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farfromstrange · 5 months

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Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him.

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense.

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again.

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true.

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks.

Foggy dislocated his shoulder.

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act.

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital.

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him.

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips.

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him.

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on.

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought.

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence.

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say.

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why?

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask.

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet.

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says.

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind.

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real.

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says.

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further.

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go.

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort.

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about.

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot.

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself.

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise.

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated.

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart.

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?”

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.”

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing.

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier.

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor.

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin.

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry.

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help.

“It’s fine,” he assures you.

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.”

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier.

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes.

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do.

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie.

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for.

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers.

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.”

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye.

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says.

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running.

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #doctor!reader #medical drama #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox #do no harm

219 notes · View notes

good-chimes · 1 year

Text

THE H.T.G.Y. FILES

Project team notes: Vat growth stage has been successful. Please note project is titled Human Tactical Ground-unit Y (H.T.G.Y.) and this is the only designation that should be used. Lab technicians who continue to use slang term hotguy will be written up.

Senior researcher CUB-135 has been called in to consult. Please give him access to all non-sensitive files.

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

HTGY: Well, hello there!

CUB-135: Hi. How’s it, uh. How’s it going?

HTGY: How’s it going? Huh, that’s the first time someone’s asked me that. Wait a minute. I know that one. How’s it going. Oh, oh, I got it. It’s going great!

CUB-135: …Cool.

HTGY: Yeah. Yeah. Isn’t it great to be alive and awake? How’s it treating you?

CUB-135: It’s magnificent.

HTGY: [laughing] Magnificent. Oh, I like that. Who are you, my friend?

CUB-135: I’m a consultant. Cub-one-three-five. The project team dragged me in because I wrote the genome.

HTGY: Consultant…. So you’re the one who does their thinking for them, huh?

CUB-135: [surprised laugh] Yeah.

HTGY: Well, I’m telling you, they need it. Buncha people prodding me to see if I can stand up! You can just ask that, can’t you? A man’s gotta have space, Cub. A man’s gotta do things under his own steam.

CUB-135: Yeah, I guess. Yeah.

HTGY: [conspiratorial] Here’s a question. Got a lot of things in my head, Cub. The ol’ memory’s all messed up. I’m new, right?

CUB-135: You’re new. That’s right.

HTGY: I thought so! How new?

CUB-135: Uhh… three days? Three days and two hours.

HTGY: Thank you! Finally. Can’t get a straight answer out of anyone here.

CUB-135: …you want your genome notes?

HTGY: Boy, do I! What’s a genome?

CUB-135: Uh. Okay. Let’s see what we can do. I need some files. A lotta files.

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

HTGY: Oh, we have to stop.

CUB-135: Yeah?

HTGY: That noise means I gotta be somewhere.

CUB-135: Mm.

HTGY: Just more prodding and check-ups, I guess. Can’t take long. Come back, okay? I'll be here, at least I guess I'll be here. I've been here all the time so far. Tomorrow?

CUB-135: …

CUB-135: Alright. Tomorrow.

DEATH COUNT: 1

Project team notes: First trial (subject vs two skeletons obtained from Lab 2E spawner) did not meet expectations. Subject (H.T.G.Y.) is slow to grasp the basics of hand-to-hand combat despite neural implants. Speed below benchmark. Precision poor. Regeneration not fast enough to alter outcome of combat.

Although a disappointing start to the project, there are promising leads in some areas. Combat abilities expected to improve through repetition. Deficiencies in combat conversely allow better collection of regeneration data.

Subject observation: when returned to room, subject spent six hours seated and unmoving. Scheduling next test for tomorrow.

[CUB-135 OBSERVATIONS]

note to self, find a way to phrase: ‘he was a project for faster injury regeneration, you fucking amateurs, nothing in that genome makes him magically good at fighting’ in a way that doesn’t include the phrase ‘you fucking amateurs’. difficult problem.

going back in. this one will be less fun.

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

HTGY: Hey, it’s Mister Does-The-Thinking! Cub, hey, Cub!

CUB-135: Hey.

HTGY: You’re looking serious today. What’s up?

CUB-135: I’m good. I’m good.

HTGY: That’s what I like to hear. Can’t have the big-brain guy down in the dumps.

CUB-135: How was yesterday?

HTGY: Ohhh. Yesterday, Cub, yesterday. I don’t think I’m that good at fighting. There were a lot of very unhelpful skeletons, Cub. A lot of them! Really mean! I think it’s going to be regular. I am not looking forward to that.

CUB-135: Mm.

HTGY: Any chance you can make it, y’know. Fewer monsters? They hurt.

CUB-135: Sorry, man. I don’t set the tests.

HTGY: Naw, I didn’t think so. You don’t look like a guy in charge.

CUB-135: Is that right?

HTGY: You’re just, you know [hand gesture] … laid back. I like that about you.

CUB-135: Uh.

HTGY: So. Cub. Cub, Cub, Cub.

CUB-135: …yeah?

HTGY: I’ve got this thing in my head. The sky.

CUB-135: The sky? Like… all of it?

HTGY: I dunno! You people put some pictures in my memories when you made me, I think. Horizons, clouds—I know they’re made of water, but how does that work? I saw a bit during the fight and it was kind of grey? Talk me through clouds, Cub. You’re good at explaining. And the rest of it! Where does it stop? What’s above it?

CUB-135: Oh, dude. Let me tell you… let me tell you about space.

To: +Team_Members_HTGY_Project

From: CUB-135

Y’all,

I looked at your trial notes. Project lead asked for my thoughts. My thoughts:

- inefficient; - could get the same regeneration data from tissue samples; - waste of skeletons.

You want to find another way. The combat unit thing was doomed from the start. If you want a supersoldier you should start over with a ravager.

have a real one,

Cub

Project team notes: One-month project milestone. Consultancy from CUB-135 has started to be more of a problem than an asset. Unfortunately he is the only one who understands how to process the regeneration data so assistance remains necessary for now. Upskilling of team analysts in progress.

Test continue. H.T.G.Y. has been given a variety of weapons and results range from abysmal (sword) to mediocre (bow). Subject has so far lost to every creature put in front of him. If the combat goals of this project are to be met, a better training regime will be needed.

On a separate note: great interest from sponsors in mid-combat regeneration data. A variety of tests has been requested.

New data storage links: EXPLOSION (creeper) – File CR93; FIRE BURN (wood) – File FR02; FIRE BURN (other) – File FR03; BLOOD LOSS – File IN20; VENOM – File VM07, UNCATEGORIZED – UN45-UN51.

DEATH COUNT: 23

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

HTGY: You know what the problem is?

CUB-135: I can guess?

HTGY: I’m so bored.

CUB-135: Okay. Didn’t see that coming.

HTGY: I’m so bored. Honestly, I’m bored most of the time. Except when I’m getting killed, which isn’t great either. Or when you’re here—you know I appreciate you, Cub, you’re a great guy, don’t get me wrong. But you’re only around every couple of days, and it’s the bits in between.

CUB-135: Mm.

HTGY: Can’t you clone yourself, or something, and leave one here?

CUB-135: Nah, outside my specialism. Hm. You talked to Mumbo much? Mumbo’s always around.

HTGY: The lab system?

[null]: Hello. Can I answer a query?

HTGY: Oh, hi, Mumbo. Yeah, I’ve talked to Mumbo. But let’s be honest, he’s not much of one to start conversations. I can never think of things to ask.

[null]: What I can communicate to subjects on this level has been restricted by administrators.

HTGY: See?

CUB-135: Get him to show you… I dunno. Cat videos. Space stuff. Forests. They won’t have locked that down.

HTGY: Forests. Yeah! Okay. Mumbo?

[null]: I’m allowed to show pictures of forests. How’s this?

HTGY: Look at that. So green. So many trees! How close is that picture from here?

CUB-135: Kinda nearby, I think. Looks like a research shot from where they caught the spiders. Lots of the wild subjects in here came from close by.

HTGY: Amazing. Hey, Cub, can you get them to take me to a forest? Tree training! Beat the spiders in their own home!

CUB-135: Why not? I’ll ask.

HTGY: They’ll say no. But it’s good to think of it out there.

Project team notes: Six-month project milestone. Useful data continues to accumulate. HTGY has improved with bow and crossbow, and survival rate has risen to one in ten encounters.

Unfortunately, a new issue has arisen in subject cooperation. Most tests are set up to incentivize survival, making attitude irrelevant. However non-lethal tests require participation, which has previously been forthcoming from the subject, until yesterday when he refused to participate at all.

CUB-135 seems to have a rapport. Suggest he talks with subject to encourage better attitude. This would be the first useful thing CUB-135 has done in weeks.

DEATH COUNT: 97

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

CUB-135: Hey. What’s up.

HTGY: Oh. Hey.

CUB-135: Not feeling it today?

HTGY: I knew it. I know why you’re here. I know why they sent you to talk to me.

CUB-135: Try me.

HTGY: It was a cat, Cub. I’ll take the fights. I’ll take the training machines, they break half the time anyway. I’ll take the spiders and the skeletons and the creepers and the fact I know way too much about what my bones look like. But I’m not shooting a cat! I don’t care if it’s safe target practice. I’m not doing it!

CUB-135: Yeah. Okay.

HTGY: …

CUB-135: So what do you wanna talk about today?

HTGY: You’re not gonna try and convince me?

CUB-135: Naw.

HTGY: Cub, I’m not shooting anything that’s not trying to kill me.

CUB-135: Yeah, I know.

HTGY: You know?

CUB-135: I read your test notes. I can guess.

HTGY: Aw, you read my test notes? You care! Don’t pretend you don’t, I can see through it.

CUB-135: What can I say. You’re an interesting guy.

HTGY: I knew it! Oh, hey, Cub, you know what? I came up with a new name for myself. What do you think—[dramatic hand gesture]—Scar.

CUB-135: …

HTGY: Cool, right?

CUB-135: Scar. Yeah. It’s cool.

Project team notes: CUB-135 entirely unhelpful. Schedule escalation meeting with bioprojects lead.

[message log start]

Lead (bioprojects): Well, you got what you originally wanted. You’re off the HTGY project.

cub-135: wait, what?

Lead (bioprojects): You’re no longer permitted in the labs on that level. I need you to turn in your badge for reprogramming.

cub-135: oh man

cub-135: here’s the thing

cub-135: i lost it

Lead (bioprojects): You lost your BADGE?

cub-135: yeah i’ve just been following people through the access doors

Lead (bioprojects): That’s against all policy. I don’t think that’s even possible. How do you get lunch?

cub-135: cheat code on the cash register. up up down down A B.

Lead (bioprojects): You’re not funny. Find your badge and turn it in to get your HTGY level access revoked.

cub-135: oh yeah. i’ll get to that.

Lead (bioprojects): You’re lucky you’re good at your job.

cub-135: just trying my best here, man

Lead (bioprojects): No interference. If the team complain to me about you again, you’re getting demoted to junior lab tech. Leave the project alone.

cub-135: sure boss.

cub-135: you got it.

[Lead(bioprojects) has disconnected]

Project Team Notes: Eight-month project milestone. Sponsors pleased with regeneration data. Two papers have been published to modest but positive reception.

After period of progress with HTGY’s survival rates in combat, improvement has levelled off. Subject appears to have less energy for reasons that are unclear. Random observational checks found subject watching cat videos at all hours of the day. Changes in diet and test structure have been tested to no effect. Rest time has been experimentally increased.

DEATH COUNT: 167

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

HTGY: Hey, Cub! Long time no see!

Cub: Yeah, sorry, man. Some admin bullshit.

HTGY: Your badge looks different.

Cub: Made it myself. How’s the tests?

HTGY: Oh, let’s not talk about those. You know what, I actually decided I’m not going to remember something if it’s not worth it. All the fights are the same and they keep doing them. So! I’ve been thinking. Cub. Cub. I want a cat. Can I get a cat?

Cub: …

HTGY: Just a little one. I’ve seen some options. Mumbo has pictures.

Cub: Dunno, dude. I can try. Might be tricky.

HTGY: [sigh] I guess you’re right. It…wouldn’t be happy, would it? Yeah. We can’t have that.

CUB: Sorry.

HTGY: No, no, it’s all right. I don’t want to make something unhappy. It was just a thought.

CUB-135: What’s on the screen?

HTGY: [brightens up] Oh, this? Dude, I wanted to show you this! Mumbo has this drawing program where you can build houses. This is my idea for a forest house. I think you could do it with three kinds of wood and you could have, you know, all these trees over it. What do you think? I mean, I know we’ll never see a forest. But imagine it in your mind.

CUB: … You know what, my friend, you’re really something.

HTGY: Why thank you. You could say the same of yourself—come on, Cub, don’t be shy. Take the compliment!

CUB-135: I don’t—

[silence]

HTGY: Don’t what?

CUB-135: [abruptly] I dunno how much more I can take.

HTGY: …

CUB-135: I—what am I even doing? What are we doing? There’s nothing to change. There’s no way to change anything.

HTGY: … You could get me a cat.

CUB-135: I can’t! I can barely get around the access readers! I can’t even get into the project files! Ten years of research and I feel dumb, Scar, I could solve everything until I couldn’t. What would you do if you weren’t in here? Man, that’s such a stupid question. I don’t even know what I’d do if I wasn’t in here. My references are gonna be shot. Maybe I should have paid attention to something else, maybe I should have done anything else—

HTGY: I’d like to see some forests.

CUB-135: Huh?

HTGY: You said ‘what would I do’. I’d go and see some forests.

CUB-135: …

CUB-135: Forests, huh.

HTGY: Anyway, that’s not going to happen, so I guess we don’t want to waste time on it! They need you here. And you guys need me here. Right?

CUB-135: …

HTGY: Right, Cub-one-three-five?

CUB-135: Y’know something, Scar? Sometimes I think you do more thinking more than you let on.

HTGY: Huh? Naw. Why’s your badge gone red?

CUB-135: Oh shit. Shit. I gotta go.

[message log start]

cub-135: listen boss

cub-135: first you bump me off the HTGY project, and now i’ve just had my name taken off the ravager patent. that’s my own work.

cub-135: this keeps happening. it’s not okay.

Lead (bioprojects) : CUB-135, for the last time, this was what you signed up for. It’s the same for all researchers. You have to put the time in while you move up the ladder.

Lead (bioprojects): Have you just noticed this is how the whole laboratory works?

cub-135: oh

cub-135: i’m noticing

cub-135: i’m noticing lots of things about this place

Lead (bioprojects): Good. If you have an issue, focus on your work and get promoted.

cub-135: yeah, see, actually

cub-135: if nothing changes, i’m going to leave. and i’ll take all my intellectual property with me.

Lead (bioprojects): Hah! Check your employment papers; you’re on a 10-year contract. It’s watertight. And even if you could get out of it, you’re banned from taking paper or data chips out of lab grounds.

cub-135: yeah?

cub-135: okay.

[cub-135 has disconnected]

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

CUB-135: Hey. Scar. Scar.

HTGY: Cub! What’s with the doohickey? It—oh, wow. That just zapped the light. Amazing.

CUB-135: Mumbo, lock transcript.

[null]: Transcript locked.

CUB-135: Okay. So. I made this thing to hijack the redstone gate down by the Drowned spawners on Lab 3B. It screws up the signal so you can get through. There’s a reservoir behind it. I put in a bubble elevator that will take you up outside the walls. I’ve got to stay behind to take out the cameras while you do it. Then I’ll get out with the evening shift.

HTGY: Wait, so I just take this and run? What if they find out about you?

CUB-135: If you do that I’m screwed, man. So don’t tell them.

HTGY: Yeah?

CUB-135: …Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. You could turn me in.

[silence]

CUB-135: Maybe you should. Yeah, all right. I guess, just—oh.

HTGY: Relax! Anyone would think you’d never had a hug.

CUB-135: …

HTGY: My friend. My friend, we are going to see some forests.

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPT]

HTGY: The speed! The precision!

CUB-135: Whew. Man. You did nearly drown.

HTGY: What’s important here is that I didn’t, because I am an elite escape artist. And you got out too, so I guess we can share the title.

CUB-135: We’re not far enough to say that yet. I’d bet we’re still in range of the lab systems.

HTGY: Details, details.

CUB-135: You’re bleeding.

HTGY: Oh man, I know, that was from the last test. It doesn’t matter.

CUB-135: Give me that.

HTGY: Fussy! What are you, a grandpa? Ow.

CUB-135: If you don’t stop and let me fix it you’re going to lose that finger. And I can’t grow it again when we don’t have the redstone vats.

HTGY: You were never this fussy before.

CUB-135: Yeah, well. Who even did it?

HTGY: I don’t…

[silence]

HTGY: Huh. Cub, you know what, I don’t…remember.

HTGY: Hey, though. Who everything filed and stored like a nerd? Who needs all their memories where we’re going? We’re getting out! Onwards!

[silence]

HTGY: Cub. Cub.

HTGY: Don’t look like that.

HTGY: It wasn’t your fault.

[silence]

CUB-135: Scar, I dunno what I’m doing.

HTGY: I’ve never known what I’m doing.

CUB-135: [laughs] You are…something, my friend. You are something.

HTGY: We don’t know what we're doing. And that’s amazing. Because aren’t you excited to find out?

Author's note: Hey, thanks for reading to the end! There's a better formatted version of this on Ao3 under username glossyblue. I've got a lot of this au but thought this stood alone well enough that someone might enjoy it. Hope you enjoyed, have a great day.

#convex #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #lab escape au #fic #glossywrites

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mixelation · 28 days

Text

reborn au: actually i have no idea why i summarized context instead of just posting it

Tori was having a problem. Several problems, actually.

“I’m not even allowed to submit a proposal without some idiot chunin co-signing,” she complained, pacing back and forth in front of Deidara. He was seated on his bed, rubbing ointment into the pink patches of his feet and legs that his medic hadn’t quite healed all the way.

Deidara had… set a field on fire, or something, on his mission. Whatever. Kushina-sensei had gently hinted at Tori that she should go over and make sure he didn’t need help cooking or cleaning, as while Konoha hospital could fix up most things, he’d still landed himself three weeks leave with foot injuries.

Obviously, Deidara had yelled at her and set a clay flea off in her face for even hinting he might need help. Convincing him to let her ladle the big pot of her mediocre curry soup she’d lugged over into his own tupperware had been a whole ordeal filled with yelling and a couple minor explosions. But once she had that out of way and a bunch of tupperwares in his fridge, she was taking his presence in town as an excuse to rant about her own problems in her new lab assignment.

“My new PI wants me on dish duty,” she went on, gesturing furiously with both hands. “I know every piece of research fuinjutsu better than anyone there, and I get dish duty? I wouldn’t mind cleaning my own dishes, or if everyone was cleaning dishes, but my ideas for projects just get ignored. Who cares that I’m a genin? I have more experience than any of the chunin in that lab.”

She’d complained to higher management and attempted to get reassigned, but it seemed she was being ignored. She was afraid she’d have to go through Kushina to get facetime with the Hokage. She didn’t want to play nepotism; she wanted to earn this herself.

Deidara looked at her like she was stupid.

“If it’s a rank problem,” he said, “then just go get promoted to chunin, yeah.”

Tori stared back at him, flummoxed. This hadn’t occurred to her. She was quite confident she could handle any task any chunin might encounter in a lab. She was reasonably certain she could perform better than some of the jounin in a lab, even, especially if she got to head her own projects. But… chunin were meant to lead missions. They had to be able to fight things, had to know some set number of jutsu, had to have all the rules and ordinances memorized.

“Do you think I’m qualified?” Tori wondered out loud.

She really only had a grab bag of jutsu under her belt, the product of only bothering to learn things that interested her. Her combat skills mostly revolved around hitting things with a stick, or irreversibly destroying flesh in an extremely slipshod way. It seemed like a vast overestimation that she might be qualified for a promotion.

Deidara managed to look even more unimpressed with her.

“What the hell do you think chunin are?” he asked.

“Squadron leaders?” Tori tried.

“Not the baby ones,” Deidara told her. “Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can make chunin. The only reason you’re not already promoted is that Iwa is filled with assholes, yeah.”

This seemed… wrong, somehow. She’d mostly just gotten as far as she did in the Iwa exam by relying on others. But, maybe, she could swing an internal promotion?

Tori went and looked up the official minimum qualifications for chunin promotion. She did qualify, it seemed. Apparently you only needed the Academy three ninjutsu to make chunin, although more were recommended. And maybe she should review all these rules and internal structures she was supposed to know…

The minimum mission requirement was also only one C-rank, which seemed too low. It also seemed like her various higher ranking missions maybe shouldn’t count. The Iwa fiasco had mostly just been her playing side-kick, up until she basically just lied through her teeth for a very stressful few hours. The Sasori fiasco wasn’t exactly a shining moment for her either. It all really depended on her being on a team with a bunch of monsters rather than her own talents, honestly.

Oh well. It wouldn’t hurt to try, she supposed. It wasn’t like the Hokage’s office didn’t know exactly who she was and the details of her on-paper accomplishments.

She filled out a form for promotion-by-mission and turned it in. Two days later she was called into the Hokage’s office. Minato was literally eating a sandwich while he talked to her, apparently on his lunch break.

“Right,” Minato said, swallowing. He picked her application off a pile of papers and slid it across his desk to her. “I’m not approving this.”

“Okay,” Tori said, having expected as much.

“Because I want you to go to the next exam,” he continued. “It’s in Kiri.”

“Oh,” Tori replied, surprised. So she’d have to prove her qualifications? Annoying.

“I think you should aim to win the tournament,” Minato said through another mouthful of sandwich. “Make it flashy. It’ll be a good showing for Konoha.”

“Wait—” Tori started. “I’m not—”

“I’m going to okay you to reduce lab hours if you feel like you need training,” Minato continued, unperturbed by the madness he was spitting. He passed another form across the desk for her, brushing sandwich crumbs off f it. “You have six weeks. Kushina said she’d register you. Let me know if you need anything.”

He dismissed her. Tori wandered out of his office gripping her exemption paperwork in both hands. Less lab time was the opposite of what she wanted!

Deidara laughed at her when she reported what happened. There were, she noted, empty curry-stained tupperware in his sink.

“I can’t win the tournament,” Tori bemoaned as he snickered. She was really more of a “promoted due to clever thinking” type of kunoichi. “Make it flashy? What is he thinking?”

“Probably that most genin actually just suck, yeah,” Deidara told her. “Do you think Kushina-sensei could convince him to let me go to the tournament?”

Apparently the idea of watching her fight was deeply funny to Deidara. He talked for a very long time about wanting to see her panic and melt a small child into goo in front of all their friends and family. Tori buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, then you’d get a pay raise,” Deidara said, eyes suddenly brightening. “We could move somewhere better, yeah.”

“Deidaraaa,” she whined.

xXx

The lab sink was already filled with dirty test tubes in the morning. The new chunin had mislabeled several samples the day before, and now the experiment was ruined, and Tori was in charge of clean-up. Tori listened to the chunin explain this, glaring at the sink.

“So I’ll be setting it up again while you clean,” the chunin said.

It wasn’t that Tori thought she’d never mislabel something. It was that she had enough experience to know to double-check, and if she screwed up anyway, she’d clean up her own fuck-ups.

Plus, everyone had ignored that she’d pointed out their control for this experiment made no sense. There was a huge risk that whatever results they got, if this chunin could get it to work at all, would be totally uninterpretable.

“Actually, I have an exemption,” Tori told the chunin. “I just came in to say I’ll be out for a while.”

She fled the lab. Kushina’s office door was always open.

“Oh!” Kushina said when Tori knocked. “You’re getting started on training earlier than I thought. Donut?”

She had a small box of donut holes she pushed at Tori.

“I talked it over with Minato,” Kushina said, twirling a pen in her finger as she spoke. “Basically, we think it’d be a good PR move if you sort of showed off that Konoha is basically the best at fuuinjutsu.”

“Okay,” Tori said. She could do that, at least… probably.

“You weren’t really flashy with it in the Iwa tournament,” Kushina continued. “So we’ll have to come up with something. Maybe you can work on giving some speeches about how your jutsu work like some weirdos do. Oh, but don’t show off you can use nonhuman chakra; we don’t want that getting out until it has to.” Kushina frowned slightly. “And I guess you shouldn’t melt any other genin. That’d be bad for international relations.”

“Okay,” Tori repeated. That just severely limited her combat capabilities. “Um, Hokage-sama told me to… win the tournament?”

She waited for Kushina to say Minato was being ridiculous. Instead she beamed and said, “Well, of course! I want my team to be three-for-three, you know!”

Kushina then made her take the rest of the box of donuts and shooed her out of the office, with a promise they’d make a training schedule.

“It’ll only be like twice a week,” Kushina said as Tori gathered up her bag. “Don’t want to distract you from the lab!”

“But,” Tori started. She needed… more than that, if she was even going to pass, let alone win a tournament.

“Bye!” Kushina replied.

Tori walked out of Hokage Tower feeling completely unsure what to do. She could go… think about combat fuuinjutsu? Except, she’d moved all her materials to her desk in R&D in a bid for separate work and personal time, and she did not want to go back there right now.

Well, she knew Deidara was in town and not doing anything. She went and asked him if he wanted to train.

Deidara took at her in deep distrust. “Who are you and what did you do with Tori?”

“Come on,” Tori whined. “I brought you donuts.”

Deidara was walking with a slight limp, but he did accept the rest of the donut holes and then shuffled out the door.

“We can use my grounds, yeah,” he said, still sounding suspicious that she wanted to train at all.

Deidara had his own assigned training ground, out in a field away from anything else. It was filled with half-made sculptures covered in tarp that Tori had decorated in fuuinjutsu herself, to reduce the chance of random explosions.

The field was also completely riddled with potholes, blown into the ground by Deidara’s various experiments. Deidara wasn’t exactly quick on his feet right now, but he did spend the rest of the morning attempting to shove Tori into various holes and then close them over her, making fun of her the entire time.

So probably she was improving at… something. Getting out of death traps, maybe.

#reborn au #my writing

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claireelizabeth85 · 1 month

Text

Come home to me - part 1

This is my first John Egan fic. It's a bit of an unusual take but please bear with me. I kind of know where this is going but I need to see where my John Egan infected brain is leading me!!

John Egan x OC Female!Reader Summary: When the idea of a past life isn't just an idea or something that is only for dreams. Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, possible military inaccuracies (but I am a geek, so I've tried to do my research!)

Please let me know what you think, either in the comments or if you would prefer, shoot me a message.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lizzy had been haunted by nightmares from the past, reliving the harrowing experiences of flying during the war. These nightmares had been intensifying lately, becoming increasingly vivid and distressing.

“Red flare. I see a red flare. Get the ambulances ready!”

“Lizzy! Wake up!” Sarah's urgent voice jolted Lizzy from her torment.

“How many came back?” Lizzy's voice trembled as she regained consciousness, her eyes searching for reassurance.

“Sarah?” Lizzy blinked, disoriented, as she scanned the room. Her best friend and flatmate, Sarah, was perched on the edge of the bed, concern etched across her face.

“You were dreaming again! What happened this time?” Sarah's voice was gentle, yet filled with concern.

“There was another mission, another run and we lost…” Lizzy's voice trailed off, haunted by the memories of loss and tragedy. “I don’t know what’s happening to me! These dreams… they feel so real. It's like... when I sleep, I'm transported back to those moments. But now, being awake... I feel lost.”

Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, Lizzy headed for the bathroom, her mind still reeling from the lingering echoes of her nightmares. “Am I crazy?” She asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

Leaning against the door frame, Sarah tried to offer comfort through the closed door. “Are you crazy? No. These are just dreams. Look, I’ve been doing some reading - you know, to see if I can help. There are stories of young children, even as young as 3 or 4 years old, who have vivid memories of events they shouldn't remember. Like planes crashing and finding fallen soldiers. Perhaps your dreams are something similar.”

“But this feels different, Sarah. They’re not just dreams, they feel like memories... I feel like I know those people. I remember the roar of the planes, the mix of love and fear for them. I feel like I'm losing my mind. Please tell me I’m not” Lizzy's voice wavered with uncertainty, her eyes pleading for understanding.

Sarah couldn’t bear to see her friend in such distress. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go.”

Lizzy yanked open the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from her mouth, staring at Sarah as though she had suggested something absurd.

“What?”

“Let’s go. Let’s get in the car and go wherever you feel drawn to. I'm not saying you're crazy, but if it helps you cope, we'll go.” Lizzy's embrace was tight, grateful for even the smallest gesture of acceptance from her friend. She might not find all the answers, but at least Sarah was willing to try.

As Lizzy stared at herself in the mirror, toothbrush in hand, she couldn't help but notice a faint scar in her hairline. Its presence seemed to defy explanation, appearing suddenly in the same spot she had dreamt of being injured. Closing her eyes, she was transported back to the aftermath of another intense bombing run. The memories flooded her senses, overwhelming her with vivid recollections.

The acrid scent of aviation fuel filled her nostrils as she sat on the tarmac, the chaos of the scene unfolding around her. The cacophony of voices, the urgent shouts for medical assistance, all merged into a disorienting symphony of noise. Trembling with adrenaline and pain, she clutched an untouched cigarette in her fingers, her shoulder and head throbbing from the injuries sustained. In that moment, she felt disconnected from reality, a bystander in her own body as she was ushered into a waiting ambulance and whisked away to the infirmary.

Lizzy could hear his footsteps before he came rushing through the double doors. His voice cut through the chaos of the infirmary.

"Lizzy!" Concern etched across his features as John hurried to her side, disregarding the calls of the on-duty Matron. Reaching her bed, he exhaled in relief at the sight of her safe and conscious.

"You scared the shit out of me!" John's concern melted into teasing as he observed Lizzy, still in her white tank top with her flight suit folded at her hips. She chuckled, a mix of amusement and discomfort, as the nurse tended to her shoulder.

"Have to keep you on your toes, Major. Can't make things easy for you!" Lizzy retorted, her tone playful despite the pain. However, John's expression grew serious as he gently grasped her hand. "You weren't supposed to be up there. DeMarco should have been on that mission, not you," he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

She flinched as the nurse finished the sutures. Collecting her equipment, she coughed quietly to get their attention. "You have 10 minutes Lizzy and then the Matron is going to come looking for the Major." Giving her thanks, the nurse drew the curtain, leaving her alone with John.

He gently brushed stray hair away from her face, his touch comforting as he cleaned away the blood. Lizzy winced when he caught the graze in her hairline.

“Benny is still recovering from the last run and I’m just as good of a pilot as any of you boys. So, I spoke to Chick and he said yes.” Lizzy’s words carried a hint of defiance, tempered by the vulnerability in her eyes. John held her face with both his hands, looking into her blue eyes, committing every freckle and now scar to memory.

“You mean you told Chick you were flying and left before he could say no.” John whispered, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"I would never presume to tell a senior officer what to do!" Lizzy feigned innocence, her tone laced with playful sarcasm.

“Is that so, Lieutenant?" John whispered with a sly grin. "Well, I know for a fact you're not shy about giving orders to senior officers. If memory serves me right, you were quite commanding the other weekend, telling me to do all sorts of things..." Lizzy pressed a finger to his lips, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes, as she stifled his words. A soft chuckle escaped John's lips as he noticed the delicate pink blush spreading across her cheeks. John’s mischievous tone faltered, replaced by a sombre frown as he voiced his fears.

“Liz, I can’t… I can’t lose you. I won’t get through this if you…” Lizzy placed a finger back against his lips and gently hushed him. “I’m alright John. I’m here, I came back, just like I promised.”

#john egan fanfic #john egan #john bucky egan #john egan fic #john egan fanfiction #john bucky egan x reader #john egan x female reader #john egan x oc #masters of the air fic #MoTA

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

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Hey I was wondering, I have orthostatic hypotension and get the dizziness when i stand thing sometimes. I was wondering if you knew like, how dangerous that actually is? Obviously Ive spoken to a doctor about it and they aren't worried about my symptoms but it happens semi frequently and I have people asking me if its like, cutting off oxygen to my brain or something or if its just a weird feeling I get and I have no clue how to even look that up and was hoping you or one of your followers might know

I'm sorry your doctor is being dismissive. You don't list a cause, so I'm going to assume your OH is from dysautonomia and not something else. With that in mind, has anyone recommended increasing your fluid and salt intake? What about compression therapy? Those are the very basics of treating OH, so if they're not even recommending that to you, I'd start looking for another doctor.

The mayo has a fairly easy-to-digest article on it if you ever want to link someone to it. Checking out Dysautonomia International could also be helpful for you in finding research and community resources that might be useful to you.

To answer your question, no. It's not harming your brain--though some emerging studies have linked orthostatic hypotension and other types of dysautonomia with an increased risk of stroke and dementia in older patients.

The most significant risk factor from untreated orthostatic hypotension -- apart from how debilitating it can feel-- is that it can make you faint, leading to severe injury depending on how you fall.

My friend is in the hospital with a concussion because she forgot to take her meds, syncoped, and hit her head. Fortunately, she's recovering well, but for what it's worth, her OH is considered mild to moderate, and she's fully medicated and doing all kinds of treatments because her doctors want to improve the quality of her life.

You deserve the same. And I hope you can find a doctor willing to listen to you.

#chronic health tag #orthostatic hypotension #dysautonomia

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weaveandwood · 11 days

Text

Weave and Woods Chapter Seven: Copper for Your Thoughts

Gale/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

Auroria and her party go to trade at the Myconid Colony and get roped into a rescue mission that goes horribly wrong. A small illusion leads to an important conversation between the wizard and ranger (finally).

TW: injury/burnsA/N: Inspired by my gameplay. I did not do well in Act 1, and pretty much played on vibes only, making a lot of mistakes and missteps but at least I got some delicious angsty ideas

He should not be leading her on like this, no matter how much he wanted her. She deserved more than he could offer - someone who could be with her fully, not a disgraced and godsforsaken, volatile, shell of a man. Even entertaining the idea of falling for her in his condition was beyond the pale. Bitterness seeped into the back of his throat as he thought about what he had to look forward to - never ending hunger, pain, and an explosion at the end of it all. Cutting all personal ties to be away from everything when his time comes, for there was no one he was willing to sacrifice at the end of his folly. He ran a hand down his face and threw the book onto the other side of his bedroll, suddenly tired of contemplating the future. Even if they cured themselves of the parasites in their brains, there was no plan, no cure mentioned in all his research for the other parasite within his heart. In another life, perhaps, they would be able to act on their feelings - have a proper life together in Waterdeep, grow old together, and remain in each other’s company. Until then, he would revert to the proper gentleman, nothing but cordial as is befitting both her status as party leader and an archmage of his status. Or previous status, as it were. He nodded to himself, steeling his mind now that it was made up. Yes, that was the correct course of action. His mind drifted back to the tadpole, reaching for his book again before he heard all the hells breaking loose outside.

Gale was avoiding her.

Five nights. Five nights since their sparring match, and not a word.

Auroria stabbed at the sausage on her plate, the cook having long since disappeared back into the solitude of his tent without so much as an acknowledgement of her or anyone else’s presence. Just a pile of sausages on the table for their morning meal.

The longer she thought about it, the angrier she got. Did she not deserve at the very least a conversation? He was the one instigating everything that day. He flirted with her at the puzzle, he was the one who initiated holding hands, he was the one who -

“Copper for your thoughts, soldier?”

Auroria looked up and was met with one of her favorite faces. Karlach and her had become fast friends, mainly due to their similar outlooks on most things (positive) and their desire to help people along the journey they made (instead of pickpocketing them or scowling at them). She sighed, stabbing the sausage again.

“I’m fine.”

“Would hate to be the person you’re pretending that sausage is, darling,” crooned Astarion, an eyebrow raised as he looked from Auroria to Gale’s tent, always so perceptive.

“I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about,” Auroria said, trying to put on a disinterested air as she took a bite of the meat.

“Yeah, right! We all have noticed that the camp has gotten particularly chilly between you and a certain potentially explosive wizard. And that’s coming from me , who is so hot I can’t even touch anyone!” Karlach joked, trying to lighten the mood a little, getting a soft chuckle out of Wyll, who sat by her side.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel, putting a pause in their deep conversation, also nodded in agreement from across the warm embers of the previous night’s fire.

“Chk! I told you at the party that you would regret wasting your time with that wizard,” Lae’zel said, earning a nudge from Shadowheart’s elbow.

Okay, so Gale was avoiding her, and everyone in camp knew it.

Desperate to get the situation back under her control, knowing she couldn’t stop the gossip that was sure to happen as soon as she left the campfire area, Auroria hatched a plan.

“I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all. Anyway! I want to go into the colony today to trade some of the things we’ve been carrying around that have proven pretty useless to us so far. I’ve already got the goods separated out, so it should be an easy trip. Karlach, Wyll, Astarion - do you want to join me?”

“Absolutely! Get me out of this camp!” “I’d be delighted to accompany you.” “Ugh, if I must.”

Choosing this group in particular was strategic - Astarion had a keen eye for everything happening at camp, and a keen personality for irritating the hells out of Gale. The situation was already volatile enough, and she enjoyed his complaints about being on the road. As for Karlach and Wyll, the two had started to grow closer as their own journeys intertwined, and Auroria simply wanted to help cultivate a deeper friendship between the two and what better way to do that than a couple of hours spent walking in good company?

“Okay, great. Get ready and let’s meet back here in half an hour,” Auroria said, already in a better mood as she went to her tent to get the four packs she mentioned. Since they were only going to do some trading, Auroria decided to forgo the scale mail armor she had been favoring and instead chose the old thin leather vest and leggings she had been wearing when she was kidnapped - cleaned and mended and no worse for wear.

A flash of gold caught her eye. Oh, right, it’s been since before we got to the Underdark, she thought, eyeing a locket she had found on a corpse the other day. She could sense a small amount of magic within it, so she had put it aside to give to Gale. Even if she was annoyed, frustrated, and maybe a little heartbroken that he was avoiding her, she still promised him that she would help him with his orb situation. That had not changed, and she would not go back on her word. In truth, she knew the orb was exactly why he was pulling away, no matter how much she didn’t want him to - she just wanted him to at least talk to her about it. She scribbled a quick note, attached it to the chain, then hung the locket on his telescope as she walked past, counting on her light footsteps to go unnoticed by the tent’s inhabitant.

“Alright everyone, grab a pack and let’s go,” she smiled, glad to be away from the tension for a few hours.

Auroria loved the Myconid Colony. The inhabitants were so unique and she felt a kindred bond with them - they had such a respect for their environment that when Astarion looked at a rogue’s morsel a little too long, he almost started a fight before Auroria intervened, diffusing the situation. Their first stop was a dwarven trader named Derryth Bonecloak. While she didn’t want to trade for a lot of their goods, she took a few items off their hands in exchange for some useful potions and a camp supply pack. Auroria attempted to make conversation with her while they did their exchange.

“So your husband is missing? Do you need help finding him? Can you describe him?” She asked.

“Oh, not this again,” she heard Astarion mutter under his breath. She ignored him.

“He’s bald, blue tunic, dumb as a stick, name is Baelen. Help yourself if you want to find him, but don’t expect a reward from me if you do - he’s useless, getting himself lost after being sent on a routine errand looking for a noblestalk,” Derryth replied, her voice scornful.

“Well, we will keep an eye out and will let you know if we come across him,” Auroria replied with a soft smile before turning to her companions. “Come on, let’s go look for him.”

“Actively looking for this man who seems more like a louse doesn’t feel like ‘we’ll keep an eye out’ does it?” Astarion leaned in, speaking softly, immune to Karlach’s glares.

“If you were lost in a strange place, wouldn’t you want someone more capable to help you find your way, Fangs?” Karlach asked.

“Karlach is right, so that’s why we’re going to look for him, we’re heading out.” Auroria nodded to the group, turning on her heel, asking the nearest myconid where someone may potentially go looking for a noblestalk, explaining the situation with the Bonecloaks. Interestingly enough, they appeared to have an arrangement with the myconids that allowed them to forage freely. The creature pointed to the north, indicating some sort of field there that may prove fruitful in their search.

Auroria’s stomach dropped when they came to the area.

“Bibberbangs,” she said with a sneer. She had never experienced them firsthand, but remembered from her training in the High Forest Scouts that bibberbangs were dangerous - not only poisonous, but also explosive if you came too close and lingered too long. Of course, she spotted Baelen Bonecloak, cowering in a small clearing smack dab in the very middle of the grotto. How did he even get there? She wondered.

“You know, we can just say we didn’t spot him, no one would ever know,” Astarion said, crossing his arms. “Either way, I’m not going in there.”

Auroria looked at each of her party members, then back to Baelen. “Well that’s obviously not going to happen. You all stay here, I’ll go in and get him. It’s better if only one of us goes in there, these mushrooms are very volatile, and I’m trained for navigating places like this.” She turned and faced the grove of bibberbangs, her heartbeat increasing slightly. “Sure wish we had a scroll of misty step though,” she nervously laughed as she dropped her pack, the first time any of her party had seen a lack of confidence in her abilities show through her capable ranger persona.

Some agonizing minutes later, she found herself surrounded by bright green mushrooms. She didn’t want to breathe too heavily for fear of setting them off, but also couldn’t remain still for too long for the same reason. She crept forward, inch by inch.

“Please! My backpack! I left it over there!” The older dwarf had finally noticed her, yelling out with a feeble voice and a shaking hand, though whether it was from age or fear, she couldn’t tell. She nodded and looked to the right, in a particularly tangled area of bibberbangs and saw a small, faded blue backpack. She saw a thin, small path that could possibly, maybe lead to it, and then connected that to a more defined clear path that led to the dwarf. She exhaled. Ok, slow and careful, Ora. Gods, having someone to cast mage hand would be fantastic. Her mind drifted to Gale and how this would be so much easier if he were here, how they could discuss the bibberbangs afterward from both a practical and academic viewpoint. How he always seemed to help her clear her mind, how it felt when her hand was in his -

“Ora! Careful!” She heard Wyll yell, coming back to the material plane, just in time to see her hand brush up against a bibberbang.

******

“Shadowheart! Lae’zel! A little help? ”

A faint yell disturbed the silence that had settled over the camp. Gale sat in his tent, mildly intrigued but also at an exceptionally interesting part of the meticulous notes he had procured from Blurg the evening before in the Ebonlake Grotto.

“Shadowheart! ” A little louder. Was that Wyll?

“Why would they need Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s help after a simple trading trip into the Myconid Colony?” he muttered to himself, sipping out of his wine glass as he flipped the page, half listening for commotion outside, but not yet ready to face her after the last time he was near her ended so painfully - both literally and figuratively. That was five evenings ago. He was avoiding her, and he would bet everyone else likely had picked up on it. Not that he would know, he’d also avoided most of the others as well. Luckily, there was always some chore to be done, some loot to sort, some pressing notes that must be written down in one of the books he was pouring over that would disguise his cowardice as well-focused diligence toward the success of the camp.

He sighed, rubbing his chest. The orb was still insatiable, each artefact unable to fully quell the gnawing hunger inside. He held up the newest addition to the many offerings Auroria had brought to his tent over the past weeks, almost since their journey began. Today there was a magical locket, similar to the first one she had given him so many weeks ago, hanging from his telescope with a small note. He kept a small box in his tent for the magical items procured by his ever attentive leader, filled near half-full with pendants, lockets, and rings imbued with the Weave to satisfy his orb’s constant cravings. It reminded him so much of Tara tirelessly searching for anything that would bring him even a modicum of relief. He counted himself lucky to have two friends in his life that would always be on the lookout for him, even if he was a doomed man.

Found this on a Duergar and I thought you could use it. Happy dining! - Ora P.S. I am now the proud caster of Ensnaring Strike. Can’t wait to show you.

A little further down the note, in smaller writing was another postscript, written as if it was not supposed to be noticed.

I miss our talks. I miss you.

He had read and reread the note at least twenty times since this morning, after Auroria set off with Wyll, Karlach, and Astarion to go do their trading at the Myconid Colony. The colony was one of the bright spots in the Underdark - not just for the vibrant colors and strange inhabitants, but perhaps most interestingly of all, the colony was home to a Mind Flayer completely free of the Elder Brain’s thrall. The entire party had gone into the colony to explore the previous day and once Gale had met Blurg and Omeluum, he was deep in conversation for almost an hour. Blurg had given him the book he was now currently reading when he had expressed an interest in researching whether his own arcane energy could help them reject their tadpoles prior to transformation, if it came to that. With his academic blinders on, Gale returned to his tent and had scarcely left since, his pursuits a convenient excuse for seclusion.

He glanced at the note again, his internal feelings as split as the message - pride and elation at her spell casting success, pain and frustration at the distance he had put between them. He was a man torn in half. He did not want to avoid her - quite the opposite in fact, but every time he found himself near her, all he could think about was kissing her, and his orb protested. Painfully. Conversely, she figured out the spell on her own, after all the failures and after his own less than elegant retreat the other evening, and he wanted to celebrate that with her. With a kiss, he thought, waiting for the orb to make him offer penance for that thought. The last night they were together, he felt… good. Happy, even. Almost carefree - the evening fading into the night as if no time had passed at all. It had been so long since he had felt the stirrings of happiness in his veins, since before the breakdown of his relations with Mystra. The satisfaction of teaching her, helping her work through her frustrations, the fun they had while sparring fulfilled him so much he felt he might combust on his own without the orb’s influence. His mind turned to the searching look on her face when they were inches apart, the feel of her body pressing against this, the way his name sounded coming from her lips, his hand grasped tightly to hers -

A faint glow, a wince. His ever present curse. His eyes drifted to the note again.

I miss our talks. I miss you.

He nodded to himself, steeling his mind now that it was made up. Yes, that was the correct course of action. His mind drifted back to the tadpole, reaching for his book again before he heard all the hells breaking loose outside.

“No, Ora! What happened?” Yelled Shadowheart as the four adventurers must have crested the hill. Gale perked up at Auroria’s name, listening intently now.

“Please, help her! Bibberbang explosion! We had one healing potion in our packs but it wasn’t enough. She passed out on the way back,” Wyll yelled, his voice shaky.

His body went cold. He knew all about bibberbangs from his studies - they should be treated carefully or destroyed at range at all costs.

Gale jumped to his feet, ignoring his body’s protestations, and ran out of his tent. He was greeted with the image of Karlach holding 4 packs, and Wyll and Astarion carrying Auroria, who was knocked out, her clothes singed, with angry burns down one side of her body. They laid her down on one of the spare bedrolls by the campfire while Shadowheart ran to the chest to pick out a particularly strong healing potion to use in conjunction with her spellwork.

“What happened? I thought you were just going to do some trading at the vendors in the colony? You all aren’t even wearing proper armor!” Gale yelled as he marched toward Wyll. His heart dropped into his stomach, his mind was unprepared to see Auroria like this.

“Hey! Cool it, Magic Man. The plan was to trade and come back, but you know how Ora is,” said Karlach. She stepped in front of him, trying to both deflect Gale’s anger and protect Wyll at the same time.

“And how is Auroria, exactly? Aside from being burned and unconscious?” He said, his tone turning icy.

Astarion stepped in, his arms crossed. “Oh, like you’re an expert? You’ve been ignoring her for the past…what has it been, five days now?” He glared at Gale. “We were supposed to visit the merchants and see how we could unburden our packs of this useless stuff we’ve been hauling around, but one of them gave dear Ora a sob story about her poor missing husband and you know our fearless leader never says no to helping someone she’s known for exactly one minute.” He lowered his gaze at Karlach, “And that one egged her on to help. Honestly, I’m surrounded by do-gooders and I need a drink. I’m clearly the only voice of reason around here.” He rubbed his temples, stalking off to his tent for a large cup of a strong scavenged vintage as Shadowheart set out the potions and kneeled at Auroria’s side.

Gale moved to the head of the bedroll, his own instincts guiding him to sit down and carefully place Auroria’s head in his lap. Shadowheart looked at him. She knew something was going on between them - they all did. It wasn’t hard to notice the stolen smiles, the secret hand holding between the two, but also could sense something had changed the past five days given Gale’s suddenly aloof demeanor towards Auroria. Hopefully this will be the catalyst to move them past whatever is going on between them. She hated seeing Auroria out of sorts.

“Hold her still. This won’t take too long, but it’s easier if she’s not moving. She’s really not in as bad of shape as she could have been, she got lucky,” she said. Gale nodded in agreement.

“What happened, Wyll?” He asked again, gentler, feeling his eyes getting misty. He didn’t like seeing Auroria - no, Ora, his Ora - in pain, unconscious, injured.

“She was distracted,” he leveled at Gale, his good eye bright and shining with unspilled tears. Wyll held Auroria’s unburned hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing over the back of it across her knuckles. Everyone loved her, that much was obvious. “And you know exactly why.”

Gale looked down at Ora’s face, a nasty red burn creeping up from her neck along the path of her scar. He watched as the burns receded with Shadowheart’s healing words. There would be no permanent physical damage from this event, though it wouldn’t matter to him if there was - she was and would always be the most beautiful person he had ever seen, both inside and out. How many times had she risked her life for a complete stranger? Their party was proof alone of her good heart. Looking at her, he realized his feelings were stronger than he had originally thought, but he couldn’t deny them, and would no longer try to deny them. She was everything good about this continent. He tucked the errant stand of hair she always seemed to miss on the right side of her twist behind her ear, his eyes growing watery at the thought of having wasted five days in childish seclusion when any of them could be taken away at any time. Yes, he knew the reason why she was distracted indeed, and he was determined to never be the reason again.

So much for his planned course of action.

******

Auroria blinked, gasping softly as she opened her eyes, clutching her throbbing head. She looked up at the sky, surrounded by bright green trees, felt the ground covered in soft grass, and heard the faint sound of birdsong in her ears. The last thing she remembered was Wyll yelling and a bright flash of light while in the Underdark, so how did she get into a forest? And why was it early morning sunlight? Surely I wasn’t out for that long , she thought. Her brow furrowed as she looked around, sitting up slowly, groaning through sore muscles. Clive, Karlach’s prized stuffed bear, was placed next to her, so she was in camp. But how-?

“Oh! You’re awake,” a voice said softly, a reverent whisper from the other side of the tent.

Gale.

“Did you do this?” she asked, looking around in awe, her tent transformed into the woods she so dearly loved, an illusion replacing the highest point with the canopy.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “Ora I’m -”

“Why are you here? You’ve ignored me all this time, and now you’re here in my tent while I assume I was unconscious?”

“Yes, well, about that…Ora -”

“And you think a pretty illusion can make up for the fact you haven’t looked at or spoken to me in FIVE -”

She felt a hand on hers, silencing her immediately. She looked down at it, then at Gale, who was kneeling beside her bedroll, a soft smile on his face.

“Ora, please. Let me finish a sentence. I’ve been an ass. A colossal ass. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to navigate everything with the orb and whatever is happening between us. I know withdrawing, cloistering myself in my own tent was not the best course of action, but it…it’s what I do, Ora. I isolated myself in my tower for a year when I was cursed with this orb, when Mystra abandoned me. Retreating into myself is what I know how to do.” He handed her a cup of water, which she took, smelling something minty. “I crushed some peppermint in it. I thought it would feel refreshing and cool. I haven’t done extensive studying on herbs, and I know that’s your area of expertise, but last time you had a headache you had mentioned it having a soothing effect”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” She took a drink and set the cup down beside her. “Listen, I understand why you pulled back, but I hated it. I hated how I felt like I did something wrong, when I didn’t. Every time you feel a little uncomfortable now, if we ever have a disagreement, will you hide yourself away and ignore everyone? How can I not be on edge that something I do will make this situation repeat itself? Will I always spend my time guessing around you? I know you have…limitations because of the orb, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were instigating everything and punishing me for it,” she said. “Punishing everyone.”

“No, you’re right, you’re absolutely right. I was taking out my own shortcomings, my own confusion on you.” He looked down at the floor, the visage of a shamed man. “I can only hope to use this as a learning experience and move forward in a way that is more befitting a wizard of my status, and a man of my age,” he nodded and looked up at her. “I am sorry, again, Ora. I understand if you’d like to keep your distance from me, though I certainly hope you won’t. When I saw you laying unmoving on the bedroll by the campfire earlier, I was so angry with myself. Angry I may have missed my chance, angry about all the time I wasted. Any one of us could be gone at any time. I know that better than most. I will not waste my remaining time again.” His voice trembling, he cleared his throat. “I should leave you to recover.” He started to stand up.

Auroria grabbed onto the sleeve of his camp shirt. “No. Stay with me.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” he smiled, sitting back down, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He took her hand in his, relishing the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his own. He chuckled, “You know, it feels like the greatest prank in all the heavens that the orb allows me to hold your hand freely, but the minute I think of anything else…”

He looked at her lips, still moist from the water. As if on cue, the orb flashed faintly, sending another warning of pain through his veins.

“That is what happens. Holding your hand feels so natural. There’s never been any excitement involved -” he held up a finger as Auroria raised an eyebrow. “Wait, not that holding your hand isn’t exciting! It is! I just…it feels like I am always meant to hold it. I always am just drawn to the action, instinctually. I can just do it without thinking. Other… pursuits , ones that cause my heart to race and my brain to work in overdrive, seem to trigger the orb. I am working on understanding it, but can you be patient with both the situation and the wizard, Ora?” He asked, the normally confident man suddenly unsure.

Auroria smiled, squeezing his hand with hers, “I can be patient with the situation, the wizard, and the man.”

“You would likely have a more fulfilling time with someone else, like Wyll or Astar-” He felt a finger on his lips, his turn to be silenced.

“Do not dare finish that sentence, Gale of Waterdeep. You are the one I want to spend my time with. The only one I want to let in, to give my feelings. Please know that.” She stifled a yawn. “Now, explain to me what forest this is, I love it, and want to visit it…after everything.” She smiled as she laid back down with her hand still laced in his. Her headache was starting to subside but sleep was quickly creeping up on her

“No forest in particular, I just thought of you while creating it.”

“Hmm, my own personal woods. Well it’s beautiful,” she smiled, closing her eyes.

“It really is,” he responded, looking only at the ranger who was already fast asleep.

#my writing #weave and woods #gale x tav #bg3 fanfiction #gale fanfic #gale x auroria #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #auroria galanodel #my screenshots #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #weave and woods fic

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darling-answers · 17 days

Note

I BEG YOU Ana Amari with a injured reader, maybe she sick or dying of a illness idk just make it angst, I saw that talk about wanting more Ana Amari fanfic so idk I feel like letting people suffer and cry.

“ oh Gibraltar were had the time gone?”

This will be pre-fall I would like to say when Overwatch was still in best working order, just right after the omnic crisis

Warning! There may be inaccurate deceive of AML, I have done my best at researching the topic but doesn’t me my accuracy on knowing aml is good because I have never experienced before. Ana may be a little off topic because no matter what, you should always respect the choice of someone body. Death! Is implied and mention. this isn’t a happy ending. Blood! Is mentioned, noise and mouth bleeding Mentions, Oppression and violence. There also mention of symptoms of cancer effects with chemotherapy, chemotherapy is mentioned multiple times. Fainting is mentioned

Thank you for all who reads my stories and showed there support i appreciate it greatly

REQUEST ARE OPEN I WRITE FOR VENTURE TOO SO SEND THEM SOME LOVE.

The warning signs were there but you couldn’t expect it to get this bad? how could anyone know how bad it gotten when it just happened. Being a overwatch agent and putting civilians as your top priority before your own health problems wasn’t uncommon. It comes with you being a soldier and wanting to do what right. Sticking up for the weak even if it comes with your own life. So why must this situation be different.

The First warning sign happen when you were out on a mission to help civilians who may have been lost or trapped under the rubble, it was going according to plan, nothing seem out of the ordinary until the next thing you had known was blood was coming from your nostrils and mouth. Wiping it off on your sleeve painting it with fresh blood made it easy to forget about, it could happen to anyone so why must your situation be different, there still civilians need help, so pick yourself up soldier and help the others, You tell yourself over and over again.

Helping civilians get to safety and back to there family had made you smile, but the comfort of the ship that would be leading you back to your home and the people you call family is just a different feeling. When sitting down in your designated seat, Reinhardt was right infront of you, talking (yelling.) about how well his mission did, talking about the tiny children who he got to flex his arms to. Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes carried on their conversation about the on going crisis in the rest of the world, torbjorn talked about his family showing Reinhardt picture of his newly born daughter Brigitte but always the mother hen Ana had taken notice of the blood.

“ habibati, where did such blood come from? Had there been anyone seriously injured? On the catalog I did not seen any reports of very serious injuries?” She mumbles setting her sniper down, the way the sniper aim was up relaxing in the wall of the aircraft, safety was on and the eye of the pistol was up. She leans over to grab the coat of your overwatch outfit and taken a look of the sleeve.

“ I’m fine Ana, I promise, there is nothing to worry about just some blood no need to fuss.” She gave you a serious look Almost crinkling her brows. “ you tell me if anything is wrong. Alright? I want you to be alright.” She looks serious pointing a finger before she lets go from the topic when she felt satisfied.

The Second warning came when in training with Cassidy, you felt you’re whole body zap out of energy, the room was so dizzy and fussy, your brain felt slow and sluggish, you’re arms and legs felt like a ice about to melt into a puddle. Your body gave up and slammed itself to the ground. Waking up in the infirmary with Angela Ziegler talking about your body and health, noticing the way your body seems to be weaker than before. You lost incredible amount of weight which for a normal person would feel happy about it, the weight your body was dropping was to dangerous to not start trying to figure out what was wrong with you.

“ i thought you would’ve told me if something was wrong. The fact you tried hiding it makes me think it might be time i took over your position and put you’re mission on hold until i feel everything is better.” Ana mumbled kissing your forehead as she gently placed her hand on the top of your head.

Angela returned with a chart, writing your vitals and simple questions she have asked you such as, how long have these symptoms been going on, how severe have these conditions been. She clicked her pin shut as she looked up from her notes. “ if you don’t mind I would like to request and recommend we run a few test on you. I’m thinking running a Blood test on you, we will be analyzing it using a microscopic evaluation of the blood, or by using flow cytometry to try and figure. This will all be done if we get your consent so would you mind if we do this?” Angela tilt her head at the last part as she hears the exact words she needs to hear to start preparing for the blood samples.

After gathering the blood sample, she sends you and Ana on your way as she tells you the test results will need 2-3 weeks to be able to fully confirm the diagnosis. Ana made sure throughout the week to make sure that you would rest and not strain your already fragile condition. Every night Ana would lay in bed making sure her arms were around your body and start whispering stuff in Arabic. More symptoms started popping up which caused Ana to get worried even worse than before. Bruising would form out of nowhere not even you could remember how you got those bruises, night sweats became one of the worse causing the lack of sleep, hot flashes and the urge to not eat anything were evidence that something definitely wasn’t right.

“ Oh, how I know it hurts habibati, let’s try and get some rest.” She would mumbles as she made sure the bed only have loose sheets. The way you could barely hold down anything or even get out of bed made her concerns grow even worse. Sometimes you would wake up with her right besides you and other times you were alone in bed. Days and nights started to blur in your memory as you laid in bed, not being able to fully move or walk without assistance.

“ we have gotten the test results back and it might be best. If you sit down ana this is difficult for both of you.” Angela pulled up a chair and sat down in a chair crossing her legs as she looks over at Ana then comes back to you. “ after throughly examining the changes in you’re body we have confirm the diagnosis of you have a form of leukemia that is very hard to treat. It is called Acute myelogenous leukemia. It a common aggressive form of leukemia that affects your bone marrow and blood.”

The face of exhaustion from you and the horror of Ana Face was like no other, how long had it been since you see Ana so hopeless..? This isn’t what you wanted to see.

“ There is good news and bad news, we may be able to start treatment to help fight off the leukemia but with the illness being around the bone marrow most medicines may not be able to reach the place the leukemia is resting, it may be long and hard but you have some chance of survival if you would like to start that I can get it prepared.”

“ What are the chances of me surviving..? I don’t want to live my life in fear that this illness will come back, I don’t want the exhaustion and agonizing treatments, I don’t want to be stuck in a hospital wasting away the only time I get pure entertainment is if someone come visit me. Please Ana, i’m scared and I don’t want to leave you alone but I don’t want to deal with this heartache.” She clutched her wife hand as she leans over weakly giving a kiss to her wife forehead as she comes to rest her sweaty face on that of her wife.

“ I have seen a lot of people survive AML and I also scene some who not, a man in December survive the AML with a few rounds of chemo and some rehabilitation and now he living his life with a wife and few kids. I’ve also scene some people not wish to fight this agonizing battle. So why I might not suggest not taking treatments I will accept whatever you would like us to do.”

Angela Zeigler nodded her head towards you before looking at Ana, Ana somberly looked at the hands which were neatly folded in her. The struggle to make the choice or even express agreement or disagreement weigh ever on her shoulders. “ if you would not like to start chemo and pass away in your home with me and our family by your side I will respect your wishes. I’m so sorry you were even given these choices.” Ana closed her eyes and cried in her hands chocking out her answers as she leans to rest her head on your shoulder.

“ don’t cry Ana, this battle has been long and hard, I was given a purpose on earth and that was to protect the people around me, I made my choice and now I may be rest in the peace of the afterlife knowing I have saved lives. You have to be strong for Pharah and Overwatch.”

The weakly smiles that adores both you and Ana face made it way to accept the idea more easily. The decision to not go and do chemo was not selfish in the eyes of Ana, she knew of the effects of chemo, Nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, Hair loss, Skin dryness and rashes the effects almost seem limitless.

“ so if I’m to confirm You ( state your name.) are refusing to take chemotherapy, which may have help you live a few years longer. You understand the negative side effects that may come with this. You may also always come back to wanting to do chemotherapy but the more you wait the more will not be likely to have the cancer be eradicated.”

Ana looked over and nodded at you, “ I will accept whatever you say or think. Please speak what you need to.” Ana looked into your eyes. “ I accept to refusing treatment for chemotherapy and know the harms and risk that may come and the outcome.” The weakly sound of coughing finishing off the statement.

“ alright, I will notify strike commander to take you off of all mission briefs and when you are ready please notify whoever you would like about what the future is going forward.” Mercy nodded politely leaving you and Ana alone in the room. Ana looked over at you, brushing your cheekbone as the weak sound of raspy breath came in and out. “ Thank you for letting me have a choice, I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t sure the outcome would be the same.”

Ana nodded to your words helping you settle in bed. She weakly clutches the clothing near her heart as she looks at you. She tried to take a deep breath as to not let the tears follow but it getting harder looking at your weak state. She started walking towards the door to give you room only to be stopped by the croak of a voice. “ Ana…” Ana turned around and looked at you walking over and kneeling down near your bed side.

“ I love you and Pharah so much.” You mumbles as Ana whisper some words of praise before getting up and leaving the room. Days become even more of a blur as your visited by most of Overwatch agents besides a few. Even Moira O’Deorain made her presence known as she commands great respect and recognition for how you saved lives and great combat skills.

The day came, one year and a day after you first got the symptoms of something wrong that you passed peacefully by your besides, laying beside you was Ana who was on your left. Pharah who birthday just came a few weeks ago making her 10 and one of your best friends who also supported you think through thin, Reinhardt. A day that would’ve been sad wasn’t sad, they knew you would of beat there ass if you found out they weren’t lighting up the party with some shots as you’re lowered into your casket. Your funeral which played one of your favorite songs, “Dreaming of you” by Selena Quintanilla was a mother and daughter dance for ana and pharah.

You were given a gravesite with the soldiers who had fallen in the war adored with flowers and so much love and care from military units all across the world. Some left Quarters, some left penny, dimes and nickels. You were known around the world and a statue as a memorial in your home town was placed to honor the dedication you had to fighting for what right and standing up for communities who may have been oppressed.

As time gone on and the state of Overwatch went into shambles Winston recalled woke up a different side in Overwatch agents, instead of doing stuff how Jack Morrison would do, the Overwatch hero’s knew who to look up to in the end.

Pharah looking up into the sky hoping that maybe she would see you there looking down and protecting her.

#overwatch #overwatch x reader #darlingfics #overwatch imagine #Ana x reader #Ana Amari #Ana Amari x reader #Pharah #mercy #sick! reader

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inevitably-johnlocked · 10 months

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what are your top 5 favourite fics of all time?

Hey Lovely!

OOOOF! This is a question! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh are you looking specifically for Johnlock? Because my top 5 faves, if I was forced to choose, are multi-fandom fics LOL.

First, check out these lists, because I have a LOT of fave fics, and choosing just 5 hurts me so much:

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Ten Fave Short Johnlock Fics (Easy Reads April 2018)

25 Fave Johnlock One Shots (April 2018)

Top 10 Fave Fics (September 2018)

Top 20 Bookmarks of 2018 (March 2019)

Another Top 10 Fave Fics (June 2019)

Top 30 Read-Again Fics (March 2019)

Top 30 Read-Again Fics Pt. 2 (Sept. 2019)

Fave Read-Again Fics (10) (Dec 11/20)

Top 25 Fave Non-Ao3 Fics (Nov. 2019)

Top 25 Fave Non-Ao3 Fics Pt 2 (Apr 2022)

Top 25 Fave Non-AO3 Fics Pt 3 (May 2023)

Top 25 Bookmarks of 2019 (Dec. 29/2019)

Top 30 Bookmarks of 2020

Top 25 Bookmarks of 2021

Top 20 Bookmarks of 2022

Top 20 Comfort Fics (Feb 2022)

Top 30 Fave Angst Fics Under 10K

25 Fics for Fic Rec Bingo

-----

So, currently, in 2023, here are my Top 5 Fave Johnlock fics, I think. Probably repeated on one of the above lists:

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice, Escort Service) – Clara's American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she's also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she's placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, Primarily POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier(T, 67,085 w., 17 Ch. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) – John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

SO hard to pick, y'all. Decided to pick the first five fics I thought of rather than arguing with my brain LOL.

------

AND if you're interested in other fandoms, here are 5 other fave fics:

The Picnic; or, the Drawbacks of Loving an Angel by sorrowfulcheese (G, 3,776 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Apocalypse/Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Misunderstandings, Moving On, Picnicking, Idiots in Love, Crowley POV, Cranky Crowley, Mutual Pining, Light Angst with Happy Ending) – Aziraphale lures Crowley out for a picnic. It doesn't go remarkably well.

perilune by Pokimoko (T, 14,000 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S1, Marc / Layla / Steven, Jake & Layla Friendship, POV Layla, Romance, Fluff, Asexual System, Aromantic Jake, Queerplatonic Relationships, Light Angst, Protective Layla, Allosexual/Asexual Relationship, Established Relationship, Touch-Averse Jake, DID, Communication, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Soft Jake, Autistic System, Panic Attack, Insecure Marc) – In which Layla and Marc go to a party and share an important talk, Layla and Steven go on a date under the stars, and Layla and Jake go out for breakfast and come to a realisation.

Hand in Glove by lizardkid(T, 14,223 w., 1 Ch. || RED DWARF || Post-S9, Internalized Homophobia, Repression, Hurt/Comfort, Lister Whump, Worried Rimmer, Ableist Language, Cuddling) – Lister is mortally wounded in an accident. Rimmer is forced to reassess everything.

so this could be the death of me (or maybe just a better me) by darkerintheday (G, 25,029 w., 4 Ch. || MOON KNIGHT [2022] || Protective System, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Feral Protection of Each Other, Emotional Protector Steven, Protective Jake, BAMF Marc, Smart-Ass Steven, Language Barriers, Kidnapping / Torture, Murder, Discussions on Morality, Loneliness / Light Jealousy) – One time Marc saves Steven, one time Jake saves Marc, and one time Steven saves Jake. (And so forth.)

Moving Forward, Circuit by Circuit by DoAndroidsDreamOfElectricPolarBears (E, 50,605 w., 18 Ch. || Post-Ending AU, Amnesia, Connor Whump, Alcohol Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Android Slavery/Trafficking, World Building, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Hank Being Hank, Memory Loss/Wipe, Rebuilding Relationship, Case Fic, Protective Hank, Interrogations, Police Work, Love Confessions, Fixing Connor, Caring Hank, Friends to Lovers, Going Undercover, Self Depreciation, Bed Sharing, Kissing and Hugging, Flirting) – After the liberation of androids, society is changing ... for everyone except Hank. To him, it seems that life has returned to normal -- especially with the absence of his partner. That is, until he finds Connor, components modified and memories erased. The two must work together to catch the man responsible (and sort out their feelings along the way).

-----

Hope you this pleases you! <3

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #fave fics

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queseraone · 11 days

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What are the 5 weirdest things you’ve googled for a fic?

(Can be a published work, WIP, or random idea that will never see the light of day)

(Feel free to explain yourself, or to leave us all guessing)

Oh man. I think there's a part of me that tries to forget this stuff? Like my brain knows how insane I am and is just like, nope, and sweeps it away. Because I know I've googled some weird shit in the name of fanfic, but am totally drawing a blank.

These aren't necessarily google searches, but they're deep dives I've done in the name of a fic (usually for a teeny tiny irrelevant detail, often for something I don't even end up using in the end):

So I recently went on a wild goose chase trying to figure out what street Tim and Lucy were on in 1x01 ("I've been shot, where are you Boot!"). I took screenshots of episodes and reverse image searched. I looked on Google Earth and Street View like a crazy internet detective... had no luck in the end. 🔍

Travel time (and route!) between Los Angeles and other parts of California, and possible weather and road conditions that would lead to a highway closure.

I went through transcripts and generated a list of every named member of Metro (RIP Metro 😢). First names, last names, nicknmes... if it was mentioned in an episode or shown on a body cam, I searched and compiled.

I'm currently doing some preliminary research for a car accident fic - I can't/won't get into much detail here since (a) it's still early, and (b) I don't want to give anything away yet 😉

Medical research of injuries (but like, the bare minimum, because I was scared of google showing me grotesque pictures)

There have definitely been some way crazier google searches, but again, my brain is protecting me from remembering the insanity!

💖

#asked and answered #roguetwelve #ask games #weird google searches #writing #(i've had this in my drafts for a while and seeing others answer was a good nudge)

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respondedinkind · 7 months

Text

@sxbaist asked: “Here, lean on me. I’ll support you.” [Blood & Bruises Injury Starter Meme]

He's outdone himself; This hurts much more than it did last time, and Khan supposes it will only become worse every time he's lead back into that room - brought there for research purposes, as that Admiral dares to call the procedures done to him.

The audacity of naming his fun little experiments such almost makes Khan laugh, somewhere inside himself; All he can do is cough, however, which makes his head hurt so much he thinks he's going to cough up his own stomach, which thankfully does not happen.

There's just blood dripping from his bottom lip - some comes from somewhere inside his mouth, perhaps deeper than that, while the rest escapes him in a steady trickle from both of his flared nostrils.

"---I am okay.", is what he says, standing on his two feet as their gazes meet. Vega, who's been waiting within their cell, is still here - and as much as Khan wished she wouldn't be, but being free instead, her sight eases his mind. He's thankful to have her, to have someone who can relate, even if it means she has to suffer through the same shit.

He will kill him, one day. With his own, bare hands. Smash his skull with his palms, slowly so, while making him scream and cry for his own mother as the pain of bone being squashed infiltrates the whole of his cursed, disgusting existence.

Khan swallows, then spits dark red saliva onto the floor; He makes a few more steps, just needs to reach his cot where he can take a seat. It's not too far, just a bit further---

She catches him before his leg gives out completely; Vega is strong, she can hold his sudden weight, and sometimes Khan just forgets about how powerful she actually is.

"I can---" he starts. I can do it, is what he wants to say. Yet his sentence doesn't get finished, interrupted by him biting his own bottom lip, his face scrunched up in a wave of pain that crashes through his being. They make it, somehow end up at the other side of the room where he finally sits, taking weight off of his feet with another breath that escapes him a bit more forceful than he would like it to.

His chest hurts, so do his legs - and his brain. Tissue that's not supposed to hurt, as it does not hold any pain receptors; But it's different for his kind, the ones who possess a powerful mind that Marcus wants to explore with an eagerness that won't make him refrain from using questionable methods.

Blinking, Khan looks up, lifts his head to meet his companion's gaze. He simply gazes at her, his eyes saying "Thank you" without him needing to voice those words out loud.

"---One day.", is what he croaks, voice rattling within his throat. "---One day, It will all come to an end."

Marcus needs to die - and he will. One day.

#sxbaist #Verse -> Main #tw blood and injury #tw hinted at torture #(I apologize for this)#(for me... indulging?)#(sounds wrong but yeah)#(because we talked about them going through this together :') )

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garaksapprentice · 7 months

Text

Review: the Daedalus Falcon e-spinner

Originally posted on my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2023/09/review-daedalus-falcon-e-spinner.html

(There's a ton of photos in this one and much as I love you all, I cannot brain moving them all over here. So if you want all the pics, please check the blog.)

I confess, this is a departure from my usual "let's do things with the least amount of money we can get away with" style. In my defence, I strive to be frugal rather than cheap. I don't mind spending the money to get a good quality, durable product, if it's something I know will get a lot of use. An e-spinner definitely fits that category for me, for several reasons.

One, I fall well on the frog hair end of the spinning spectrum, something most traditional wheels just aren't designed to accommodate. I actually found it faster (and easier on my legs) to use a spindle for the kinds of fine, high-twist yarns I prefer to spin. But, there are limits to how fine I can comfortably go on a spindle - anything past about 50 WPI and I have to concentrate just on the spinning. Not good when you typically use a spindle on the go.

Two, I have a lingering knee injury that doesn't like the treadle action of most spinning wheels (something I find hilariously frustrating given I ride a cargo bike anywhere I can't take the train).

Three, I spin mostly to weave. Much as I love spinning, I like it to end eventually so I can move onto the weaving part of the equation.

After three straight months of research, the Daedalus Falcon came out as the hands-down winner for my goals of speed, fine yarn, and product durability.

Why Daedalus?

Daedalus manufacture high-end e-spinners and spinning accessories. All their products are designed to need little to no maintenance, and to last 20+ years - they're seriously well put together.

They make five different e-spinners to suit just about any spinning preference, from super bulky art yarn to ultra fine frog hair. The Falcon is specifically designed for production spinning of fine yarns - it can reach speeds of 4,200 RPM, over twice what I could get from my Ashford Traditional wheel.

Ordering

I'll be honest, I spent a long time thinking about which model, and whether to order a Daedalus at all. These beauties are high-performance machines built to last. But, that means they come with the price tag of a high-performance machine. Plus currency exchange. Plus postage. (Yikes.) In all, I spent just under AU$2,000 on my Falcon set-up (I ordered three extra bobbins at US$90 and some yarn control cards for US$24).

At the time I ordered (November 2022), there was an estimated wait time of 12 months or more. Luckily for me, if not my bank account, Daedalus expanded their production capacity over the 2022 Christmas break. I reached the front of the Falcon queue in June 2023 (seven months from sign-up). At the time of writing (September 2023) there is no queue for the Falcon, and the Daedalus team are working to banish their waitlists completely.

The package

My Falcon came party disassembled, cradled in bubble wrap. (I wasn't thinking about writing a review when I ordered it, so I didn't take pictures.) The flyer assembly was individually wrapped for transport, as were the speed controller, inverter, cables, and welcome pack/spares bag.

The inverter is a standard laptop style pack. It comes with a US-ended jug plug, but that's easy to change out for whatever your local plug end is. I dove into my box of spare cables and leads and had a compatible jug plug in less than two minutes. If you don't have a box of old computer cords lying around, what century did you time travel from plan ahead and buy a new one.

Importantly, the inverter outputs 15 volts! Make absolutely sure that you've got the right one when you go to spin! Most laptops nowadays run on 20 volts - you don't want to damage the motor by running it faster than it's designed for.

{pic on blog}

The extension cable for the speed controller, and the power end on the motor itself, is some non-standard end that I've never seen before. (It's probably very common among people who know things about electronics; I'm not one of them.) It's similar to USB-A connectors in that the ends are directional; if you don't get them the right way up, they won't connect. The cord itself has a protective, braided outer and feels very sturdy.

From top to bottom: the outside of both ends, the female end, and the male end.

The Instructions

The guidebook (also available as a PDF on their website) is beautifully designed, and clearly written. The parts diagrams are clearly photographed and labelled. I've found the instructions easy to follow, even with a scattered brain.

It includes:

getting started

fine tuning the tension

how to use the speed controller

a page of "handy tips"

how to change the bobbin

an RPM speed table

changing settings in the speed controller menu

maintenance

flat packing for travel

the Daedalus battery (purchased separately)

Daedalus' social media and contact details

The first page has a QR code that takes you directly to the Daedalus YouTube channel, where you can find videos on how to assemble and disassemble each model. My one quibble here is that the QR code takes you to the channel as a whole, rather than to the specific playlist for the model you bought. The videos themselves are short, to the point, and well shot with clear lighting and narration.

Also, the manual states that the speed controller has been limited to 50% max speed in the settings - mine wasn't. I've seen other folks on social media also say their controller wasn't speed limited for this model, so it's something to watch out for.

About that battery

Daedalus offer a battery bank that's designed to work with all their e-spinners (yay!). Unfortunately, due to issues with postage, they don't mail them outside the continental US (boo!).

While their website does say that they'll help you find a compatible battery that you can purchase in your country, this is complicated by the part where all their stuff runs on 15 volts. In Australia at least, 15v battery banks with a standard laptop cable input simply don't exist. I spent six weeks trying to find somewhere to buy a battery - I eventually gave up due to my brain frying any time I tried to look at listings.

While I'd like the option of a battery eventually (it would be much easier to set up in the back yard that way), for now I've made peace with needing to lug extension cords anywhere I want to spin.

Spinning Experience

So far I've only spun commercially prepared wools, so this won't be a thorough review of the Falcon's performance over a variety of fibres and preps. (I'll attempt that later, when I get the chance. And finer wool cards.)

Noise

It's quiet. Really quiet. At least two people at every guild meeting I've taken it to have commented on how quiet it is. Most of the noise comes from the flyer rotation, and considerably less from the motor. I'm quite sensitive to noise, especially higher pitches, so I was concerned about this. Luckily it hasn't been an issue. (If you're the sort of person who can hear electricity, it may bother you. I've lost that mysterious ability as I've aged, for the most part, so I can't say for sure.)

I have noticed that the noise changes/gets louder at speeds above about 70% - again, this is simply due to the fact that the flyer is turning at ~3,000+ RPM. At worst I have to turn the laptop up slightly to better hear the video I have playing. The breeze off the flyer sure helps with air circulation on a warm day, too.

Threading

The size of the hooks (loops, really) and the inner part of the orifice make threading a breeze. I do occasionally struggle with very fine, high twist threads, especially when I'm rethreading after a break. That's partly finding the right angle to hold the thread at so that it catches in the hook, and partly my fingers not always co-operating.This is the position I find works best for threading the orifice.

I wouldn't want to try it with a non-Daedalus orifice hook, though - there's quite a bend in the hook, and it's there for good reason. Luckily the Falcon body has magnets on it to always keep your hook nearby.

The magnets + hook combo is great for holding the end of the thread when you're not spinning, too. I just wrap it around the middle of the hook a few times and stick it back on the magnets.

Take-up and tensioning

The take-up is wonderfully light, and can be ridiculously fine-tuned to match what you're spinning. When take-up drops below an acceptable level (once or twice per layer of bobbin filling), a tiny adjustment (less than a quarter turn) is usually enough to get things back on track.

I've filled four part-bobbins so far (two I'm still working on, one I ran out of fibre), at ~65 WPI, 45 WPI, and ~85 WPI. On each empty bobbin, I started with the spring completely compressed and the cord just barely tight/without slack. It took a few minutes of trial and error with each fibre to dial in the correct tension, but once I did, it was basically hassle-free for each spinning session thereafter.

That being said - I found correct tensioning quite tricky to dial in at first, because the hook and dial had shifted on their arms during shipping. If you put your wheel in something to travel with and find the tension is all screwy next time you go to spin, that's something to look at.

This circumstance isn't covered in the guide book, so it took me a while to work out why my "maximum tension" on the dial still wasn't enough to draw on the yarn I was spinning (it only became apparent about a third into the bobbin). Once I realised that the tension dial had rotated on the shaft in transport, I was able to reset it by simply rotating it back to a more vertical position.

{pic on blog}

This is an extreme example, but both the tension dial and the spring hook opposite it can rotate like this if you're not careful.

Starting/Stopping

At first I didn't think I'd need the foot pedal extension cord - surely I'd just be able to bop the controller on and off with my hand while I was spinning?

I was quickly disabused of this notion partway through my second bobbin. When things go wrong while spinning a 60 WPI single at 2,500 RPM, they go wrong fast. Being able to turn the Falcon off with my foot, while frantically trying to salvage whatever's gone wrong, is essential.

A really nice bonus to the foot pedal is that I'm not stuck in one position while spinning - I can sit, stand, rock from side to side, even crouch or kneel. I have back and shoulder problems and an old knee injury, so being able to freely change posture is a godsend for keeping my muscles happy.

And the soft stop/start - oh. my. Dog. I did not realise how much nicer my wheel spinning life could be. A soft stop is built in to spindle spinning by default, and I genuinely didn't realise how much I missed that on a wheel until I started spinning on the Falcon. I sing its praises whenever the thread breaks - the end stays loose and easy to find on top of the bobbin. No matter how gently I tried to stop my treadle wheel, more often than not the thread end would be buried somewhere in the hills and valleys on the bobbin, and there would be much swearing during retrieval.

Bobbin size

Daedalus advertises the Falcon bobbin as holding "two ounces (60 g) of 30 WPI singles". After plying a couple of bobbins of sock yarn with it, I would call this a conservative estimate. I managed to fit 70g of a 32 WPI, two-ply yarn on one bobbin - and it wasn't even well packed!

I've included a couple of in-progress bobbin shots, and what the singles on them currently measure/weight, below. None of them are even close to full, unfortunately - this is the order I spun them in, and right now I need to concentrate on the last one since it's due by December.

{pics on blog}

Sliver from Bendigo Woollen Mills. ~75 WPI, 31g. 19.5 micron merino top from Nundle Farms. ~82 WPI, 29g. Handpainted 20 micron merino from Kathy's Fibres, ~82 WPI, 12g.

Final thoughts

This powerhouse is not for everyone. It's made for a specific purpose, and it fulfils that purpose beautifully. But it would probably suck at doing things it's not designed for.

While I'm sure you could spin 20 WPI or even 10 WPI singles with it, it won't do the job as well as an e-spinner designed for that. The other Daedalus offerings are worth a look, if you're not as into spinning frog hair as me.

But if you have a deep, abiding love for spinning lace-weight and finer yarns, this is an e-spinner worth looking at. Expensive though it was, it's one of the best fibre-related purchases I've made. (It easily beats the sewing machine and the overlocker combined.)

I'm definitely an outlier here - I have the not-at-all-typical goal of one day having a completely hand-spun, handwoven, and hand-sewn wardrobe. As such, production spinning is my jam - I want fine, high-twist yarns, that commercial mills simply can't replicate. And I want them as fast as my skills will let me go. With that in mind, the Falcon makes complete sense for my spinning goals.

Obligatory disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with Daedalus, and this post isn't sponsored (not that I'm against that, mind. This apprentice has to eat). All opinions are my own.

#review #spinning #daedalus #e-spinner #espinner #fibre crafts #fibre arts

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tic-loud-tic-proud · 1 year

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Hi! I heard something in class today that sounded absolutely wild, and it wasn't said by an individual that I have any trust in regards to mental health etc (they literally said that adhd is contagious which uh. not getting into that krkskdje), but I thought I'd ask around in case there's any truth to it since I don't know nearly enough abt tourettes to say for certain its untrue. Basically, they said that their psychology student friend did a research paper and found that seeing tik toks of people with tourettes can make kids (I believe the psychology student's study group was 7 yos or something around there) get tourettes too. Now, I believe that tics can be "contagious" (like stims) aka u have tourettes and can then get a new tic from another person w tourettes, but nothing in their claim said that these kids previously had tourettes, just that they got it from tiktok. Do u know anything abt this? Is it completely ridiculous or have you ever heard anything abt this happening? No problem if you don't know or arent sure, its a pretty out-there idea (from my perspective), and I hope it isn't a horribly annoying q. Have a nice day!

I've answered this question multiple times but Tumblr search sucks and I can't find any of the posts. So even though I hate talking about this topic I'll do it again.

(My answer is really long. Some text is bolded, not for emphasis but to make long paragraphs easier to read.)

The whole "TikTok tics" thing has completely torn the TS community apart with infighting (you can read more of my opinions on that here). My own neurologist is one of the leading doctors studying the phenomena, and trying to convince people to stop calling them "TikTok tics" and use the term Functional Tic-like Behaviors (FTLBs) instead.

I want to start by saying anyone who has sudden-onset tics, or tic-like behaviors, needs to see a doctor as soon as possible. There are many cases where sudden-onset tics are a result of untreated brain injury, heavy metal poisoning, and severe nutritional deficiencies. Tourette Syndrome is far from being the only disorder that causes tics.

Most of my followers know that I dislike TikTok. At the same time, whether a person with TS wants to post videos about their life on the platform, is none of my business. I am very grateful to people that are spreading accurate information and awareness about TS to people that otherwise wouldn't care. I do believe that despite many creators' best efforts, negative stereotypes are starting to arise again- some that I've never even heard of. The "all Tourettics say swear words" stereotype is as prevalent as ever, but so is the "if a Tourettic says swear words they're faking" stereotype. I've even heard "real people with TS can't hold eggs or read books out loud or cook" stereotypes which are completely new to me. TS is never one size fits all. It's different for everybody.

What I do dislike about TS related videos on TikTok is that many of them go back to seeing us as entertainment. I have always struggled with being seen as a spectacle, I have very strong trust issues because of this. I know even some of my dearest friends think my tics are entertaining, which, I don't want to blame them for that, some of my tics can be funny, but TS itself isn't. People with TS are not clowns, we are not performers, we are not here to entertain anybody.

I don't think that TikTok causes Tourette Syndrome, because TS is never contagious, it's a defect in the brain that we are born with. I believe that this issue is very complicated and influenced by a number of factors. Nearly all of the people who are developing FTLBs are young women or transgender individuals who already face misogyny and transphobia, which both often incorporate the belief that young women/transgender individuals will constantly lie in order to gain attention. In addition to that almost all of them already suffer from severe mental health issues- depression, social anxiety, eating disorders, and body dysmorphia mostly. Because of quarantine and the pandemic, more and more people went online more often.

Humans are social animals. We all feel a need to be in groups. I believe a major part of this issue is that young people especially are figuring themselves out and need to feel a sense of belonging. If a person's "For you" is nothing but videos of people within a certain group (not even just medical communities, but goths, emos, metalheads, and other fashion- or music-based subcultures are experiencing this), you will feel left out. I'm absolutely not saying that this is the fault of the people watching or creating these videos, I'm blaming it on the exploitative algorithms that TikTok and other social media websites use to funnel users into generally obscure niches. Many industries thrive on the consumers' feeling of being left out so this method works very well and makes money for the platform.

I would highly suggest reading this article that goes more in-depth to the causes of "TikTok tics". Social media is far from being the primary cause. This isn't the first time we've had a "Tourette's outbreak" either, and it probably won't be the last.

To answer your question of "have you ever heard of this happening", yes, unfortunately I have first hand experience. My ex-girlfriend claimed she suddenly caught Tourette's from me and now has a TikTok account where she spreads misinformation "awareness" about Tourette Syndrome. She would write down my vocal tics in a notebook whenever we were around, claiming she just thought "they're so funny I want to remember them", and then would go home and film TikToks pretending to have the same tics she'd written down beforehand. She's a terrible person for many reasons and I could probably spend some time talking more about her but I know nobody is interested in that.

What's most important is that anybody with tics, anybody with TS, anybody with FTLBs, still deserve support and proper medical care. At the end of the day this is far from being an individual issue. It's shown some major flaws in the (American) healthcare system, that doctors are so quick to dismiss and ignore the real suffering of young women and transgender individuals. Every single person with tics is impacted by this issue (directly or not). Accusations of faking are at an all-time high, and it's getting harder and harder for me and many other Tourettics to trust people (again, see this post). I have friends and people close to me, diagnosed with TS, who are being accused of faking by their own doctors, and are having their diagnoses under review. In 2021 (which I consider the height of this frenzy) I went to the #1 TS specialist in my country after being on the waitlist for 3+ years, and even she questioned my diagnosis and told me that I would be cured if I deleted my (non-existent) TikTok account.

Just a week ago a young man with TS who was very popular on TikTok died as a result of a tic. For years he had struggled with TS and for years people had accused him of faking. TS is serious. It's not a trend.

Every single person deserves compassion. Every person deserves a chance to be believed, to be listened to (even my ex). Nobody deserves to have their legitimate concerns shunned and ignored, especially by medical professionals. Whether someone has FTLBs, Tourette's, PANS/PANDAS, FND, or any tic-causing disorder, we deserve help. We deserve our experience to be heard. We deserve to be believed.

#long post #this is the last time i will be addressing this #tourette syndrome #tiktok tics #fakers #fakeclaiming #jfc its christmas eve and i spent an hour of my life writing this out

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fishklok · 7 months

Text

Happy Friday.

I needed to study for my torts class, and what better motivation is there than spite? Unfortunately, I did block this anon so they will be spared from my lecture lol. This is for me now.

Let's get some disclaimers out of the way.

The point of my post was not "Magnus would be found innocent because Nathan hurt his lil face :(". For one, I am talking about civil law, and innocent/guilty is criminal law terminology (a lot of self defense law is carried over from criminal law, but that's a different matter). The point of my post was whether, Magnus could use his own injuries to argue against Nathan's self defense claims. Magnus would still be liable for battery, but there is a chance he could have Nathan hit for a similar (perhaps lesser) claim. I thought I was clear in my original post, but there's a chance I wasn't and I'm sorry.

I'm just using scenes from the show to exercise my law student brain. It's really just a fun exercise trying to work through events and ask "well, how could this point be argued?" or "what if x happened instead?" I'm not a lawyer and I'm definitely not giving legal advice. There is a chance that I'll learn something next week that will tear apart everything I'm about to write in this post. That's fine - I'm still learning.

You might be thinking that I'm wasting my time dwelling on this. To that I'd say, yeah. I know anon and I have nothing going on this Friday night, so I might as well spend it doing some fun legal research.

Anyway, let's get to these points.

"Nathan would be completely in his right to fill magnus with lead, let alone punch him for magnus' ATTEMPTED MURDER."

Anon is actually right here. Let's assume that when Magnus went to stab Nathan, and Nathan responded by pulling out a gun and shot him, many courts would find this is sufficient to count as self defense. For Nathan to be justified in using deadly force against Magnus, he would have to prove that he had "reasonable apprehension of loss of life or great bodily harm." Scales v. State (1961). Then the court would have to argue over what constitutes as "reasonable apprehension", but it's likely that most courts would find Magnus literally attacking him with a knife to be more than enough.

"At what point does assault with a deadly weapon not justify a person's right to respond in equal if not excessive force to protect their own life?"

This is actually a very interesting question that's at the root of a lot of cases. Here's an example of a disagreement that comes up frequently within the law: what if someone is able to retreat? If someone could have fled the scene, but instead chose to defend themselves with deadly force, can they still claim self defense? The Restatement (Second) of Torts § 65 (1965) says that a victim may use deadly force, only if there's reasonable doubt they could escape safely. However, most courts hold that someone can use deadly force to defend themselves, even if that force results in the death of their attacker. But this is a very complicated issue that you see pop up everywhere from courtrooms to high school debate club topics. But relevant for this spiral of a post, if Nathan killed Magnus to defend himself from being stabbed, it would be sufficient to count as self defense. Also Magnus would have a harder time arguing otherwise.

(Also, just to be even more of an asshole, for the sake of this hypothetical I'm considering Magnus' crime battery, not assault with a deadly weapon. It's still a serious tort, but I don't want to get too mixed up with criminal terms in this civil law example. Also I'm being pedantic.)

"There have been cases of people winning self defense when the attacker died using a less deadly weapon."

I don't doubt that; I've even read some of those cases. However, this is not the issue at hand.

My point was that, if Magnus was brought to court, he could make the argument that Nathan used excessive force against him. Not by punching him after the initial attack, but by repeatedly punching him when he no longer had the means to fight back. If the initial attack is no longer a threat, the privilege of self-defense is terminated. The cases my text book cites to illustrate this point are Germolous v. Sausser (1901), Drabek v. Sabley (1966), Edgar v. Emily (1982). There is a point in the series of events where the self-defense distinction becomes murkier, and Magnus could use that murkiness to his advantage. It could be argued that Magnus stopped committing the battery the moment he no longer had access to his weapon and he was prone on the ground. When it comes to proportionality of force used in self defense, courts often consider the differences in strength and age between the parties. So if Magnus wants to present himself in court as a weak old man getting punched in the face by this beefcake metal vocalist, it might be able to help his case.

So what does this mean for Magnus? Does this mean the court would find him innocent? No, because "innocent" is a criminal law term, and I just spent an eternity talking about torts. But in a civil case, Magnus would have grounds to argue against Nathan's self defense claims. Does this mean he would win? Unlikely. At most, I can see Nathan being considered liable for battery as well, not definitely not as severe as Magnus' claim. Nathan might have to pay him some damages, but it probably wouldn't even be enough to make up for the money Magnus would owe him. And at worst, the court would look at Magnus' argument and say, "yeah....but you did stab the guy, so no." It really depends on the jurisdiction and the nature of the arguments. But it is an argument that Magnus, this fictional cartoon man, could make. There is no guarantee he would win.

"You're going to make a horrible lawyer."

I don't know what kind of lawyer I'm going to be.

Anyway, lol. Lmao, even.

(I was able to seriously bulk up my tort law notes for today because of this, so I don't consider this a waste of time at all. It's a waste of everyone else's time lol).

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