#paramedic bernard

[introspectivememories]

im sorry but i choose to believe that tim drake is the most insufferable "my man, my man, my man" girl about bear. he does not shut up about him. steph is cooking smth in the kitchen? oh my man can do that. bear cooks really well. dick triaging some poor victim on an emergency site? oh my man is really good at that. mhmm, bear is on his way to becoming a paramedic. damian building something? oh my man is really good with power tools. have you ever seen him build ikea? it takes him less than an hour. for our anniversary, he built me a coffee table. mhmm isn't he amazing? yeah my man did that. yeah my man, mhmm that's my ma-

[krizariel]

Inspired on an episode from HIMYM - because is my background noise show:

Tim hooking up with Jason thinking he is a hooker because whoever introduced them (probably OG Bernard) was playing a prank on Tim for being a prude/too puritan and is not like Tim had much time to find a date for the wedding he had to go to. He is still friends with his ex but it hasn't been that long since the break-up and its awkward and now they have to go to the same wedding since they are within the same group of friends.

Bernard: You should totally bring a date

Tim: what? who am I gonna bring? I'm too busy as it is and I'm not going to bring a random guy from grindr

Bernard: Eh, just bring an escort

Tim: I'm not THAT desperate.

Bernard: Pfft, what's the big deal, no strings attached, get to show everyone you are doing just fine, no one has to know, you leave with your dignity AND a good time

Tim: You cannot be serious.

Bernard: Oh I'm so serious. What, Tim Drake can't hook up with a hooker now?

Tim: Just no, and seriously shut up. I'll see if I can find someone and I have nothing to prove I don't care to make Steph jealous. Plus I'm sure she won't bring a date.

Wedding comes, Tim shows up and Bernard is with his date and another very handsome man.

Tim pulls Bernard to the side because what?!

Tim: Who is that?

Bernard: Oh, you know, found you a date *wink*, thank me later.

Tim: With a hooker!?

Bernard: What, too handsome to be a hooker uh? No one would ever suspect anything

Tim: That's beside the point! I had said no-

Bernard: Geez, give it a try no one said to sleep or do anything with him? He is just a companion tonight, whatever else happens is up to you

Tim: I know that! But-

Steph: You guys ok there?

Steph and her date had joined Jason and Ariana (Bernard's date) and they had come looking for Bernard and Tim.

Jason: Hey, you are way cuter than described.

And he winked at Tim. He was way too handsome, towering the whole group.

Tim at first is kind of forced to go along but it would be awkward to reject Jason since he was already there, and it was not his fault plus damn he looked stunning. They hit it off just fine, in fact it was great, Jay was a total nerd, they spent most of the night talking, drinking and flirting, and Tim started to feel all giddy and more emboldened to just flirt back. Is not like he will see him again right?

The event was at a hotel and they were going to leave their own ways. At first Tim was reluctant because well, he has never done this before and maybe this is going to be really expensive but… what the hell, he hasn't been with anyone for some time and he really finds he likes Jason even if he is a hooker and might not actually like Tim. So he invited Jason to his room to which Jason just said: Was starting to think you were not going to ask. That would have been no fun.

They hook up, sex is amazing, 100/10 would do it again … , and Tim leaves a few $100 bills by the table and just leaves a note with his number saying call me. Tim thinks well… at least maybe this way he knows Tim is still interested to see him again. Tim feels crazy because what has his life come to… and no, is not like this will be a Pretty Woman kind of plot, Jason probably has other people to see and WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM!? He will totally not tell anyone about this and certainly won't tell Bernard how did it go.

Well, Jason never calls him, Tim doesn't have his number, so he can't call him. Not long afterwards Tim has an accident on his bike, the paramedics come get him and Tim sees Jason there. At first Tim thinks maybe he is hallucinating because he totally has a concussion but-

Tim: Jason? what are you doing here?!

Jason: My job?? Didn't Bernard tell you I was a paramedic?

Tim: WHAT? AREN'T YOU A HOOKER!?!?

Jason: What.

Jason has half the mind to not punch Tim because he is having flashbacks of having such an amazing time with this rich kid that seemed nothing like the rest but then he wakes up alone and with money by the bed table. So insulting.

Jason: I'm a fucking PARAMEDIC… now shut the fuck up before I fucking make your injuries worse and lose my license.

Anyway, they clear things up (and Tim cant look at any of the nurses in the eye because they start giggling). Bernard, Ariana and Jason work at the same hospital and Ariana and Jason are good friends. Bernard invited Jason with them, telling him he had a good friend of his who is really cute but pretty lonely and can't find a date since he barely has any time to get himself out there. Jason shot him down at first with thanks but no thanks, but Ariana (Bernard's gf) told him Tim is actually really nice. Since Jason didn't have any plans he ended up accepting.

Jason: So you slept with me…thinking I was a hooker?!

Tim: …. Listen I wasn't going to do any of it, I swear but you were so funny, witty, smart, loved talking to you and in just a few hours I found I really was starting to like you, you were amazing… and didn't matter what you did for a living. I genuinely wanted to see you again and now I'm babbling and not making any sense I'm sorry-

Jason: The fuck is wrong with ya?… after another string of curses

Tim: I- … I'm sorry, I know this is a mess and I understand if you don't want to see me again-

Jason: No, I was talking to myself because for whatever reason I find ya oddly sweet.

Jason: But first, I'm going to do something for myself and slash Bernard's bike tires :)

Tim: Oh, can I join you?

Jason: Sure. It's a date Timbit ;)

[sixhours]

Alma

Rated: PG Length: ~4k

Notes: Post-episode for Milagro; the aftermath. Milagro remains one of my favorite episodes; this is my interpretation of what happened after. Huge thanks to @perplexistan for the beta, the glowing feedback, and for wrangling my dialogue's syntax. :)

Originally posted on AO3 10/1/2014

~*~

The first thing he sees is the blood.

He doesn’t remember the sound of his own footfall, doesn’t remember kneeling or reaching out, all he can think is that he’s lost her. The thought is cruel and terrible; you lose a bet, you lose your car keys. You don’t misplace your best friend’s life between the cushions, you don’t lose a person.

And yet, she is lost.

Her eyes are closed, her chest is still, her shirt is the color of dirty rubies. The smell in his overheated apartment is heavy with her last breath.

Scully.

His heart is racing in his chest, but hers has gone missing.

Oh, Scully.

He reaches to check for a pulse, and suddenly he’s staring into eyes of blue crystal, shocked and surprised as his own. She shudders against him, the roar of her breath an echo of reassurance. Her arms are a welcome vise grip, pulling up, clawing at his back, and he holds on for dear life.

That was too close.

When he finally speaks, her sobs have dulled to hiccups, but her fingers are tight through the fabric of his shirt. “Are you bleeding?”

She shakes her head, and he eases back, gently disentangling them. “Did he…”

“Hurts,” she mumbles.

He pulls back. “Just gonna look, ‘k?”

She nods her consent, closes her eyes. His fingers fumble at the buttons at her stomach, swallowing thickly at how soaked her blouse is. His hands are stained by the time they work the last button free.

Shit, it’s deep…

He moves tenderly along the underside of her sternum, surprised to find only bruises, the outlines of someone else’s fingers where they bored under her ribs. She winces when he grazes the skin.

“It’s a contusion,” she whispers, auburn lashes to ivory cheeks, like wildflowers pressed between dusty tomes.

He shakes his head. “Uh uh. Be right back.”

The 9-1-1 operator recognizes his name and address before he can give him the badge number.

He returns with a glass of water to find her struggling to her feet.

“Jesus, Scully, you shouldn’t—“

“I’m fine,” she says. “Just sore.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, hard. “Then let me help.”

He’s careful to avoid her left side, where the bruising is worst. She is warm and solid against him, but he can feel the tremors like tiny earthquakes along his side.

“What happened?” he asks, helping her ease down to the worn leather cushions.

“He came at me after you left,” she says, flat and dry, as if talking about the weather. “I fired...I fired twice? Three times?”

“It was four,” Mulder says, handing her the water. “Checked your clip.”

Her words ring hollow in the glass as she sips. “I must’ve missed.”

“You know you didn’t,” he whispers, leaning over her to grab the blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over her shoulders to quell the trembling. “Called for backup. Paramedics are on their way.”

“I don’t need—“

“Don’t say it,” he threatens gently. She scowls but sinks back and closes her eyes.

The response team is quick this time. The lead EMT, his name tag reads Bernard, makes a feeble joke about putting in a station next door, a private service for the guy whose bad luck always follows him home. Mulder doesn’t laugh.

He leaves her side only to show the investigative unit to the basement. The cops kneel over Padgett’s body, exclaiming and making wisecracks about love stories gone awry, so cavalier it makes Mulder’s stomach turn. Not that he has any sympathy for the dead writer, but he can’t stop imagining Scully with her heart in her hands.

They’re examining her injuries in the living room when he returns, so he takes the phone to the bedroom. Skinner is characteristically gruff, but he softens when Mulder explains.

“You think Padgett’s responsible?”

“Yeah, but he won’t be penning his memoirs anytime soon. They found him in the basement. It’s just like the other victims.”

“Of course,” Skinner sighs. “Alright. I want you in my office first thing tomorrow. And Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

The other man lowers his voice, a gesture of mutual understanding. “Don’t let Agent Scully out of your sight. If this guy comes back—“

He won’t, Mulder thinks, but he’s distracted. Her voice carries through the plaster; she’s giving the EMTs hell.

She’s going to be fine, sir. She’s feeling well enough to fight.

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner barks into his ear. “Did you hear me?”

He clears his throat, looks over his shoulder, drawn to her rising tones. “Got it, sir. I gotta go.” The phone clicks off before Skinner can lay into him. He’ll get his ass handed to him tomorrow, but tonight he has more important things to worry about.

She has her hands on her hips, facing off with the senior paramedic, who looks like he got more than he bargained for.

“I’m a medical doctor, I know the symptoms, and I don’t have them. You said it yourself, my vitals are fine, there’s no swelling.”

“Ma’am, you know very well that a hemorrhage might not present until—”

“It’s Doctor,” she says icily. “And if I have symptoms, I’ll go to the hospital. Until then, I’m refusing medical treatment beyond a cursory physical exam.”

The other guy looks pointedly at the blood smears on the carpet, then toward Mulder, as if to ask for help.

But Scully is looking at him, too, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Daring him. He opens his mouth to take the dare, to tell her to go to the damned hospital because she would demand the same of him, but something in her eyes holds him back. Her posture is strong, but there’s a subtle tremble in her chin that gives it away.

He, too, softens in the face of her fire.

“It’s uhh, it’s OK guys,” he mutters. “We’ll take it from here.”

Bernard blinks. “Agent Mulder, with all due respect—“

“She said she’s fine,” he says, his tone sharp, though his eyes don’t leave his partner.

The other man presses his lips in a line and begins re-packing his bag, muttering something about the loonies at Hegal Place. Mulder sees the paramedics out, letting the door slam just a little too hard, all the while thinking he is a lunatic for letting them go.

He comes back to find her buttoning up her shirt, reaching for her jacket.

“Do you want to get cleaned up—“

“Home,” she says, frowning at the floor. “I want to go home.”

There’s a pause. She won’t look at him, won’t meet his eye.

“Right,” he swallows, “I, uh…I’ll drive.”

He steals glances at the passenger seat as he maneuvers the car through darkening streets. Scully rolls her head on her neck and stares out the window, diminished in her silence. She’s distant, set apart; something vital inside her has torn but doesn’t bleed. Padgett’s psychic surgeon failed to seize her heart, but he’s taken something else in its stead.

When he reaches over to take her hand, she doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge him, but the bones of her fingers hold fast to his, reflexive in their icy grip.

Her apartment is cool and smells like her; vanilla and cinnamon, familiar and exotic. Her voice is drawn and husky when she speaks.

“I’m going to shower. Help yourself.”

He does. He makes tea because he knows where she keeps it—third cupboard from the left, middle shelf, next to the honey. He finds the kettle, puts the water on to boil, and tries not to think about the blood (her blood) congealing on the floor of his apartment.

He finds a lemon in the back of the fridge, the contents of which are similar to his own—heavy on the condiments, a lone half-gallon of milk, carrots in the crisper whose stalks have wilted to gray-green dust.

When was the last time one of us ate a meal that didn’t come wrapped in foil?

There’s the creak of the floorboards as she moves about on the other side of the kitchen wall, the groan of the building’s pipes as the shower comes on; the bedroom door is ajar, and soon steam wafts from within, fragrant and humid.

They’ve spent the last six years living side by side in adjoined motel rooms, but she never leaves the door open.

He takes a seat on the couch to wait, tipping his head back into the cushions. His mind goes back to Padgett, the last of his fatal novel’s pages curling in the ashes…

…the things he wrote about her.

He rubs at his eyes, exhales sharply.

She’s a grown woman. You’re not her keeper.

Keeper.

The couch is soft, the running water is white noise, and sleep teases the edge of his consciousness.

Keeper. Keep her.

There’s a scream, a forlorn wail that wakes him with a start; he’s on his feet before his eyes can adjust to the darkened room, stumbling blindly toward the source.

“Scully? Scully!”

The forgotten kettle pops and hisses on the stove; he rushes over to shut off the burner. He’s dimly aware the scream came from the kettle, not his partner, but his pulse doesn’t believe it. They live in a world where the sick imaginings of a lonely man can come to life and kill you, after all.

Was she lonely, too?

He leans back against the counter, blinking, trying to ignore the feeling of dread coiled in the pit of his stomach. Something feels off. The refrigerator hums and chuckles at his side, there’s the tick of a clock from across the room, but otherwise, the apartment is quiet…

The shower isn’t running.

His hand goes to his holster on instinct as he makes his way to the bedroom. There’s no sign of her, save for her ruined shirt, a spilled pool of sullied cotton on the floor.

“Scully?” his voice comes out as a whisper. He feels like a trespasser.

The bathroom door is also open, bleeding light onto the plush carpet. He creeps to the threshold, listening for movement. She should be toweling off, maybe brushing her hair, applying one of those god-awful green mask things to her face—anything but heavy silence.

Seconds tick by in an agonizing crawl, but there is only the sound of his breathing. He feels himself raise the gun before he realizes he’s going to do it, and swings his body into the doorway, tasting tin and salt on the back of his tongue.

Oh. Oh…

She’s sitting in the shower stall with her back to the door, so still.

Her hair is a dark brown stain down her back, her skin a shimmering pearl silhouette. He can see the upper half of her tattoo at the base of her spine, a haze of reds and blues through the mottled glass.

So very, very still.

Oh God, not again…

He’ll find her blood on the floor, her still-beating heart in her hand…

Her shoulders shudder and tense, her head tips forward, and he is baptized in relief.

“Scully,” he breathes, lowering the gun.

A thready gasp as her head snaps around, and he glimpses the slope of her nose, the pink in her cheek, the subtle furrow in her brow, delicate as a watercolor portrait. The sight takes his breath.

“Mulder?”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean…I thought you were…that he—” he says, tripping over his words as he tries to gather his wits.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she sighs, her voice as bruised as her ribs. A million sarcastic responses perch on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them like medicine. She doesn’t stand, doesn’t make an attempt to cover herself.

“I’m fine, I’ll be out in a minute,” she repeats when he doesn’t leave. He’s fixed in place, irrationally terrified she’ll fade away if he can’t see her.

Don’t let her out of your sight.

He recalls the way her fingers wouldn’t let go until they’d parked at the curb, the confusion and fear in her eyes when he’d disentangled them.

Not fine. Not this time.

He turns in a half-circle and lowers himself to the floor with a grunt, his back pressed to the shower. “No can do,” he says. “I’m under strict orders from the boss to keep an eye on you tonight.”

“Oh? I don’t think this is what Skinner had in mind,” she mutters, but she doesn’t ask him to leave.

“You know me, Scully. I follow orders.”

She snorts. He imagines he can feel her shivering through the glass. The tile floor is hard and cold, the warmth from the steam has dissipated, but their silence is comfortable. He thinks of the tea water cooling on the stove, the lemon shrinking in its paper skin, her heart thudding against her ribs like a prisoner seeking escape—

“Do you fear death, Mulder?”

Only when you don’t answer your phone.

He swallows, stalling. “Have we had this conversation?” 

“I asked if you’d ever thought about dying, not if you feared it—there’s a difference.”

“If we’re going to argue semantics, you should put some clothes on,” he quips. “We’ll be here all night.”

He hears her shift behind him, imagines he can feel the plane of her back pressed against his own, the steady beat of her heart like a bird fluttering against his right shoulder. She’ll wait; she’s strong enough to wait forever, if that’s what it takes. He sighs in surrender.

“I fear dying without knowing the truth...without closure,” he admits, dancing lightly around the whole of it; that she is as much a part of his unfinished business as any conspiracy. What lies between them is a spirit he can only glimpse in his peripheral vision; when he confronts it head on, it disappears.

He’s come too close to meeting her ghost tonight.

There’s a smile in her voice. “Why am I not surprised?”

“You got me. I’m predictable,” he says, casting a glance behind him. He can see the milk-white skin of her back, a dark curl of auburn hair kissing the slope of her neck. He turns away and coughs, unsettled at the intimacy. “Do you? Fear death, I mean.”

“Spiritually, no,” she says softly, “but on an instinctual level, I do. I think what I fear more is the threat, and how the constant threat changes us, more than the act of dying itself.”

He frowns, chews at his lip. “I don’t follow…”

Another pause, longer this time. He bites at the edge of his cuticle until it’s raw.

“I love this job,” she whispers. “We’ve given so much to this…this work, and I accepted the risks. But sometimes…” she pauses, there’s a soft click in her throat when she swallows. The quiet draws itself around them, and he grows still as stone, as if any movement might frighten her back to the hollow place she found in the car. When she finally speaks, her words are curiously detached and small, like a child’s.

“Sometimes I don’t like what it’s made me.”

“And what’s that?” he asks, closing his eyes, unsure if he’s ready to hear it. The irony isn’t lost on him, that for all his seeking, some truths are better left unfound.

“You learn to assume the worst of people. And when you don’t, when you’re foolish enough to let your guard down…” she trails off again with a shaky breath. “…Well. Here I am.”

“You had no way of knowing Padgett was going to end it like this.”

“Didn’t I?” she says, and the bitterness in the question makes him wince. “As investigators, we’re trained to rely on our instincts, yet I ignored everything mine were telling me—everything you were telling me—against good reason.”

“You didn’t know—“

“I did. And why? To become the object of a sad man’s perverted fantasy? As if I were as lonely as he wrote me,” she scoffs, and he hears her nails kiss the shower floor.

He tips his head back, feels the plates of his skull meet the cool glass wall, heavy with the weight of her unrest. In a moment of striking clarity, he understands that this isn’t the first time she’s sat like this, walled in glass and berating herself for some self-perceived failure, but it’s the first time she’s let him bear witness.

He doesn’t know whether to feel touched or guilty, but the guilt is an old friend, so he lets it in. Part of him wants to leave, grab his jacket off the back of the couch and run. Every time she gives a piece of herself, it makes it that much harder to look at her as a friend, and not something more.

But it’s too late; she’s talking, her words gaining momentum. An object in motion stays in motion, and he isn’t strong enough to stop her.

“Do you know what they say about ‘Mrs. Spooky’ when they think I’m not listening? That I bring it on myself,” she says, a grating whisper. “That I must be a masochist to stay, to do what we do…or…” she trails off.

Or you wouldn’t come back to me, he thinks, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I do the job because being an Agent is part of who I am. But it’s also the reason I can’t remember what it’s like to be…to be just…Dana.”

He swallows dust, numbly nods an assent she can’t see, and listens. He remembers as a boy, the pain of a blister under his thumbnail, how his father showed him to use a screw to make a hole and let out the blood. She’s doing it now, her words as honed and meticulous as a drill bit against supple flesh.

“These men, these creatures...they never really die. They follow me home every night, and I can only thank God that I’m strong enough to withstand living with them. I wish I could say the same for their victims.

“But I’ll never have that…that simple, unwavering faith, that at the end of the day, the world is a better place for what we do,” she whispers, her voice low and thready and ready to break. “I just know I have to do it. There’s no other choice.”

He closes his eyes and wonders when she became as brittle as him; if the change happened slowly, over the course of weeks and months, measured over miles and cases, or if this is the definitive moment, and she’ll emerge from her glass chrysalis a new creature, a changed thing.

Six years have graced him with a multitude of useless facts about his partner. He knows how she takes her coffee, her favorite shade of lipstick, and that she eats the yogurt with the pollen so she can justify the extra doughnut he’ll buy at lunch.

He knows that when they’re on a case and she can’t sleep, she’ll visit his motel room to share leftover pizza and watch noir films, and she cries at the sad parts when she thinks he’s not looking.

He knows she colors her hair, because her natural strawberry blonde waves are beautiful, and beauty doesn’t intimidate the good ol’ boys at the Bureau the way a glossy burnt auburn can.

But he’ll never know the person she was before she met him, before their truths became irrevocably entangled. Their physical losses were great, but the scars they can’t see are the ones that linger, and she is marked by him—partners until the very end.

He wants to know when she realized she couldn’t turn back.

As the silence draws itself around them, he knows there is nothing he can offer. She’s drawn her line in the sand and crossed it every time. All he can do is wait for her on the other side.

She has faith and science; he has her.

“Scully?” he says softly, when enough time has passed, when his legs are pins and needles, and the thought of her naked on the cold tile is hurting his sense of New-England-bred chivalry.

“Yeah?”

“My ass hurts.”

She barks a laugh into the narrow stall, but it works. He hears her movement, the door sliding open behind him with a metallic groan. He gets up, careful to keep his back to the shower, even though they’re past any pretense of modesty.

He coughs, rubbing at his thighs to wake them from their prickly sleep. “I made some tea, we could order pizza and watch one of those romantic comedy things you—“

The sob is barely there. He turns without thinking, searching her face, glancing over her nakedness to see through it. She’s standing on the bathmat, eyes downcast, water and salt mixing on the linoleum. The bruise along her side blossoms under her ribs like a black peony.

He reaches for a towel and wraps it around her shoulders, interrupting their careful, sympathetic orbits in an embrace. Her skin is ice, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Another sob, but this one catches in the fabric of his shirt as he pulls her close. Soon his nose damp with the scent of her shampoo.

“You have every right to be angry, Scully,” he soothes at her temple, with a protective ferocity that surprises them both. “But only with them. Not yourself. Never yourself.”

Her breath is sharp, shuddering, and he wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. He doesn’t know if “them” refers to the suits at the Bureau or their indomitable superiors or the citizens of Reticula or God himself. He breathes against her, tightens his grip, decides, fuck ‘em all.

She sniffs, and he can feel the heat of her pressed to him, bare, little more than a damp t-shirt between them. It takes all his effort to let go when she pulls away, and he averts his eyes as she wraps herself in the towel.

She tucks a lock of red-burned hair behind her ear, a nervous habit. “I’m sorry, I, um—”

“If I were a lesser man, Scully,” he whispers drily, and her sudden laughter is bubbling and warm, a salve to their shared wounds.

She tips her face to his, one eyebrow in a slender arc, her eyes damp and wry. “A lesser man, Mulder? What are you implying?”

Her closeness, coupled with the subtle innuendo, catches him off guard. He’s suddenly terrified she might kiss him, more terrified because he would let it happen, a wonderful and dangerous thought.

Something ethereal whispers at the edge of his mind’s eye, and he resists the urge to check the back of her neck for bees.

Instead, he takes a step backwards, toward the door. “I’ll, uh, wait outside. Pizza?”

“No peppers this time,” she agrees, turning away, showing him the line of her back, her shoulders squared. He watches a drop of water roll down the gentle arch of her spine, absorbed by the edge of the towel. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He makes it to the threshold, but can’t resist; has her pull always been this strong? He turns, watches her reflection, a ghost coming to life in the mirror.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Mmm?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

For coming back. For staying.

He opens his mouth to say it, but in the end, what he wants to say and what he’ll allow himself to say are two different things.

He shrugs. “For…leaving the door open, I guess.”

Her smile is faint, but genuine; enough for now.

The spirit catches his eye and fades away.

[tardigradesandtiaras]

The Dust Settles in Hatchet Town: Duke Keane and Phebi

(Headcanons for Duke in my Hatchetfield Dæmon AU below)

Form:

"Rose looked at the man her parents had called over to help. The guy himself look unremarkable, mid thirties, dark hair, with a look of concern on his face that made her dread of even trying to explain her encounter with the Killer Track. His dæmon was a dog, large but not intimidating, showing a degree of gentleness that was also reflected in the man's worried eyes, and Rose had to admit that her presence made her feel slightly more at ease, even if only by a bit."

I knew from the get-go that Duke would have a dog dæmon. His desire to help others and his loyalty are the core traits of his character, which automatically translates to "this man's soul is a dog" in Dæmon AU land.

Phebi settles as a Saint Bernard, a breed that was originally bred as a rescue dog in the Alps. Duke's is a social worker, his own career reflects main desire in life is to help others. While he is certainly capable of being protective in a physical sense, he chooses to protect the children of Hatchetfield in a mostly pacificist way, which is the main reason I stayed away from typically guard dog breeds like German Shepards or Dobermans.

There is a slight stigma against those with dog dæmons. While there isn't as much association with dæmon form and social status in America compared to some other western countries, the loyalty of those with dogs dæmon are often unfairly linked with gullibility. But when Duke see's Phebi's settled form he sees her as a symbol of all the traits he is most proud of, and he pays no mind to some of the comments by more snobbish residents. Though for the most part both he and his dæmon are well-liked, especially among the kids he helps.

As a final note to this section, yes they do have to deal with dog slobber. It embarrasses her more than it does him.

Settling:

"He remembered playing with the boys in his neighborhood when she could still change forms. Supervillains and highway robbers with snakes and weasels. Superheroes and small-town sheriffs with eagles and shepherd dogs and even the rare lioness when Pheebs felt up for it. He misses it, in the normal nostalgic way, but he couldn't think of any form a child's dæmon could turn into that would be better than what his Phebi already was. She was perfect."

My original plan was to have Phebi settle after the death of Douglas Keane, Sr, but the timeline doesn't deem to match up quite right. Even if Duke is in his early thirties in 2019 that would still make him older than 16 in 2005. Not an unheard age to settle, but a little older than what I wanted. Instead, there is no set event where she settles, it just happens around his mid to late teens.

Relationship

"He was home now. The paramedics had come and gone. There was nothing more to be done.

Miss Holloway was dead.

Overtaken by a sense of numbness he sits down in an armchair in his study. Phebi places her head in his lap, her movements just as slow, the will to even move suddenly swallowed whole by grief. She looks at him, and he knows that she knows he is thinking of her and of everything she was and of everything he never got to know she was and of everything she'll never get to be as she thinks all the same of the woman's dæmon. She looks at him at a way she hasn't since he lost his father. She doesn't try to talk, she doesn't want to, doesn't need to. She sits with him, willing to do so until the world stops spinning. After an a few long seconds Duke moves to take off his jacket, noticing something fall out of his breast pocket..."

In dæmon AUs a character's relationship with their dæmon is basically an external way to show show the character feels about themselves. When it comes to Duke, I see him as a pretty well adjusted guy so his relationship with Phebi is pretty positive. They talk often when alone together and work well as a duo. Phebi is the more protective side while Duke himself is a little more outgoing, but they're both just trying to be genuinely nice and helpful in a town where that isn't always rewarded.

Miscellaneous Headcanons

The children and teens' dæmon also natural seem to trust his dæmon even before they themselves warm up to Duke.

[batcavescolony]

So I know you were all set on Paramedic!Bernard but now we have Chef!Dowd who could keep his restaurant open for vigilante food service at odd hours for late dinner early breakfast

[falselyprofound]

Y'know what, yeah, gonna ramble a bit more about how my characters got their names because I am terrible with this.

Clarissa Dunst: Bastardization of Larry Butz's pseudonym in the third Ace Attorney game. (Laurice Deauxnim > Clarice Deauxnim > Clarissa Dunst)

Jitendra "Joseph" Prasad: Originally called Josef, after a character I once played in a high school production. Honestly not sure when that changed.

Ingrid Zheng: Bastardization of Incavris, from back when she was a Neopet.

Bee: I straight-up don't remember. I also don't remember why her name was 'Bernie' in earlier drafts.

Marshal Johnson: Named after that guy from How I Met Your Mother who was convinced bigfoot was real. An old game prototype had Clarissa and Joseph make a one-off joke about said character, and then the one-off joke became a character because I overthink my jokes.

Fiona "Finch" Meggins: Megan Finn, from The Wishlist. (Can you tell I designed most of these guys in high school?)

Jack Haas: Designed for an OCT where everyone is a jackass. QED. (The spelling of his last name was inspired by a brand of avocado.)

Lavinia Mortigan (Vinny): First name comes from the Shakespeare character, surname is the goalie from Team Haunted Woods on Neopets.

Vinny's other pseudonyms: Mostly Shakespeare characters (Margaret Claudius, Marcella Costa), though once they get found out they ask whoever's nearby for a new name. (Belladonna, Steve, and - hilariously - Lavinia again.)

Sprocket McKormic: 'Sprocket' is a temporary name used by an amnesiac in Deadly!. ("There's a theory I'm called Sprocket..."). 'McKormic' was suggested by my OCT writing partner at the time.

Annabelle Merlo: Straight-up don't remember, but I know it only starts with 'A' because the Camera Bunker Bat trio were originally named A, B, and C.

Duncan Durant and Isadora Voclain: Those two kids from A Series of Unfortunate Events. ...And therefore a certain deceased dancer, I suppose.

Eldora Doe: I hit 'random' on Death Road to Canada a couple of times, got her first name, then went "hahaha. that sounds like El Dorado."

Jonald Doe: Because I already had Eldora designed and wanted him to be just as stupid. 'Jonald', because I already knew a couple of Johns.

Patricia Sloane: Surname from the protagonist of The Intergalactic Nemesis.

Bernard Warnes: One of the placeholder names in the Monster of the Week scenario 'Damn Dirty Apes'. His maiden name (Nielsen) is because I realised too late I had the opportunity to make the BONE cast have the initials BONE. fml

Alice Benson: I know like three different fictional characters named Alice who are in the medical profession, so when I needed a paramedic for MotW you bet your ass that's the name I chose.

Rockwell Everett: Originally it was gonna be Rockwell Everest, after the mountain, but I typo'd it and couldn't be fucked changing it. Anyway yeah. He's a spelunker. His name is literally Cave Mountain.

Amethyst Orson: Amy Sullivan, from the John Dies series.

Spakel, Twikel: Typos I made in my Neopets's names at age 6 and have decided to keep, because it's funny.

Dylan Swisse: i had a multivitamin on my desk and was very tired.

Lincoln Femurbruch: There was a character in that D&D campaign named Abraham. I was very tired. Surname should probably be Femurfraktur, because her job is punching skeletons

Maya Omai: 'Maya' from Ace Attorney, 'Omai' because it makes her name sound like my, oh my!

Teeth: Originally 'Tief', because Tiefling. Then I went hahahaha that sounds like Teeth and kept it.

Mabel Crake: Originally an Earth Genasi called Marble. Because she was made out of marble. Stunning

Hat: okay, that one's on you guys

Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116: That one is also on you guys.

Cool Ranch the duck: GAY420GAY

[djuvlipen]

On the 18 August 2022, a staff member at a reception centre for refugees in Moldova, allegedly told Roma refugees: “I am fed up of you disgusting gypsies, I want to get rid of you once and for all.” Security guards turned up, ordered the Roma to leave, turned out the lights and sprayed them with tear gas. Elderly people and children were overcome and needed to be treated by paramedics. The victims have issued a criminal complaint, and the ERRC will represent the litigants.  

Monitoring by the ERRC in the countries bordering Ukraine since the Russian invasion and the outbreak of full-scale war, shows that despite the massive solidarity shown to refugees in general, when it comes to Romani refugees in particular, racism doesn’t vanish during wartime. 

Roma have faced discrimination on the borders, ethnic profiling and verbal abuse, and some families have been refused assistance. Roma refugees have been left stranded in railway stations, placed in makeshift camps or segregated and overcrowded reception centres. Authorities and others claim that Roma fleeing war are not ‘genuine refugees’, they’re just crossing the border for hot food and sandwiches, and any humanitarian aid that’s going.

These may seem to be isolated incidents in the context of the biggest refugee crisis in Europe since the Second World War. But the history of antigypsyism in Europe suggests otherwise, as does the fate of Roma IDPs and refugees from the war in Kosovo. 

‘A continuation of a brutal and largely unknown history of repression’

Back in 2000, despite being refugees fleeing war, despite fleeing coordinated pogroms, burnings, rapes and killings, Romani asylum claims were met with scepticism and suspicion by various authorities. They were classed as bogus economic migrants, nomads on the move and on the make. UNMIK saw fit to house displaced Romani women, children and men in toxic, lead-contaminated camps for a decade.  

In the years that followed this forced migration of tens of thousands of Roma, EU member states saw fit to initiate forced removals and returns of Roma to Serbia and Kosovo that were as pitiless as they were unsustainable.  

The abuse and mistreatment of Roma fleeing conflicts is just one more manifestation of antigypsyism. To quote Thomas Hammarberg, what we witness today is a continuation of a brutal and largely unknown history of repression of Roma going back several hundreds of years. After the Holocaust, what is most disturbing is how, without any sense of shame, state institutions and political leaders perpetuate racism against Roma, and how the majority remain indifferent to the plight of their fellow citizens.

Police brutality

Away from war zones, antigypsyism in countries at peace also puts Romani lives in danger. The recent ERRC report on police violence against Roma in six EU Member States shows that all too often there is impunity for law enforcement concerning brutality against Roma. The extent of such violence demonstrates that anti-Roma racism is endemic and systemic within the ranks of officers paid to ‘protect and serve’. 

The case files in this report comprise a catalogue of official lies and botched investigations, testimonies concerning incidents of excessive, arbitrary, and sometimes lethal violence against young and old, deliberate attempts to discredit and intimidate Romani victims, and protracted struggles through the courts for remedy, where justice for Roma is often denied and always delayed. 

Without access to justice and effective mechanisms to hold law enforcement agencies accountable for their racist violence, institutional discrimination will remain solidly intact across the European Union. 

Anti-Roma violence and hate speech

ECRI’S latest report on Bulgaria described Roma and LGBTI persons as the main victims of hate speech often by high-ranking politicians; noted that Roma were frequently targeted by mob protests and attacks on entire Romani neighbourhoods, which led to the demolition of Roma houses, and noted that positive steps taken by the government to counter antisemitism have unfortunately not been applied to these types of hatred as well. 

Across Europe, growing far-right mobilization against ‘ethnic replacement’, multiculturalism and minorities, means that Roma – almost 80 years after the Holocaust – will continue to be singled out for collective blame and collective punishment by cynical nativist politicians and neo-fascist mobsters; victims of public cruelty, often orchestrated with official connivance, targeted because of their pariah status and their ethnicity.

Beyond the hard core of haters, anti-Roma hate speech contaminates the public sphere in a manner that inhibits any sense of solidarity or empathy; the cumulative effect is that majority populations acquiesce with a noxious consensus that ‘Gypsies get what they deserve’, and fail to recognize mistreatment of Roma as racism.

The burden of responsibility

In the face of a toxic and virulent racism that insults the dignity, and imperils the security and well-being of millions – a racism undiminished and unabashed, despite a 20th Century history of erasure and genocide – the message for the 2020s and beyond is simple: it’s not enough to be non-racist, anti-racism must be the starting point; and those who choose to remain silent stand accused of complicity. These days call for an active rejection of the systemic oppression that arises out of institutional and structural forms of racism. 

While Roma-led activism is the way forward for emancipation, the burden of responsibility to dismantle racist injustice lies with those who wield power and privilege. As the powerful are unlikely to do so of their own accord, at the ERRC we assert that they must be pushed and prodded; they must be sued and shamed; those who wield power for unjust ends must be publicly and forcefully held to account by all means necessary that are consistent with non-violent struggle. 

Banal though it may sound, in the 21st Century, regrettably and tragically, it’s still necessary to insist that Roma rights are human rights, and that Roma lives matter. In 2022, any liberal agendas that fail to register these basic truths, are unworthy of the moniker ‘liberal’. If after all this time, so-called enlightened organisations – whether wittingly or unwittingly – remain hostile environments for Roma, and ambivalent on the ethical imperative to combat antigypsyism and all forms of racism, then clearly, they are still part of the problem. In these dark times there is no room for ambivalence.

Recognition is vital, remembrance is crucial. But what follows recognition? There needs to be redistribution, reparations and respect: access to justice as well as clean water and sanitation, access to quality integrated schooling and health care; freedom from fear, forced evictions and political terror; and measures to ensure that equal opportunities and equitable outcomes prevail in all public spheres, to make amends for centuries of oppression. And that’s just for starters. 

One of the ways to honour the memory of those who perished and those who survived the Holocaust, is for states to ensure that current and future generations of Romani children and young people will enjoy equal rights and opportunities, will know what it is to be respected, and not reviled, for who they are; and that these generations can face the future with hope for a better day.  

(This text is adapted from a speech delivered in Stockholm at the International Conference on the Genocide of the Roma and Combating Antigypsyism, 20-21 October 2022, hosed by the Swedish IHRA Presidency)

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

the birds will still sing

by hollow_city one by one, dick's siblings follow him to los angeles. then, someone else. Words: 10651, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of you're gonna go far Fandoms: Batman (Comics), 9-1-1 (TV), DCU Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Dick Grayson, Bobby Nash, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Howie "Chimney" Han, Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Ravi Panikkar, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Titus | Damian Wayne's Dog Relationships: Firehouse 118 Crew & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bobby Nash, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson/Wally West Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dick Grayson is Not Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Firefighter Dick Grayson, Firehouse 118 Crew as Family (9-1-1 TV), Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Delinquent Jason Todd, Minor Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake, Bad Parent Bruce Wayne, Paramedic Stephanie Brown, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent, Parental Bobby Nash, 5+1 Things, as always idk man via https://ift.tt/ChJGnOA

[myraelvira]

Jeff Porcaro

Jeffrey Thomas Porcaro was born on April 1st, 1954 in Hartford, Connecticut. He was the eldest son of the percussionist Joe Porcaro. He had two brothers, Steve and Mike, that would later play in the band Toto with him. They were raised in the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles, and Jeff attended Ulysses S. Grant High School.

Jeff began to play drums at the age of seven, getting lessons from his father. Later, he’d study under Bob Zimmitti and Richie Lepore. At the age of 17, Jeff got his first professional gig playing in Sonny and Cher’s touring band. He called Jim Keltner and Jim Gordon his idols during this time.

In his 20’s, he recorded on hundreds of albums. He toured with Boz Scaggs, before cofounding the band Toto with his brother Steve, and childhood friends Steve Lukather and David Paich.

Jeff became renown among drummers for the drum pattern on the song ‘Rosanna’. The song would later win a grammy. The pattern, called ‘The Half-Time Shuffle Groove’ was originally created by drummer Bernard Purdie, who called it the ‘Purdie Shuffle’. Jeff made his own version of the pattern by blending the Purdie Shuffle with the groove he’d hear in John Bonham’s work with Led Zeppelin, mainly the song “Fool In The Rain”, while keeping a Bo Diddley beat on the kick drum.

Jeff had worked with numerous artists. Very notably Steely Dan, but also: George Benson, Eric Clapton, Miles Davis, David Gilmour, Elton John, Don Henley, Donna Summer, Joe Walsh, Paul McCartney, and more than that!

On October 22nd, 1983, Jeff married Susan Norris, a TV broadcaster for KABC-TV. They had 3 sons, Christopher, Miles, and Nico.

Jeff died at Human Hospital-West Hills on the evening of August 5th, 1992, after falling ill, while spraying insecticide in the yard of his home. The coroner ruled out an accident and determined a heart attack due to occlusive coronary artery disease caused by atherosclerosis, resulting from cocaine. An LA county coroner spokesman, along with some doctors who treated him, attributed his death to a heart attack caused by an allergic reaction to inhaled pesticide. Bandmade Steve Lukather, and Porcaro’s wife stated that they believed that Jeff had also been suffering from a long standing heart condition, and a smoking habit, both of which contributed to his death. Lukather noted several members of Jeff’s family died at a young age, due to heart disease.

An article posted by the LA Times on August 8th, 1992, talked about how Jeff suffered a heart attack after a possible allergic reaction to a pesticide he was spraying in his yard. It is unknown what type of spray he was using. I don’t know if the brand or scientific name was ever revealed.

He may have possibly inhaled the spray, as authorities thought, at least pre-autopsy.

Paramedics were called to Porcaro’s home around 6:30pm. Witnesses stated that Jeff complained of feeling sick while doing yardwork.

LA county Fire Inspector Dennis Vlach stated that Jeff was in critical condition when they arrived on the scene. “There was no breathing, no pulse. He was in full cardiac arrest.”.

Rescue workers managed to briefly revive Jeff, who was taken by helicopter to Humana-Hospital-West Hills. He was pronounced dead at 8:30pm.

Jeff lived with his 3 kids and wife, Susan, who was mayor pro tem of Hidden Hills at the time.

Initially, newspapers stated that Jeff had passed away from an allergic reaction to a pesticide he was spraying in his yard. The story seems to be unclear, and has changed over the years, with the truth being rather elusive today. The Bangor Daily News posted that Jeff was spraying pesticide in the garden of his home, when he collapsed, an allergic reaction to the pesticide. Some sources state that the pesticide reaction caused a heart attack. His manager, Larry Fitzgerald, said that “He was doing a little yard work. The doctor believes that the pesticides somehow triggered an allergic reaction, and he suffered a cardiac arrest.”.

His wife and kids were home at the time. Jeff had just returned from a family vacation in Florida, and the band was scheduled to begin rehearsals for a tour in support of their recent release, “Kingdom of Desire”.

More than 1200, or 1600 according to some sources, people attended his funeral; including well known musicians like Don Henley, Eddie Van Halen, David Crosby, Graham Nash, and Jackson Browne. After his death, Jeff’s family asked that any donations be made to Grant High School, where Jeff had attended.

The Ashbury Park Press, among other sources, wrote that the Lost Angeles County coroner’s office ruled that Jeff’s death was caused by the hardening of the arteries, stemming from past cocaine use. His brother, among other people, rejected this. Mike Porcaro is quoted in the article saying, “Some public officials will say anything to get their name in the papers. Jeffrey was no angel, but he wasn’t an animal either. He had a heart condition that had nothing to do with drug abuse.”

A couple of other sources I have posted this :

“Who died of coronary problems linked to cocaine use.” [The Atlanta Constitution]

“Died from a heart attack that a coroner ruled was brought on by cocaine use, according to the Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll.” [Press of Atlantic City]

A tribute concert was held for Jeff in December of 1992, the proceeds were to go towards an education fund for his songs. Many of Jeff’s friends and former bandmates showed up to play, such as Don Henley, Michael McDonald, David Crosby, Eddie Van Halen, Boz Scaggs, Donald Fagen, and a surprise guest appearance from George Harrison.

An article from the LA Times talked about the tribute, and brought up the circumstances of Jeff’s death. It stated that Jeff was initially thought to have a heart attack, triggered by an allergic reaction to pesticide he was spraying in his yard. The Los Angeles County Coroner’s report, found no traces of the pesticide, instead citing a history of cocaine use as causing hardened arteries. Small traces of cocaine were found in Jeff’s system. Susan, his widow, disputed the coroner’s conclusion. There was supposed to be a private autopsy done, that his wife wanted. Though it may have required exhuming Jeff’s body. One source states that the private autopsy could have used materials without exhuming the body, but, I never saw any update on this, or if it was even done.

The Morning Star posted on September 16th, 1994, that , “on the insistence of an insurance company, a further autopsy revealed that his death was related to the hardening of the arteries”, though the rest of the sentence was cut off. The Windsor Star posted on July 30th, 1998, that Jeff’s death was related to the hardening of the arteries stemming from cocaine use.

In a 1998 article from Sunday Mercury, David Paich is quoted as saying:

“There was so much rubbish talked about Jeff’s death. Like anyone else in the band who used it, he had stopped taking cocaine and partying by the time of his death. He was not addicted to cocaine.”. The article then went on to say that, “pathologists blamed Jeff’s death on the hardening of the arteries which they linked to years of cocaine use.”.

On April 24th, 2000, The Guardian posted an article about musicians that met tragic ends. Interestingly, they talked about Jeff, and said:

“One afternoon, while trying to install a barbeque in his backyard, Jeff embarked on one of his bug killing binges. All he wanted was a pest free lawn. But the endless onslaught of bumblebees, the whole brutal regime of pesky winged insects finally became too much for poor Jeff. So he went out and purchased a 10 gallon container of industrial strength pesticide. It all got a little out of control, and he more or less sprayed himself to death.”.

In 1998, Jeff’s widow remarried. She had moved to Florida to be closer to her own family soon after Jeff’s death.

An article by UPI, posted on September 4th, 1992, stated that the coroner’s toxicological report showed that Jeff died of heart disease, caused by long-time cocaine use, as stated by Coroner spokesman Bob Dambacher.

The autopsy found traces of cocaine in Jeff’s blood, along with benzoylecgonine, which is described as a metabolite, or byproduct of cocaine. The coroner’s report stated that the cause of death was determined “to be occlusive coronary artery disease, due to atherosclerosis, due to the effects of cocaine.”.

On Loudersound, the story is a little different. “Earlier in the day, of August 5th, 1992, Steve Lukather had spoken to Jeff on the phone about Toto’s upcoming tour. The conversation ended as it always did, with them telling each other, “I love you.”. Hours later, he got the call telling him that Jeff had been rushed to the hospital after suffering a seizure. In a state of panic, Lukather got lost while driving to the hospital.

“By the time I got there, Jeff was gone. A doctor took me to a room, and Jeff was lying there on a fucking slab. They left me in that room alone with him, and I freaked out. I was screaming. They had to give me smelling salts.”.

Lukather has angrily refuted allegations that Jeff overdosed on cocaine.

“It was irresponsible journalism. You know, the guy had a wife and kids. He did not die from a cocaine. I swear on all four of my children’s lives. They found one one-hundreth of a microgram of cocaine in Jeff’s blood/ That’s like 2 crystals on a fucking matchstick. That ain’t gonna give somebody a heart attack, believe me. The rest of us were doing a hundred times more than that and we all lived to tell the tale.”.

Lukather said that Jeff had a pre-existing heart condition, he was also a heavy smoker. This, is what Lukather believes led to the pesticide getting into Jeff’s system. “He was probably smoking a cigarette, or a joint. He didn’t have gloves on. That’s how the chemicals got into the skin.”

♣♣♣

I think, that in the least, there were elements in Jeff’s life that contributed to his death. A major contention would be smoking. Lukather said himself, that Jeff was a heavy smoker. I don’t understand why there has been this emphasis that the autopsy was wrong, or that the amount of cocaine was not enough. From all of the articles I found, I never saw anyone call Jeff a cocaine addict. There wasn’t any hint of disrespect. Of course, tabloids might have been disrespectful; but why would the autopsy lie?

Through all the articles, the coroner/medical examiner’s name was not mentioned once. The pesticides that Jeff supposedly used, were not mentioned by brand name, or scientific name, not once. It seems that the association of cocaine comes with a negative connotation, but one filthy habit, or moment of leisure, does not make up an entire person’s personality, or humanity.

Personally, I think that Jeff's achievements outweigh any negative connotations that his cause of death has. I don't see his death as anything shameful, it comes off to me as just another part of life. It's unrealistic to think that a famous musician never did any drugs; it's also unrealistic to believe that those drugs never affected any of those musicians either.

Just because some people "lived to tell the tale", doesn't mean that everyone will. Every person is different. Even the medical backgrounds for siblings can differ.

To me, Jeff's death was a conglomerate of things. Having used cocaine in the past, being a smoker, and having a family history of heart disease, made him prone to the hardening of the arteries. It's important to note that his cause of death is something that takes years to develop. August 5th, 1992 was just the breaking point.

I think that Jeff was a great musician. He seemed to be a natural fit when playing with Steely Dan, as Walter Becker and Donald Fagen were notorious for being meticulous with their work. Jeff was very much the same. One of my favorite Steely Dan songs is "Daddy Don't Live In That New York City No More", which Jeff played on. The album "Katy Lied" is a great show of his talent as a whole. With "Everyone's Gone To The Movies" as another great example of his work.

For me, I don't see any shame in how he died. I just wish that he could have stayed around a little longer.

"He was such a great drummer, and his personality really came out in his playing. He really changed the way people played the drums." - Donald Fagen

[SOURCES]

[introspectivememories]

could i hear more about your timbern raises damian au 👀👀

OKAY

so like bruce is out of the picture for some reason,

it's always been a modern au in my head, no superpowers

dick is busy being dick in bludhaven

jason is an english teacher at the local high school in gotham

he's actually the most well-adjusted out of all of them

tim and bernard meet in high school

spend like 4 years pining over each other while darla slowly loses her mind

senior year comes and they're both too shy to ask each other to the dance but they sneak out during the slow dance and shyly slow dance in the parking lot

they're like stepping on each other's toes and saying sorry every other minute and darla is hiding behind some kid's car and silently screaming while videotaping it (what? someone's gotta play home videos at their wedding)

tim still has shitty parents and abandonment issues and bernard still has major insecurity issues and there's a lot of screaming matches but they refuse to go to bed angry at each other

which does lead to a lot of *angrily* "love you." and the other going *angrily* "yeah, love you too"

anyway they both decide to go to gotham community college. bernard is broke and tim is rebelling against his parents

bernard is studying to become an emt/paramedic and tim is studying to become.... he doesn't know yet

they decide to get an apartment together and damian is the baby - like literal baby, 3 at most - who shows up at their door one day saying "mother said i would be safe here."

tim and bear are like ???? who is this random kid????? but they're not gonna let a kid just stay out in gotham at night.

so they let him sleep on their bed as they sleep on the pull out bed in the living room

the next day talia sends them a letter. in it she has given over legal custody to them, and that she's a.... top secret spy? an assassin? whatever you wanna make it... and that it's too dangerous for her to keep damian any longer

tim and bear are obviously freaking out, like full blown panicking, like whisper screaming in the bathroom like "HWTA THE FUCK???? HOW ARE WE GONNA RAISE A BABY????????"

tim is like "i mean i always wanted kids but like later! when i was more... adultier"

and bernard never one to miss an opening is like "aww darling, you wanted kids with me?"

"shut up bastard"

they spend the next two days frantically baby-proofing their apartment

"hey dami~. what's that you got in your hand sweetheart?"

"a knife!"

tim: NO

the amt of baby books they buy is truly astonishing

so many child-raising books. so. many.

it's the closest tim gets to hitting his credit card limit

[atlanticcanada]

Medavie donates $100K to NBCC for medical simulation technology

New Brunswick Community College’s licensed practical nursing program is getting a boost from the Medavie Foundation.

The $100,000 donation will help the program with its educational technology in its health simulation labs, such as augmented reality software where learners can explore 3D patient simulation holograms and interact with human anatomy holograms.

"A donation like Medavie's allows us to reduce geographic and other barriers to access so that students can learn from anywhere in the province, as well as right here on campus,” said Mary Butler, president of the college.

She says technology will also expose students to scenarios that can’t be recreated in a real environment.

“That sort of thing really gives us limitless scenarios students can practice on and learn from during their time with NBCC [New Brunswick Community College],” said Butler.

This brings NBCC close to its goal of $16 million for its “Going Beyond” campaign.

Bernard Lord, CEO of Medavie, says his company depends on qualified health-care workers to provide care to New Brunswickers.

“[We] are proud to be able to invest in the training and education of our local health-care workers of tomorrow,” Lord said in a news release.

Medavie manages and runs the Extra Mural Program – a home and community-based health-care program in the province – and Ambulance New Brunswick – the provincial paramedic service.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/Gw39iua

[avayarising]

– @hypewinter

When the paramedics have arrived, and checked Dr Fenton over, and gently and compassionately told Tim and Tam and Julia that there’s nothing to be done, and on hearing about the heart condition carefully suggested that perhaps there was never anything to be done, and taken the body away in a black bag, the three of them are left sitting on the floor in silence, amongst scattered medical wrappings, pieces of Danny’s shirt, the generic bereavement counselling leaflets left by the paramedics, and the components of the defibrillator. There’s a crowd milling around outside Tim’s office, but as yet no-one has come in to them.

Tam reaches over and wraps her arms round Julia, who crumples into her and sobs.

“Take three days’ compassionate leave, both of you,” says Tim, dully, staring at the floor. “Starting now. I’ll authorise more if you need it.”

Tam reaches over to grasp Tim’s hand. “Then you need to take time off too,” she says. “Tim…” she can’t say any more, and pulls him in to the hug.

And that’s how they are when the door opens and Lucius Fox comes rushing in. “Dad!” Tam cries, scrambling up and throwing her arms around him.

Bruce is following close behind. “Tim! Are you all right?”

Tim stays seated on the floor, gazing at the carpet, while Julia gets to her feet and stands awkwardly.

While Tam introduces Julia tearfully to her father, Bruce rushes to crouch beside Tim, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Tim. Son. I’m here.”

Tim tips into Bruce’s chest and lets him wrap himself around him for a moment. Bruce presses Tim’s head to his chest.

“Come home, chum," he murmurs into his ear. “Lucius and I can take care of the company for a few days.”

Tim quivers. “I – he – I couldn’t do anything…”

“Shh, son, I know. Come on, let’s go home.”

Tim says nothing.

“Dick will be there. And I’ll get Alfred to pick up Bernard and bring him round, hmm?” Bruce asks gently.

Tim nods. He holds on a moment longer, then pulls away. “Okay. But… There’s one thing I have to do first,” he says, steadying his voice very deliberately. “May I have the room for a minute?”

Tam draws a quick breath, and Bruce says, “You don’t have to do that,” but Tim shakes his head.

“He died on my watch, Bruce,” he says.

Bruce holds his gaze for a moment and then nods. “I’ll wait for you just outside,” he says, and they all turn to leave, and Tam says to Bruce “Try and make sure he gets some sleep tonight,” and Tim knows she means ‘don’t let him patrol’, and Lucius is asking Julia if there’s anyone he can call for her, and then the door closes.

And Tim is alone in the room, with a phone call to make.

Dr Fenton’s file lists his emergency contact as a sister, a Dr Jasmine Fenton.

He calls the number.

“Hello, is this Jasmine Fenton? This is Tim Drake, of Wayne Enterprises. I’m calling because you’re listed as Dr Daniel Fenton’s emergency contact.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath.

Tim ploughs through. He can’t stop, or he won’t be able to do this. “Daniel collapsed in my office about an hour ago. We were… unable to resuscitate him. I’m sorry, Doctor Fenton.”

“Does he still have a body?”

She’s sharp and efficient, and Tim is thrown completely off his script. “I mean… yes, there’s a body. The ambulance crew… I mean, but, he’s, he’s dead.”

“More dead than usual?” And there’s an actual hint of humour there, and Tim remembers Lazarus-green eyes, and begins to hope.

“How dead is he… usually?”

Getting a concussion had not been on Danny's to do list when he woke up that morning. Then again, neither had been getting jump scared by Ellie that close to the stairs. Unfortunately for Danny, his Fenton luck had kicked in at the wrong time as he had a very important meeting with the CEOs of the company as the head of the Engineering department. So here he was, on his way to work "mildly" concussed. It would probably be fine though. Probably.

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

I am firmly entrenched in the Bernard Becomes An EMT camp, and I love the possibilities for chaos it allows.

Everyone at his station house whispering behind his back because of the Lois Lane/Clark Kent/Superman style love triangle he has going on with Red Robin and that rich Wayne kid who goes running headlong into shootings with no sense of self preservation. 

Bernard’s own lack of self preservation when he ignores the police tape and sprints into an active scene with his kit because no way is he going to stand on the sidelines and wait for clearance. 

Tim gets shot in his civilian persona because there’s a price on his head (again) and he refuses to be moved until the other people who were caught in the crossfire get into ambulances, so Bernard has to strong arm him onto a gurney because dammit Tim you were shot in the belly you could lose your spleen.

“It’s fine, babe. I already lost it last year. An evil immortal sugar daddy took it out.”

“What thE FUCK, Tim?!”

Oracle would route his truck to Bat related emergencies, and now he has a bingo game going on with his driver. ‘Grappling line released too early and a Robin flew into a window’ ‘Red Hood stuck in a vent’ ‘Glitter grenade mishap’ ‘Batman stuck in a vent’ ‘Nightwing fell off a train’ ‘Red Robin fell asleep while going 112 on his motorcycle and drove into a hot dog cart’ ‘Signal stuck in a vent’

[chamiryokuroi]

Imagine being an EMT in Gotham and one of your coworkers is not only A) One of the few (only) paramedics the batfam actually allows to treat them but also B) Dating one of the Wayne’s

I just know Bernard will either be super popular OR bullied non-stop

[ragewithinthestorm]

Scarlet shook her head as she coughed again, "no idea. Was taking Chip for his walk and your kitchen was a wall of fire." She flopped back onto the grass beside her, Chip moved to rest his head over her chest, big enough that he could reach Chrissy's arm over Scarlet's chest and he started licking her too. "Chip no, move." She shoved the huge dog head down from her chest to her stomach and took a sharp breath, Chip was a St Bernard, he was huge and right now Scarlet needed to breathe.

The firemen tended to the roaring blaze as the paramedics, along with one fireman, came over to them. Scarlet told the paramedics to check Chrissy first, the fireman was surprised to see Scarlet dripping wet with burns on her arms, thankfully they weren't very bad but still stung. "Junior? What happened?" He asked as he got down on his knees and made her sit up so she would breathe better and began to check her arms.

"Hey Chief," she explained what happened and how she had soaked herself and a blanket with the hose before going in so the water would help protect them to an extent. He applauded her for using her training but also scolded her for running head first into a burning building.

Once the pair were both checked to and the fire was out, it was decided that they didn't need to go to the hospital but there was no way Chrissy could live in that house and as her parents were out of town she didn't have anywhere to go. "You can stay with me and Chip, we've got plenty of space," Scarlet offered with a smile, she knew it wasn't going to replace her home or belongings but she was damned if she just left her outside.

Chrissy had been glad for a night away from her parents. Her brother had gone to a friends house, so it had just been her in the house. No family, no friends. Not that she had a lot of friends. She wouldn't exactly call the cheer squad friends anyway. She had been close with Heather before Heather had passed away. And she supposed that there was Jason. But, they'd been drifting lately and she didn't want to be around him for too much longer.

She hadn't even known that the fire had started. The smoke had gotten to her while she was asleep, which added to the unconsciousness. When the fresh air had hit her though and she heard voices and coughs, she frowned. It was early. She could tell that for sure. She coughed as she woke up and rolled slightly so that she could brace herself on the grass.

"What- what happened?" She asked and frowned. She could hear the sirens coming closer. Hawkins didn't really have much going on, so the fire brigade got there sooner rather than later. Along with an ambulance just in case Chrissy had needed it.