide eyes, you faced your mentor who had become like a mother to you in the last decade. You weren’t a kid with heavy PTSD anymore, you had overcome most of it, not without extensive work and self-reflection, but for the most part, you were just an ordinary teenage girl who saved the world on occasion. That’s what Clint and Natasha saw when they looked at you. That wasn’t the girl Natasha was looking at now. She was staring eye to eye with a child tortured by Hydra. A child without family and without confidence in herself. A child who thought she was about to be hurt.

In that moment, Natasha abandoned the rage she was clinging onto in her belly. At that moment, Natasha decided to lean into her pride, to just be your mother instead of your mentor. You had found somebody you cared about, and as your mother, she would be elated to help you recognize that feeling without holding onto the shame you were undoubtedly forcing yourself to remember. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Malyshka.”

“She’s the enemy! She hurt you, she-she could’ve killed Clint!” You spluttered, trying to reason with yourself that this wasn’t a good thing. That you were insane for trying to redeem a girl who had almost torn apart the only family you have.

Natasha forced herself to see the situation from your shoes, something she admittedly should’ve done from the get. She forced herself to remember that you had been with Hydra for six years of your life, that had she and Clint not found you, you might’ve ended up on the same field with Wanda playing against them. She never wanted to think about that possibility, never wanted to think about how little her life would mean without you, but in another universe, she’s sure that's how it played out. “She’s just a kid who doesn’t want to get hurt. But you didn’t fall in love with the enhanced, did you?” Natasha asked, and your cheeks flushed so violently scarlet they were almost maroon, almost the same deep shade as the magic tendrils that danced between your crushes fingers. “When the blast hit Clint, you were frozen. I thought you were stuck in a flashback, that the cold had brought you back to that abandoned base, that wasn’t it, was it? You were looking at her. You were seeing her as a person, not a weapon. Something we all should’ve done a lot sooner.”

“She has the greenest eyes, Nat. But-but after the blast hit Clint, she-she was so scared. She’s just trying not to get hurt. Something happened to her, I think she’s still scared because of it.” You admitted, tears welling in your eyes at the possibility of her getting hurt at your hands, because at the end of the day, you would never sacrifice Clint and Nat for her. At the end of the day, your side was with the people who raised you.

“Whatever you choose, Clint and I support you.” Natasha hated that her voice shook with tears, she hated that you were growing up, she hated that you were being shoved into a corner where you had to pick between finding out who you were as a person, or being an Avenger.

At the mention of your mentor who was like a father, your chest grew tighter. She almost killed him. She almost took him away from you, from his kids, from his wife. How would he ever forgive you for choosing her? “She almost killed him, Nat.”

“You will never, never lose us. Get that thought out of your head, right now.”

You sniffled, shuffling your feet against the carpeted floors to feel something other than stabs of aching pain in your chest. How did you end up here? “I don’t blame Clint if he doesn’t forgive her. If it comes down to his life or hers. I don’t blame him if he chooses to live.”

“Malyshka, I could’ve shot him the first day I met him. There is not an ounce of self-preservation in his bones. He sees the good in people too easily to just give up on them. Just like you. If it comes down to him or her, he’s choosing the both of them. You know that as well as I do.”

“Nat?” You asked softly after silence had fallen over the two of you for a beat, her words circling your head and your heart on a loop. When your mentor hummed, you spoke again, this time admitting what you’d been trying to deny. “I think I love her.”

CIVIL WAR

You didn’t want to believe what you were hearing. You didn’t want to believe that half of your team and mentors had signed the accords, that they had agreed with Secretary Ross to an extent and therefore fed into the bullshit propaganda that the enhanced were dangerous. You were almost enhanced. If Hydra had succeeded, you would’ve been all the same as Wanda and the new vigilante Spiderman. Had they forgotten that? Did they really only see Wanda for her powers? Not for the teenage girl that had lost her parents and her brother and been manipulated and abused and used as a test-subject? Had they just let that slip their mind so easily?

You hadn’t left Wanda’s side since Natasha broke the news to you. Almost a year had grown between now and the events of Ultron, and the former was trying her best to fit in, to make up for all the red in her ledger at the hands of Hydra. She was making leaps of improvement, but that still wasn’t enough. She was still just another enemy in the eyes of Secretary Ross, and he had asked you to do the impossible. Choose a side. Why was everyone making you choose a side?

Wanda tried not to let you see how much this was upsetting her, but from the moment you saw her across the battlefield you’d been able to read her like she was your favorite book. When she held you at night, you could feel how tense she was. When she walked around the compound, you could see how uncomfortable she felt and how she wanted to just melt away and not exist. It broke your heart, but once again, you’d been put in a situation where you couldn’t do anything to help. A situation where the majority saw you as just a kid unfortunate enough to have no real family.

“Let's run away.” You suggest one night when you’re wrapped up in nothing but a thin blanket and Wanda’s arms, far far away from reality and for this one single moment in time, it’s just the two of you. Just Wanda and Y/N. There aren’t any superpowers, or any Avengers level threats, or United States government officials trying to control them like objects the same way Hydra had. It’s just them. Just two teenagers broken by life and in love.

“To where.” Wanda hummed, her lips flush against your neck as she fought sleep to instead spend this moment with you. The vibration of her voice tickled your belly in the sweetest way you had ever experienced, and a flush spread across your cheeks so scarlet in color it was almost maroon.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Ohio. I hear it’s the best place to create your own reality.” You admit shyly, picking up the cold hand that's draped across your midsection, and beginning to play with her fingers and pull at her knuckles to hear them crack the way she loves, especially after training sessions with Natasha where their main focus had been working on controlling her magic. Secretly, you love the way her muscles contract after her knuckles pop and how she involuntarily squeezes your hand in hers. Secretly, its not a secret at all.

Wanda lets you play your game, knowing your intention but having never shared her knowledge with you. She finds it cute how eager you are to feel her, even in ways as innocent as this moment. And secretly, although it's no secret to you, she loves feeling you all the same. She loves coming up behind you and hugging you tightly, she loves when you just lay against her and shudder every time her breath tickles your neck, she loves when it's just the two of you in a moment as nothing more than girlfriends. “What would we be in this reality?”

“Fiances.”

Wanda snorts, laughing so hard the muscles in her belly tighten and her face goes scarlet. “We’re a little young for that, detka.”

“Childhood lovers. We would’ve been best friends since Kindergarten. You would’ve asked me to be your girlfriend in the fifth grade, after I failed a spelling test and wouldn’t stop crying. I would have said yes without a pause. We would’ve never broken up, and our parents would have loved it. Pietro would’ve teased us, but he would be happy for you. And when we graduated high school, you would’ve gotten down on one knee right then and there. We wouldn’t waste a single moment. And Nat and Clint would be elated. Your parents would call me their daughter. It would be perfect, our life in Ohio. Nobody would bat an eye at how young we are, because love doesn’t know numbers, it just knows feelings.”

Wanda sniffled, wondering how she could get so lucky to have you. “Would we have kids?”

“Two. Twins. I would think they were girls the entire time, and I would ask that we name them Natalia and Lauren, but you would know that they were boys. You never told me that, but when they were born you’d tell me you dreamt it. Two boys, William and Thomas. We’d call them Billy and Tommy. They’d be just like you. Stubborn and silly, but the sweetest angels. Our life would be complete.”

“And we’d raise them in Ohio?”

You shook your head, twisting in Wanda’s arms so you could see her watercolor eyes. Even without explosives lighting up the room, there are fireworks in them. “I would find us the perfect plot in New Jersey. We would build a home for them, where they could just be kids, and we could be the cool moms who host sleepovers and invite the entire town to birthday parties. Nat and Clint would visit on holidays, and they’d be sad that we moved away, but they’d be so happy for us. We would be so happy.”

ENDGAME

How could this be happening? How could you spend five years without the woman you love, and the second you have hope of getting her back, lose the woman who was the closest thing you had to a mother? How could you gain the weight of hope, and lose it in seconds. Five years without Wanda was agonizing, but you never feared for a second that you wouldn’t get her back. You had lost too much to give up, and when Tony had come to the compound, saying he found a way to get everyone back, how did you not know that you would lose everything all over again? How had you let his words sound like a fairytale? Why was the world always sacrificing the things that completed you? Why did you think for a second you could ever be completely happy?

WANDAVISION (wandayn sounded wrong)

“This is the sixth letter I’ve found since Monday!” Wanda was exasperated, coming into the kitchen with her arms full of babies and letters. Her messy red hair was tied back, away from her face, no doubt due to the fact that Billy and Tommy had just entered a phase where they loved to grab and yank at your hair if you left it down and in reach.

“Oh? What’s this one say?” You quizzed, brushing flour off of your hands and grabbing the dishrag. The kitchen was a disaster as you attempted to bake a cake for the twins first birthday, but you couldn’t care less about the mess as you took in the sight of your wife. She looked absolutely ethereal, with hair so red it was almost maroon and love in her eyes so exuberant it was like a never ending firework show.

“Something about how I complete them!” She was completely at her end with these letters, and the anonymous slash at the bottom that gave away nothing about who it could be from. The both of you had come a long way since mourning Natasha and finding a life for yourself in New Jersey, and the last thing Wanda wanted was somebody tearing apart everything that was finally good. That was finally easy. You both deserved this more than anybody else.

Your eyes sparkled mischievously, a glint of something chaotic catching Wanda’s attention. “They’re from you, aren’t they!” She gasped, handing you Tommy when he started to fuss, and adjusting Billy now that her other arm was free. You giggled, looking for an escape route but your moment was short lived as Wanda came closer and her hips pinned you to the island. “Why!”

“I’m in love with you. I thought you should know.” You answered simply, although it was so much more than that. Losing Natasha hadn’t been easy for either of you, leaving the Avengers was almost harder, because it was the last piece of Nat you had left, but you knew that she would’ve wanted this for you. She would’ve wanted you to be happy, to have a family, to find everything she wasn’t able to find because of her past. The life you lived now, as much as it was for yourself and for Wanda, it was for her and all that she had given to you.

“We’re married!” Wanda beamed, “I already knew you loved me!”

You giggled, leaning up to kiss her sweet scarlet lips, but a baby hand kept you from kissing her. “Do you want a kiss, Tommy? Do you want some love?” You giggled, showing his tiny palm in kisses before moving on to do the same thing to Billy, wondering how you had come so far from battlefields in only a decade.

[cranquis]

Your recent reblog made me sad, but also makes a lot of sense. I've been following you since I was in medical school, and I'm now in my fifth year of specialty training (I am not American). I did occasionally wonder why I've been seeing less of the kind of content you used to put out.

All I can say is - thank you for the work you do. I've seen enough online to get an idea of what you must face on a daily basis. I think I'm lucky that somehow, the doctor-patient relationship overall hasn't deteriorated to such an extent where I live (yet at least), but I definitely understand the frustration and despair of trying to communicate with people who aren't coming into the conversation in good faith.

You've always been a kind of role model for me in terms of your passion for your work and your open sharing about your faith. I guess I just wanted to say that I hope you find hope and joy in your work, even if those you serve aren't wise enough to appreciate what you do for them.

Hi, my colleague! Hey first of all, thank you for your kind words of encouragement and affirmation. Negative med-related interactions (online or in person) anymore just roll off me, but the positive ones still give my heart a thrill! :) And congrats on your continued journey down the medical pathway.

Second, I'm glad your message gives me the chance to clarify for all my long-time Cranquis Pants* that I still do enjoy my work. I have been doing the exact same Urgent Care job in the exact same location (with quite a few staff turnovers) ever since I finished residency 17 years ago! I still enjoy the bulk of my patient interactions, I continue to hone my diagnostic skills, I feel very confident in my procedural skills, I have a reputation in our local medical community as a reliable and thorough physician, and I have a loyal group of patients who routinely nag me to "quit urgent care and become a regular doctor so we can be your primary care patients". My staff likes and respects me (despite my best efforts to ruin that on the daily, with my puns etc); I like my staff and appreciate the hard work they do in the face of the same administrative and societal opposition that I encounter; I am not distressed when little kids freak out during physical exams (and my success rate of turning those frowns upside down with playful interactions and silly sound effects is pretty darn good).

I am blessed with amazing work-life balance, more than the majority of Family Medicine-trained physicians I suspect. I carry no pager, I take no call, I leave my work at home when I go home. I know my schedule months in advance, I have a shift template that gives me plenty of week-long stretches off, and I have my Sabbaths 100% free to attend church and spend time with my family. My pay is decent and my benefits are solid, my debts get paid and I have a roof over my head. My kids and wife are happy to see me come home. Personally, I really have nothing to complain about.

But the bloom is off the rose for my profession as a whole. The politics and trends of the US health care system continues to disenfranchise physicians, devaluing the years and $$ invested in becoming physicians, over-valuing patient satisfaction scores and inexpensive labor and glitzy administrative initiatives and staff rumor mills more than evidence-based, experience-driven clinical medicine. The power structure is upside down, as if doctors ought to be automatically doubted and disdained by pharmacists, insurance companies, administrators, patients, and APCs because of their systematic educational journeys and reliance upon scientific evidence.

And one of the saddest results is watching medical professionals turn on each other. The fragmentation and super-specialization of every aspect of medical care creates artificial "us v. them" scenarios; specialists and primary-care battling over who does the paperwork for pre-op visits and FMLA, ER and Urgent Care arguing about how much workup should be undertaken by the UC when the patient is obviously going to need ER management, primary-care so overwhelmed with insurance-required goals that their patients can never get same-day/soon-day appointments, pharmacies so understaffed that it's easier for them to tell the patients that "the doctor never sent the prescription" when in reality ...

I could go on.

I miss the old days (said the geezer on the internet), when I could enthusiastically support a pre-med student's dreams of getting into medical school and "helping people as a doctor someday." Now I wince at the idealism in a high-schooler's eyes, and try to find a nice way to say "there's more options for helping people than just becoming a doctor... be sure you have your motivations straight, because medicine is not what it was even 10 years ago..."

So hope and joy in my career? Hope for the profession of physicians, I have little. But I make the joy in my practice when I can make it, and I only expect to find joy in my non-medical time with family and hobbies and travel and friends and the lifestyle which my medical career still does make more feasible than otherwise.

*Probably not the term historically assigned to "fans of this blog", back when I posted frequently -- it's been a minute -- but if not, SHOOT that was a missed opportunity.

[spiralinghours]

“Personal Assistant” Pt 4

Fandom: Saw franchise

Characters/Pairing: Mark Hoffman x fem/afab reader

Rating: R (just because of what it’s leading into for the next part)

Warnings/Tags: older man x younger woman dynamic (consensual though, obviously guys); boss x secretary relations; mild daddy kink; implication of face riding; bratty behavior; switch behavior (for both characters I reckon); mild body worship; slightly heavier with the feeding kink and fat fetishism here

Summary: You use overtime hours as an excuse to fool around in your apartment.

Author’s Notes: Same as usual—sorry for errors I guess. The dialogue feels cornier in this one but I mean, I imagine that’s how Hoffman talks when he’s not being serious. The man is a goober.

There was a debriefing in the main conference room first thing in the morning. Not necessarily related to “THE big case” (as the Jigsaw situation was often referred to as), but something slightly less significant, for the benefit of the rookies. A little training wheels bit for them.

It looked a little strange to have you of all people hovering in the corner—and you agreed. There wasn’t a need for your presence. In fact, you probably should have stayed at your station, manning any missed calls or appointments coming through for Hoffman. But the boss specifically requested you to tag along, under the guise of taking notes or something cheap and easy to write off. Something people wouldn’t question. Not that the precinct didn’t have a notion about Hoffman’s slutty nature and inclinations towards his younger assistant.

“I just wanna have your eyes on me,” Hoffman had told you beforehand with a sassy wink (usually saved for charming more pestering representatives from the public). “I gotta make sure I look good up at the podium.” He had lightly pinched your cheek before opening the door to a sea of badges and black uniforms.

And look good he did. In your opinion, at least.

Hoffman’s slow, smooth trickle of words tranquilized you, even if he was talking boring, technical shit. You chewed at the tip of your pen, corner of your lips curling up, as you noted the way his belly rolled forward against his starched gray fabric, just enough to press against the podium’s edge with a gentle bump as he shifted around. He absentmindedly scratched at the broad sides of his gut or made a gesture of adjusting how his pants rested on his waist—things he knew would catch your attention. He was cheekily doing it all on purpose. He had definitely rounded out since you had started working for him—just adding to the comfortable softness he already possessed from genetics and long hours behind his desk (feet usually propped up with a sugary coffee nearby).

As he spoke, you noticed also how gentle the curves of his face had gotten: chin ever-so-slightly chubbier, cheeks looking fuller against his plush lips and prominent cheekbones. It was cute. You ate up how a man who stalked around with such an intense and lumbering presence was really just a big fat teddy bear (one who whose lips were always sweetened by donuts and goofy flirtations towards you).

You finished fake-scribbling notes in your pad as the meeting was dismissed.

“Did I look okay?” Hoffman inquired as he shuffled beside you, making it look as if he was filling you in on some important task.

“You look so good, pookie.”

“Cool it with the ‘pookie’.”

“Sorry, Hoffy.”

“Fucking ‘Hoffy’, okay… That’s fine.” He sighed, knowing you wouldn’t relent with the babying terms. “I have to go to Sacred Heart Hospital this evening to ask about some records. I could use your help obtaining and tracking those documents, if you don’t mind.”

“What if I mind? What if I’m busy tonight?”

Hoffman leaned in with that shit-eating, stiff smile that only ever oozed out when he was frustrated. “It’s your job, darlin’. You don’t have a choice and you know it. I think you’re just being a brat again.” He pulled back, still all casual smirks.

“What’s in it for me?”

“What’s in it for you? The job you get paid to do—what’s in it for you, baby?”

“I mean, you would be keeping me after hours. What kind of overtime am I getting?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his pointed nose, and then lightly chuckled. “I’ll drive you home.”

“And stay for a drink?” you prodded.

“Sure, darlin’,” he agreed.

——

Retrieving the information Hoffman needed was so menial that he hardly needed you. Though you knew your penmanship and attention to detail was a little more experienced, you still had to wonder how he had gotten things done things before hiring you.

Back at your apartment, you hesitated with the next step—not sure whether to pull the classic “Let me change into something more comfortable”, or let your boss work his way to peeling your office clothes off. All in all, you decided to just let things take a gradual, natural course.

“You said you’d stay for a drink, right sir?” you peeped as your boss hovered around aimlessly behind you, taking in your décor and tchotchkes. He seemed lightly amused by all the little details.

“Just a small one. You know I don’t drink that much anymore, baby.”

“Yes sir.”

He had settled onto your modest couch, leaning back heavily, lap spread (and honestly inviting). You scuttled your way over, working between his legs as you often did. It was your favorite spot, after all.

You put the glass in his hand and immediately went to loosening his dark necktie… followed by undoing the buttons of his straining shirt until the flesh between his pecs was exposed.

“Didn’t realize I was getting the gold star treatment tonight,” Hoffman grinned languidly through a sip of bourbon.

“I just wanna dote on you a little. So don’t let it go to your big head. This is more for me.”

“Such a sassy little thing.”

“Takes one to know one.” You grabbed his hand, still gripping the glass, a treated yourself to a drink.

Your eyes raked over Hoffman’s big form, which remained so deliciously comfortable and pliant under you. You inspected him with your smaller hands: combing gentle black wisps of hair from his eyes, padding your thumb across his lower lip, booping his nose and giggling softly.

“See something you like?”

“Yeah, all of it,” you answered. “Everything about you is so big, so sturdy.” You knew the saccharine onslaught probably sounded ridiculous and corny (and would probably merit some teasing later) but you couldn’t help it. “Your big nose, these big, soft lips…” Your hand trailed down to the cleft between his pecs, a finger tracing over his pink scar. “This strong chest with these broad shoulders.” Your palms drifted further down, caressing his sides down to his legs. “These sturdy thighs I get to sit on… And my favorite: this big pillow.” You dug your fingers into the sides of his belly, jolting a tickled reaction out of him (which only made his belly wobble all the more under your touch).

“Oh, you’re in trouble, babydoll,” Hoffman bit, tone both playful but snide. He set the near-empty glass down by the lamp table and slammed you onto your back threateningly quick, your legs suddenly hooked through his arms. “Does this do it for you?”

He leaned down, doubled over your splayed legs, and pressed his gut against your crotch. The pressure was so heavy and warm, making you shamefully throb quicker than you cared to admit.

“Is that what you need, babydoll? A 250-pound weighted blanket?”

Your eyes flickered and went glossy at the mention of just how heavy he was. Such a hefty, cushy presence atop you, playing around with you, was all you could want. He could suffocate you with his weight and you’d be fine with it.

“You’re such a little freak, sweetheart.”

“I don’t hear you ever complaining,” you snarled back sweetly. “But I guess it’s hard to hear you at all when your mouth is full.”

“Calling me fat again, huh, baby?”

“Maybe I meant something else by it, too.”

A dull glimmer shone in Hoffman’s tired eyes, mouth catching up into an amused little grin. “Mmhm, I see. You want the best seat in the house.”

“Always.”

“Well at least let me get comfortable in your bedroom then,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh wow, bold of you to assume.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Let Daddy into the bedroom and you can do whatever you want, okay?”

“You make it hard not to be sweet on you, you know?”

[strayheartless]

Vanitas and the Chaotic Good learning curve:

Leaving complete darkness behind isn’t hard exactly. After having Mr. Giddy goofy light bringer (Sora) witter in his ear for a good nine hours about the “benefits of not being evil” Vanitas isn’t willing to say he caved…. But he caved.

Besides if little miss “How can I face everyone” Martyrdom (Riku) can find the balance, how hard could it be right?

Turns out it’s not hard, it’s just… interesting. He’s observed a lot from those light bringers who still have to find a balance with the darkness in their hearts. Here’s what he’s learning:

Dawn (Riku) is not above small acts of violence against Sora. Whacking him with a paperback, flicking his forehead, tripping him when he gets up to do to the bathroom. It’s all fair play apparently.

It is not acceptable to firaga people for annoying you, but that doesn’t mean Kairi hasn’t.

The real-boy (Roxas) can hit HARD and no he won’t apologise for braking something if he thinks you deserve it.

Raggedy-Anne (Xion) has a higher kill rate then Vanitas does… which is only mildly disturbing.

Biting people is bad, but Terra and Aqua always seem to be covered in Bite marks anyway. He has been informed it’s a different kind of biting. He doesn’t wish to explore that further.

His own natural eye colour after possession is red, and ain’t that a kick in the teeth.

Dawns a bitch when he’s grumpy and apparently the way to deal with him is to be a bitch back. Kairi is very good at being a bitch back. Sora just wishes everyone would get along.

The-real-boy and Dawn have serious history and it makes families dinners tense sometimes. Vanitas would not like a repeat performance of helping Ven drag Roxas into another room whilst Terra heals Riku’s fractured cheek. Roxas apologied but Riku still didn’t get out of bed for three days after.

Spikes and fire (Lea/Axel) apparently has the power to kill a man with the snap of his fingers. ApPaReNtLy he has killed someone with the snap of his fingers.

Moon boy (Isa/Sïax) has a limit beaker that could level city blocks. Wild.

Cry baby dislikes Cloud Strife for reasons only Ventus, Aqua and Hercules (apparently) know. Vanitas is pretty sure not even Cloud knows what he did. Van recons it has something to do with the big sword and the… Squats???

“I will not summon Floods until Xion and Sora cry. It is bad and I will apologise for it” … In Vans defence Naminé thought it was hilarious.

Dawn blindfolds himself when he’s upset about… something?

He gets along surprisingly well with Roxas… apparently shared trauma and distaste for stupid people goes a long way. Neat!

Raggedy Anne knows there is a spot on the back of Axels neck that if you dig in hard enough he passes out…. Isa showed her this.

Sora it not above throwing things at Riku and Kairi when he’s overtired and upset. He gets more upset that he threw the thing at them though.

Apparently master water slide (aqua) can still open dark corridors, she just doesn’t.

Dawn knows how to access dark gear. He’s done it exactly once in Vans presence and they didn’t see him for DAYS afterwards… that’s how Vanitas learned about the blindfold.

Naminé can get in your head. She hasn’t but she can. It makes for tense moments between her and Sora when she says something she shouldn’t know.

It is acceptable to throw water at Axel when he gets “fired up” during training. This was a delightful discovery.

Upon being introduced to the restoration committee it is not acceptable to point out that Leon looks like if Simba was a person… but it does make Sora and Aerith laugh so hard they end up crying on the floor.

Cloud strife is apparently more trauma then man and now Terra feels bad for hating him.

It is not acceptable to to tell Winnie the Pooh that forest fires are caused by thinking too hard. Sora and Ventus will slap you in the head and it will hurt

And possibly the most disturbing discovery of them all in Vanitas’ opinion… Sora has a Rage form AND an Anti-form. And they come out to play regularly in training.

Ultimately what Vanitas is learning is that nobody is amine to the darkness. He’s learning that it’s not about being evil or good by nature it’s about deciding who YOU want to be. For all he makes fun of them and calls them soppy lights, it’s…. Good to know that there is hope for him, even if it means he can’t get rid of the darkness. He can still exists in the light.

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

What all does wills service dog help him with?

Oh, I'm so so glad you asked!! (Details below the cut)

After everything he's been through, Will has:

Anorexia Nervosa (recovering)

Anxiety

Brain tumor

Chronic pain (from joints and tissue damage after the events of chapter 93)

Complex post-traumatic stress disorder

Depression

Epilepsy

Hearing loss (90% loss in the left, 70% loss in the right)

Limp due to broken femur and tissue damage in right leg

Lung issues (touched upon several times in Glimmer)

Migraines

Struggles with self-harm (recovering)

Struggles with suicidal ideation

Struggles with survivor's guilt

Thermoregulation issues (after the Mindflayer, his body temperature is pretty wacky)

Traumatic brain injury

His service dog Charlie, a rescued Bernese Mountain Dog, helps a lot with all of the above. Because he's a GOOD FUCKING BOY. (I'm gonna include a face (dog?) claim below this list)

Charlie refuses to eat unless Will is eating at the same time

Charlie provides deep pressure therapy (lays on Will) to ground him

Charlie alerts when he smells an anxiety attack, panic attack, flashback, etc coming on by pawing at Will and making Will pet him to calm him down

Charlie distracts Will by demanding to play when Will isn't feeling good due to his disabilities

Charlie provides balance support when Will is off-kilter by having Will lean on him

Charlie is trained to fetch Will's medication and forearm crutches

Charlie cuddles with Will when his chronic pain is bad

Charlie is trained to pick up things he drops so he doesn't have to crouch as much as well as carry small objects

Charlie creates a 'safe space' (circles Will to make people back up at least five feet) and grounds him during flashbacks

Charlie provides Will with a routine and a reason to get up

Charlie can detect seizures and alerts Will by barking until Will sits down

During a seizure, Charlie is trained to cushion Will's head

Charlie alerts Will to sounds like doorbells, alarms, and cars when the hearing aids are out

Charlie alerts Will to impending migraines

Charlie is trained to take knives and razors out of Will's hands so that he can't self-harm

Charlie lays on Will to keep him warm when his temperature is too low

Charlie barks whenever Will's heart rate is too high

Charlie paws Will awake from nightmares and lays on his lap

Charlie alerts Will's family when he doesn't eat or self-harms

He also provides emotional support and normal dog benefits

This is Charlie ^^ he is the Bestest Boy to ever Dog ^^

[vieramars]

elaborate now

Hi I'm awake now so uhh yeah Lena with a service dog

This relates to 2 of my headcanons about Lena: 1 that she has chronic pain but thinks it's normal and 2 that she's very much autistic and not getting the support she needs and also thinks her experience with that is normal. She's so far in the disability closet that she doesn't even know it's a closet.

So when she first got involved with the supernatural and realized there's a whole fucked up world out there she never knew about, she decided to get a trained personal protection dog. She finds it easier to trust an animal than a person.

So when she got the prospect (basically a puppy who is determined for a training program before it's born), the program she was going through told her "hey we also have a service dog training program. From the interview it sounded like that would be useful for you" and Lena decided to go with it. She didn't consider herself someone who needs a service dog, but upon doing some heavy research she found enough helpful tasks to teach the dog to consider it a productive choice.

The dog is a very high drive, incredibly focused belgian malinois. Lena refers to the dog by it/its which gives some people a bad impression, but she cares very well for it and took to training quite well after the program finished. This dog constantly needs more tasks to do and luckily Lena keeps finding new ways it can help her stay calm at work and avoid overstimulation.

Mainly the tasks it performs are alerts for high blood pressure and elevated heart rate, creating personal space while walking from place to place, guiding her away from overstimulating situations, mobility tasks like forward momentum and retrieving objects, and deep pressure therapy (though only when in her locked office so nobody will see her lying on the floor with a dog in her lap). Because service dogs have to be washed (retired) if they bite anyone, the dog's protective tasks mainly consist of intimidation rather than bite work (also Lena does not want her dog to attack an external because that would put its life and her job in danger).

She does not bring the dog to work when she has an important visitor, even though those are very stressful days and she would benefit from its presence. She knows that showing any signs of "weakness" or reliance are going to cause issues with the externals and her superiors. On normal days, the dog must always be working in the presence of her employees. Gwen is terrified of it. Alice is desperately trying to catch Lena when the dog isn't working so she can meet it off-duty. The dog is vaguely unsettled by Celia because she doesn't smell quite right. Naturally Lena has to give the dog breaks during the work night, but she makes sure to do so only when everyone else is busy and won't notice her heading outside for a half-hour run.

The dog is not allowed to meet lady mowbray's dogs. When Gwen let lady mowbray into the OIAR, Lena left the dog in her office and locked it to deal with the situation and then had to lock herself in for dpt for at least an hour afterwards because that was the most panic-inducing experience she's had in a while.

The one and only time the dog has barked off command while working was when one of the OIAR computers turned on without anyone touching it.

[red-ropes-of-avalon]

Fell In Love With Melancholy

Chapter 1: Awaken

Summers in the city were always miserable. The heat made people groggy and it certainly caused the stench of sewage waste to rise and fill the streets. With the “nice” weather, summer also brought tourists and events designed to draw them in. Parades, concerts, you name it and King’s Landing likely put it on for tourist season. It’s why Y/N quite liked their job in the summer. By nature of the job, the rooms were all cold, the smell was frequently sterile and if it was bad, a swipe of Vick's Vapor Rub under the nose could cure all problems. Granted the job was in the Office of King’s Landing Chief Medical Examiner, but the job paid well, gave good benefits, and frankly had wonderful coworkers. Most bodies that passed through were simply accidents, a frequent occurrence in such a large city. The occasional homicide passed through, but the homicide investigations and prosecutions always went swiftly. After all, the biggest and most successful law firm in Westeros was located in King’s Landing and only a fool would commit a crime knowing the prosecution they’d face. Targaryen and Velaryon Law Firm was simply a juggernaut in the city. Nearly every Targaryen was a well-known name by the press.

First, there was Viserys Targaryen, the CEO of the firm, though his appearances had been less frequent with his illness as of late. He was well beloved though for his philanthropy, which therein caused a decreasing crime rate due to the resources he provided. His daughter, Rhaenyra was just as beloved as her father. She was considered an icon among women for fighting for women’s rights. Rhaenyra was often seen taking on cases involving domestic abuse- fighting to protect women and children both. She publicly displayed her love for her children, Jace was in college studying law to join the firm and her youngers often accompanied her to public events. Aegon was less beloved by the public, but well known nonetheless. Aegon was the prince of King’s Landing’s nightlife, but his role in the law firm was often debated. There was only one Targaryen name who was never mentioned in the press, Aemond. He was simply too elusive for them to learn of his life, he was simply the mysterious HR rep.

A text brought you out of your thoughts, “Heading over now, hopefully, we can catch the 7:30 train.” You quickly hearted the message and began to clean up. While all of your papers had been finished for the day and filed away, all bodies were stored properly, and lab gear was placed in the proper placement at least an hour ago when you were meant to leave it didn’t help to double check. With one final confirmation that yes everything was in place and all other doors were locked, you grabbed your bag and headed outside of the building. The warm summer air hit like a truck, immediately missing your icebox. You quickly checked that you had locked the door, before stepping down the steps to the street. The long silver hair was the first thing to catch your attention. No matter the humidity it always appeared perfect, not an ounce of frizz. Today it was worn simply down with the sides pulled into a ponytail at the back. Aemond Targaryen stood leaning against the railing of the stairs tapping his fingers impatiently. 

“We’re all good, let’s get going!” You grinned as you finally reached him. Gingerly you interlaced your fingers with his and began off for the train station. You tended to take the quieter streets so you could enjoy your nightly walk together. He had apologized for the delay, working on some paperwork for his grandfather. Viserys had apparently lost his temper with Otto for insinuating something about Rhaneyra and had thusly had to have HR paperwork filed. You simply hummed as you walked side by side. You didn’t bore him with the details of your day, transcribing the video noted from a case onto the paperwork. 

You did manage to catch your 7:30 train. “This is the train to the Red Keep, stopping at…” Nobody truly paid attention to the announcements unless they were a tourist. Once you lived in the city you knew where each train line brought you. You had started scrolling through your Instagram feed mindlessly waiting for your stop. 

“This cafe looks cute maybe if we finally get a chance we can do lunch together there. It’s like a middle ground between our buildings,” you gingerly whispered to Aemond. His eye flicked to your phone screen to look at it. 

“We could go there and eat back at my office. I know the family would love to see you and we can stay out of the public eye.” You grinned at his response and eagerly accepted. His family for all of its grandiose was always entertaining to be around. While some of the feuds were more flared such as Aemond’s distaste for his nephew Luke, others were entertaining such as Daemon versus Otto who simply adored trying to crush the other’s ideals. 

“This stop is Flea Bottom. As you leave the train be mindful of the gap.” You silently bid farewell to Aemond giving his hand a gentle squeeze and a soft kiss on the cheek before slipping out of the train. Flea Bottom was undeniably the most sketchy of areas in the city but also the cheapest to live. Most of the people you encountered were genuinely kind people just struggling with money. As you made the short walk to your apartment building you waved to the people you knew. The sweet girl who ran the failing flower shop just to keep her grandmother’s dreams alive. The old man who seemed angry all the time, but was just grieving the loss of his wife and daughter in an accident. The tired single mom whose son loved to play pretend but had no money for toys or to play with him. They weren’t bad people, just people going through a hard time. When you reached your apartment it was all a blur of routine. Make dinner, take a shower, and finally fall asleep watching some stupid show. 

Work the next day you hoped would be just as routine. “Y/N police called, they’re bringing a new body. Make sure you have the paperwork ready and then this will be your case and I’m making this a number one priority.” Truly you didn’t mind a new case to work on, but it was strange how urgent your boss made it sound. Typically bodies didn’t stay unexamined for long. A day at most if you were backed up on the paperwork aspect. Your office didn’t find it fair to leave a family without the body of their loved one for long. You quickly prepped the paperwork needed and moved to where bodies were typically brought in. The detective looked young and queasy, you both signed the papers needed before the body was brought into the lab. You quickly changed into the proper lab attire, hair pulled under a hair net, mask over your mouth and protective face shield in place you entered. Unzipping the body bag you audibly gasped at the state and violence that this individual had undergone. The body was burned and had been completely enucleated. You took a sharp breath to level your nerves before turning on a handheld recorder. “It is July 5th at 8:45 am and I am beginning the autopsy. On the surface, there is severe burn damage along half of the victim’s body. No puncture wounds were visible besides the enucleation of both of the victim’s eyes. There is nothing present under the fingernails. Photography will begin.” You quickly turned off the recorder so photography of the body could begin. You took a deep inhale willing yourself to remain calm and still the shaking of the camera in your hands. All you knew right now was this would be the longest 2-3 hours of your life.