hysterical woman

Minerva Mcgongall pulled out her notebook and turned to the page that listed the names and details of that years Gryffindor Quidditch team. Her heart swelling with pride she jotted down the name “Harry Potter” next to the position “Seeker” before closing the book and opening a second drawer. She took out a small, wooden box and rummaged in it for a few seconds before withdrawing a worn out envelope, inside of which was a short letter and a photograph.

“Dearest Minnie,

Hope you’re doing well! I’m the same of course, driving Lily up the wall as usual, she sends you her love by the way!

Now I know I told you that you’ll never find a chaser as good as me ever again, but it just goes to show that even the brilliant are sometimes mistaken. I’ve found you (made you!) a replacement who will one day outshine his old man by leagues! Enclosed is a photograph of your new Quidditch prodigy so that you may assess his skills for yourself. We have him chasing the cat for practice. He’ll be unbeatable by the time he starts at Hogwarts! The youngest Quidditch player in a century!

I guarantee it, Minnie. And you know I’m never wrong, though you’ll never admit it!

Missing you and Hogwarts terribly,

Lots of love,

James

P.S. Sirius says his marriage proposal still stands.”

Wiping away a single tear that ran down her cheek and chuckling to herself, she smiled down at the photograph of a small, gleeful, black haired boy zooming along on a toy broom, a pair of legs chasing after him and a young woman laughing hysterically in a corner.

“Right again, Mr. Potter.”

Cardiac distress symptoms in women

In the wake of Carrie Fisher’s death four days after she suffered a massive heart attack, one thing that was reported by some news outlets was that she had been in “significant distress” on the flight. We don’t know the exact details of this, but in my experience as an EMT, it often means “hysterical woman having a panic attack and thinking she’s dying…*woman dies* …oops, guess she really was dying.” 

It is SO IMPORTANT to remember that many women present in what medicine considers an ‘atypical’ manner for heart attack, but it actually IS typical…for women. Women are more than twice as likely to die from cardiac emergencies, not because our physiology is that much different than men and thus gives us a worse chance at survival (it’s actually better if treated promptly and adequately), but because our symptoms are more likely to go unrecognized or to be dismissed entirely.

Thus, please take a moment to review and pass on this list of cardiac distress symptoms as seen in women: 

Shortness of breath - This is the most common one. If a woman, especially one without prior history of respiratory issues or shortness of breath, seems to be having trouble catching her breath and/or complains of such, pay very close attention. If she continues to feel winded after sitting or laying down, it’s probably time to call for help.

Feeling of impending doom - This can range from a sense of general unease to a full-blown panic attack. This one is extremely important, and is the symptom most commonly disregarded by doctors and hospital staff. If a woman tells you that she feels ‘not quite right,’ or like something terrible is about to happen, or that she’s about to die, LISTEN TO HER FFS. 

Nausea and “indigestion” - Also common. Heart attacks frequently present as a feeling of vague nausea or indigestion, but unlike typical heartburn, antacids and other OTC treatments will not alleviate the symptoms.

Hiccups - Unexplained hiccups, especially if seen with any of the other symptoms listed above, can be indicative of heart muscle that is being acutely or chronically starved of oxygen.  The exact mechanism isn’t known, but it’s thought that the enzymes released by the dying muscle irritate the pericardium and adjacent diaphragm, causing spasms in the healthy muscle. 

Fatigue - This is another commonly seen symptom, and is often overlooked or ignored as just transient tiredness. Many women having a heart attack will complain of feeling “flu-like” symptoms of nausea, sweating, fatigue, and shortness of breath, and they’ll lie down for a nap and never wake up. 

Lightheadedness - A feeling of being lightheaded or about to faint isn’t terribly uncommon in many benign conditions, and many women experience it on a monthly basis. However - be aware when it appears unexpectedly or unexplainedly, and/or with one or more of the other symptoms on this list. 

Sweating (diaphoresis) - Heart attack does funny things to the sympathetic nervous system, which is behind reflexes such as sweating and hiccups. If a lady is experiencing unexplained or excessive sweating, pay attention to anything else that might be going on with her. 

Tingling or numb extremities - A feeling of numbness or “pins and needles” tingling in the extremities can be an important sign that cardiac function is being impaired and those body parts aren’t receiving enough oxygen. 

Peripheral and/or central cyanosis - Often accompanies tingling or numbness, and is considered a later-stage symptom of cardiac distress and heart failure. Finger and toe tips will turn pale or blue first, and lips and gums after that. Important to remember that darker-skinned women may present cyanosis as ashen, grey, or darker purple rather than pale or blue. 

Back pain - Pain between the shoulder blades, in the cervical spine, or even further down in the torso or lumbar region can be a symptom of heart attack. Alone, it isn’t that suspicious, but if it’s unrelenting and presents with any of the other symptoms above, keep a watchful eye on things. 

Classic “crushing” or “tight” chest pain or pressure - Women DO experience this classic pain, too, just not as frequently as men do. This may be due to our higher pain threshold, or differences in blood volume, or maybe we’re just not sure because nobody’s bothered to really study it. Whatever the reason, some women do still experience the crushing or tightening pain, and others may experience less painful pressure or tightness that doesn’t seem to be relieved by anything.

Arm and jaw pain - Another “classic” heart attack symptom, and a bit more common than central chest pain. Unexplained pain in the left arm or shoulder, and on the left side of the neck or jaw, should not be ignored by anyone.

We often think of haunted places as spooky old houses or abandoned asylums, but what about an aircraft? One such case is that of Flight 401, an Eastern Airlines flight that crashed into the Florida Everglades on December 29th 1972 at approximately 11:42 P.M. The captain, along with one of two flight crew members, two of 10 flight attendants, and 97 of 163 passengers, died; 75 passengers and crew survived. The crash was a result of the crew becoming distracted by a minor problem (a burnt-out landing gear indicator light), and failing to notice that the plane was not on autopilot. They were unknowingly free-falling for more than 10 minutes. The last dialogue heard on the plane is surprisingly casual, and at least somewhat relieving to know that the causalities never knew what hit them:

 “Stockstill: Um, [pause] we’re still at 2,000 feet, right?”

  “Loft: Hey—what’s happening here?” 

-plane crashes-

Although the crash was disastrous, a lot of the non-essential equipment (i.e dinner trays, seats and hinges) were salvageable and were “recycled” onto other aircrafts in order to save money. After this, odd things began happening. On several flights, flight attendants and passengers witnessed the ghost of Captain Bob Loft walking in and out of the cock-pit before vanishing into thin air. On one occasion, the flight crew were so shaken by the experience that they had to cancel the flight. On another flight, a lady made a concerned enquiry to a flight attendant regarding the quiet, unresponsive man in Eastern Airlines uniform sitting in the seat next to her, who subsequently disappeared in full view of both of them and several other passengers, leaving the woman hysterical. More than 10 flights had reports of paranormal occurrences, and all these flights contained at least one part of the crashed plane. In 1981, all of these “haunted planes” were taken out of service in fears that a paranormal experience may cause another crash. It remains the only incident of a supposed haunted aircraft, and is as creepy as it is unusual.

3

Merriam-Webster’s Kory Stamper takes on the sexist use of “hysterical” in this twitter thread.


“tl;dr: data shows “hysterical is usu. gendered and negative in tone, so next time you’re about to call a woman “hysterical,” don’t. FIN”


(Das gilt für das Deutsche übrigens auch.)

Robb x Female Reader

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Imagine falling in love with Robb after healing him and having his baby.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

\ Request for anonymous /

Hey could you do a Robb stark one shot where your a healer and when you help him recover from a wound, you fall in love have sex and you end up being pregnant?

♡ ♡ ♡ Warning: LIGHT SMUT ♡ ♡ ♡

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Is there a particular scene in each of Gillian's projects you think that stood out? Performances which earned her an honorary OBE, I think: Bleak House, A Doll's House, Any Human Heart, Great Expectations, The Fall, and Streetcar.

What an absolute gift of a question. I had to think about it for a long time to gather my thoughts so thank you, Anon!

First, I haven’t seen A Doll’s House or Any Human Heart (this is on my list!) so certainly someone can complete my answer on this.

1. Bleak House

I know a lot of people would name the scene with Lady Dedlock revealing she is Esther’s mother. I will as well because that scene in itself requires so much confidence in one’s skills. Speaking and crying at the same time is something I always admire in an actor because it can so easily slip into melodrama. And, the fact that the actors had to deliver over and over again while being interrupted thanks of the constant flow of planes flying low because of the airport nearby… Just outstanding.

Special mention: I have a really special place for the moment when Lady Dedlock is alone and finds the handkerchief in her desk. She can no longer run from knowing Esther is alive, that she is her illegitimate daughter, that the truth will be revealed to her husband. And by just looking at Gillian’s face, the audience knows she has made her mind up: it shall be death rather than dishonour.

2. Great Expectations

Her final scene. The way she carefully puts on the veil and the tiara on, and when she drops the bouquet into the flames, she slowly puts her hands on the fireplace, ready to embrace the warmth she hasn’t felt since someone broke her heart.

3. The Fall

Season 3. Stella telling Rose her mistake and her responsibility in her ordeal. Stella is a very secretive character but in this scene, she cannot cope with how deeply affected she is by this.

Special mention: when she walks out of that car after a heated argument with Burns. The cracks are showing, she feels the weight of blame and the judgment on her shoulders. We see it again when she sees Spector’s body. Gillian masters such a spectrum of emotions like very few other actors.

4. A Streetcar Named Desire

The Varsouvian monologue. The only scene in the play where you truly feel Blanche is being completely honest, a speech devoid of lies or schemes to make herself likeable or attractive. Gillian’s interpretation of Blanche is so layered, she turned a character who can easily be seen as a caricature of a hysterical woman with a drinking problem to a complex, funny, clever yet damaged human being who is riddled with flaws but who only wants to free herself from society’s morals.


This ask made me realise how much I care for Gillian’s silent acting. Her face and her body movement convey so much. She could be mute in a movie, she’d still nail it.

One Hard Day Shared

Summary: Reader has a run in with Bucky Barnes after a hard day.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Words:  1,250

Warning: Mostly fluff, slight violence, potentially triggering to pet lose

I don’t own any characters or Gif - all credit goes to the rightful people. Also, I’m not in love with this story, but I wanted to post at least one story each day - so I’m trying. And all my stories are one shot until requested otherwise.    

Originally posted by evansmaximoff

    It was rainy, late, and dark. The city lights seem to fade to a dim burn. Here you were, sitting on a bus stop bench – crying. Bucky caught a glimpse from afar, it was unusual to find a hysterically crying woman, alone in a bad neighborhood. He remembers when things like this didn’t matter, but something inside him cried out to be a gentleman.

It didn’t help that he knew he was being followed. Hydra allies has been tracking his whereabouts for a while and they either wanted to use him or kill him. And they were closing in fast and this poor girl was going to get stuck in the middle if she didn’t get lost, “Excuse me,” you looked up with your big Y/C/E eyes. Normally you’d be started, but you were so emotionally drained, “Could I call you a cab?”

This stranger was wearing a ballcap and hoodie, but you could see a glimpse of his gentle grey and blue eyes, “No,” you sniffled, “I’m just going to wait for the bus. Take some time and reflect.” You were more talking to yourself now, “Plus, I really don’t want to deal with small talk from a cab driver.” He nodded, looking up and around the street. You watched him closely, “Look if you want to rob me or whatever, let me tell you – I just had to put down my dog of six years. My only roommate since I’ve moved to this giant, crowded city. So I think I’ve had enough turmoil today, thank you.”

“I don’t want to rob you, I just wanted,” something caught his eye, which caused him to stop mid sentence. They found him, “Look, I think its best if you head on down the street and grab a taxi.”

Standing up, you tried your best to look tough, “Look here bub, I was here first. So why don’t you walk down the street and call a taxi.”

“Ma’am,” he said, putting his hands up to show he doesn’t want a fight, “I just don’t think it’s safe out here.”

You felt someone nearing behind you, you reach into your pocket, and pull out a gun, “Look here you Lint Licker,” you yell at the new person standing behind you, “I’d had a damn hard day and if you’d like to get a bullet right in that – I don’t know, grubby face of yours – am scram,” you breathed out, boiling with anger. The guy backed off for a second when something behind you caught your attention. The man you were just talking to was beating the snot out of seven other guys.

The gun you were holding was kicked out of your hand and out of nowhere you round house kicked another human and bashed your very heavy backpack into their skull. They were unconscious on the ground and you looked back to this mysterious man. He was breathing heavily and looking back at you. If he didn’t just save your life, you’d be terrified because he looked like a wild animal.

“Are you alright,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you said, adrenaline making you giggle anxiously, “I didn’t know that crime was so bad here.”

He smiled the first time since you’ve met him. Ever since he has been on the run, he has been struggling with social skills. He picked up your bag for you, “I’m sorry about your dog ma’am.”

Reality sunk in again and you had to catch your breath, “He’s in a better place,” you looked down at the guys, “Which is more than I can say about these guys.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” he grips your arm, leading you around the pile of bodies. You could hear the sirens in the background, “I assume you don’t want to be around when the police discover your illegally bought gun.” You gave an awkward, you got caught face. Leading you down the street, he picked up your gun and placed it in the bag, “Just so you know, your safety was still on.”

“I know,” you say back harshly, “If you look closer, you’ll notice there are no bullets in it either. I can’t kill a spider, let alone a human. It’s for show.” Again, he smiled to himself. You had such attitude and gusto, but you were still a gentle pacifist. It has been awhile since he felt something like this – enjoying another person’s company, “Can I buy you a coffee or something? You know for confronting a crying girl and saving her life deserves something.”

He looked taken back, “No, I should get you home,” he said calmly, “I’m not-,” he hesitated, “I’m not known for company.”

You felt sad for him. In the fight and during this walk, his hood came down, and you got a good look. He had some facial hair and beautiful eyes. He didn’t really have facial expressions, but when he smirked or grinned, there was a sparkle in his eye. You still felt bad for him, you felt alone because your dog, but he looked actually whole heartedly alone, “And I’m about to go to an empty house for the first time,” you whispered, “I’ll take any company that isn’t trying to kill me.”

He nodded, “To be honest, they were trying to kill me.”

You nod, “I’m Y/N.”

“My friends used to call me Bucky.”

You nod, “Used to?”

“Again, I’m not much for company,” you continued to point the direction to your apartment. You both walked in quiet for a while, occasionally sharing the thought about the rain or the city, never about our personal lives.

“This is me,” you pointed to the building, “You sure I can’t offer you anything?”

“No,” he shook his head. He was trying to keep his distance from people, today was an example of why that should be the case always.

Nodding your head, you look up to your apartment, “Alright Bucky, nice walking with you,” you said to him. He turned to start walking, but your voice stopped him, “I’m sorry,” he turned back to you, your eyes meeting, “This might be the whole Knight in Armor syndrome,” but before you could finish you pull him into a kiss. He let you deepen it before you pull way, “Thanks.”

Every day since, you thought of that lonely, hero named Bucky. It’s been two weeks to the day. You wish you got his number or exchanged a date and time, but you could tell nothing would happen, which is why you didn’t try in the first place. A knock caught your attention, you were just reading the paper. You got up and answered the door, but nothing was there but a box. Looking around and seeing no one, you went to pick up the box, but it moved, “What the -,” and the box popped open. There hopped a little dog, looking like a corgi puppy, “Oh my, hi,” you picked them up.

You kicked the box in, looking around for someone who made a mistake. Closing the door behind you, you pick up the note – Dear Y/N, I thought it has been a long enough time to find another roommate. This is for you – I’ve been calling him Steve. Also, here are some bullets, it wouldn’t hurt to keep some with you,” it was signed B.B.

You looked back down at the puppy, cuddling him closer to your chest, “Hi little Stevey, you’re cute.”

Originally posted by endless-puppies

2

Susan Smith - The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Nothing tears at our hearts like a story of stolen children, but something was not quite right with the tale a hysterical young woman told police over the phone on October 24, 1994.

The woman - who identified herself as twenty-three-year old Susan Smith - claimed she had stopped for a red light in downtown Union, South Carolina, when an armed black man approached the car and demanded she get out. When she did, Susan claimed the man had threatened her and then sped off in her car. Her two sons Michael (3) and Alexander (14 months) were asleep in their car seats during the entire incident.

Police were quick to respond to the case of Susan’s missing children, but soon there was reason to suspect the mousy housewife was not telling the truth; during interviews Susan would accidentally refer to her sons in the past tense (as if she knew they were already dead), did not appear to cry, and gave a very vague and disordered description of the man who hijacked the car.

Over nine days, Susan gave a series of very emotional television appearances where she pleaded to the ‘hijacker’ to return her sons safely. It was after her latest one on November 3, 1994, that police confronted Susan with the inconsistencies in her story, namely the fact she claimed she had stopped the car for a red light on the night of the hijacking. This was later proven to have been impossible, as the red light on that particular intersection only goes red if another car was approaching from the opposite direction - which wasn’t the case, as Susan had been very adamant that nobody had been on the street that night.

After repeated questioning, Susan Smith confessed to murdering her two sons. She told the police that she drove to a nearby lake intending to drown herself and her two children. After parking at the edge of the water and disengaging the brake, Susan claimed to have had a change of heart and got out of the car at the last second. Her two boys, trapped in their car seats, drowned as the car drifted out and filled with water. A search of the lake soon revealed Susan’s car resting on the bottom of the lake, with the bodies of her two children still inside. After her arrest a psychiatrist diagnosed her as a depressive personality, and that she killed her children during a psychotic episode. It later came out that Susan was having an affair with a married man before her sons deaths, and he told her they could not be together due to her sons, which caused Susan to snap.

Susan Smith was charged with two counts of murder and found guilty in October 1995. She was sentenced to life in prison and must serve thirty years before she is released.

anonymous asked:

Could someone be sent to a mental asylum for being gay in Victorian era England? And what treatment would they be subjected to?

Short answer: yes! Bad things!

cw involutary hospitalization

[IMAGE: big, scary asylum – the High Royds Old Asylum in West Yorkshire]

Longer answer: 

You can see lists going around about the various things that can get you committed, and some of them look pretty funny: novel reading, masturbation, politics, etc. According to snopes.com, though, these lists can be misleading:

Although this list was sourced from a contemporaneous hospital log, its entries should not be considered as denoting things that were all considered symptoms of mental instability. Rather, among patients who were treated … for various illnesses such as chronic dementia, acute mania, and melancholia, these entries recorded the reasons or causes why those patients were said to have developed their underlying maladies. That is, people didn’t think that novel reading, asthma, the marriage of one’s child, politics, or falling from a horse were symptoms of mental illness, but rather factors that might have produced or exacerbated such an illness. 

However, perversion, or inversion (as Freud called it, among others), could be seen as illness at the time, and was thought to be harmful if not outright dangerous.

[IMAGE: Patients in ice baths. Note that they are strapped in.]

Asylum patients in general were treated to a variety of things in the name of treatment: solitude, filthy conditions, forced nudity, sexual assault by staff or other patients, ice baths, enemas, restricted diets, and just general neglect. Some asylums just sort of dumped everyone into a room together and forgot them. The goal wasn’t to heal, but to get them out of the way so “normal” people didn’t have to deal with them.

[IMAGE: patient undergoing electrocovulsive “therapy”]

Special cases in some asylums and mental hospitals got more specific attention: aversion therapy where the patient is shocked or otherwise punished for exhibiting signs of the behavior being extinguished, or to sort of mute them for a time while they recover from induced seizures. It all gets a bit Clockwork Orange sometimes. 

As early as the 16th century, agents to induce seizures were used to treat psychiatric conditions. In 1785, the therapeutic use of seizure induction was documented in the London Medical Journal.[1][85][86] As to its earliest antecedents one doctor claims 1744 as the dawn of electricity’s therapeutic use, as documented in the first issue of Electricity and Medicine. Treatment and cure of hysterical blindness was documented eleven years later. Benjamin Franklin wrote that an electrostatic machine cured “a woman of hysterical fits.” In 1801, Giovanni Aldini used galvanism to treat patients suffering from various mental disorders.[87] G.B.C. Duchenne, the mid-19th century “Father of Electrotherapy,” said its use was integral to a neurological practice.[88]

There was also experimentation. Viennese doctor Eugen Steinach transplanted straight men’s testicles into gay men to “cure” them. Of course, it did not work.

A note: most literature is focused on men, for the usual reasons. Women were often treated for being stubborn, unseemly or generally unwilling to perform their expected role in society. 

Conversion “therapy” still exists, by the way, using the same techniques, and as always all it converts is the patient’s desire to pretend in order to get out of the torture. It’s becoming illegal in places, but it is not unheard of for parents to ship their gay kids off to somewhere it’s still allowed. 

It’s later than Victorian era, but in the early 20th century, doctors like Walter Freeman developed and popularized the lobotomy. First, it was brain surgery, but Freeman’s technique was to use an implement like an icepick to drive it through the thin bone behind the eye into the brain to scramble the part that made the patient difficult. This was a kind of psychosurgery, and was considered a miracle of medicine, as the patient could often be sent home out of the asylum, albeit usually unable to care for themselves. 

[IMAGE: Dr. Freeman don’t need no stinkin’ sleeves. Just a silver pick and a small hammer]

On topic, one famous case was the sister of playwright Tennessee Williams, who was rumored to be a lesbian. When Tennessee was traveling in the merchant marines, his parents had his sister lobotomized. She was never the same, and the pain of that moment colored everything he wrote thereafter. 

One of the Kennedy clan got the pick much later, and it went badly, and the lobotomy started to fall out of popularity. Then came lithium, and psychopharmacology replaced psychosurgery almost entirely.

You’re writing fiction of course, so you can pick and choose the parts you want your characters to have to endure, and the longterm effects (which ScriptTorture may have some insight on. Check masterposts that might already cover parts of this).

Sctript family members @scriptmedic, @scriptshrink and Torture may have more to add, but I hope this has been helpful.


~~Mod Scix

Sleep Patterns
Merchant Ships
Sleep Patterns

Merchant Ships -Sleep Patterns

September 9, 2001. Gary and I were skating at a hospital on top of a huge hill overlooking a valley. An ambulance came and took out a dead woman. Gary asked me why she wasn’t moving or blinking. They hadn’t closed her eyes yet. She must have died on the way. A car full of family and friends came in with the ambulance. They were all crying and hugging each other. One woman screamed hysterically and grabbed at the woman’s body asking her to wake up. I had to tell Gary that her soul went to Heaven. I didn’t believe a word of it, but I knew it’d be easier for him to understand. Two days from now, at 9 AM, the planes will hit the World Trade Center killing over 3,000 people. I will tell Gary that there is no God, and all of this is meaningless. But today, there is a God. And he has a plan for him. He doesn’t know it, but a year from now, our family will be torn apart and I will move far away and won’t see or talk to him for five years. And as we sit on the hood of our car, the sun goes down and he asks me what I want out of my life. I tell him I don’t know. On and on we run away from the things we are afraid. On and on we run away from the things we are afraid. On and on we run away from the things we are afraid. I don’t tell him about the dream I had the night before where I’m riding in a car full of strangers and singing to some song I’ve never heard and smoking a cigarette and we swerve off the road and hit a tree. I go through the windshield and hit the edge of a fence, dislocating my jaw and flipping me into a wall where my neck is broken, and my skull is fractured. I bleed to death in excruciating pain.I will have this dream periodically until I meet all of the strangers, one by one introducing them all to one another until we are a close group of friends. I will set these events in motion, and I will die. But today in the warm light of the sunset, I don’t see it. I just see the sunset. I smile back and shake my head. I have absolutely no idea. I am afraid.

The Boss - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 2,338

A/N: Did I go a bit overboard? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

Prompt: “You know we can’t do this. I’m your boss, for crying out loud.” with Bruce? o: (requested by anon)

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.” You greeted walking into his office with an armful of paperwork and memos.

“Ms. [Y/L/N].” He nodded gruffly.

“Long night, sir?” You questioned lightly, handing him a cup of coffee. He was looking particularly rough and haggard this morning. Sometimes you wondered if he ever slept.

“You could say that.” He said giving you a charming smile that very nearly took your breath away. You pushed those thoughts aside. This man was your boss and you weren’t about to stake your entire career on a passing crush.

“Well long night or not, you have a meeting with the board this morning followed by several international calls from our subsidiaries. You are also required to make an appearance at the charity gala tonight.” You informed reading off his busy schedule.

“What are the chances that I can just write a check and bow out of the mingling?” He asked.

“Sorry sir, there’s no way out this time around. You’re one of the speakers tonight. Speaking of which you also have a meeting with PR at two to go over your speech.” You informed.

“Wonderful.” Mr. Wayne sighed. “If that is all, Ms. [Y/N/L], I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Of course Mr. Wayne. You know where to find me” You said before.

You went about your day and did your usual duties as Bruce Wayne’s personal assistant. Your duties usually only involved mountains of paperwork, attending meetings, and running errands but sometimes you also had the joyace responsibility of fending off scorned flings if they decided to come knocking. Today it would appear would be one of those days.

“Where’s Bruce!?!” A hysterical blond leggy model cried storming up to your desk. You sighed and made a quick call down to security. You could already see how this situation was going to end from past experience.

“Mr. Wayne is occupied at the moment. If you would like to see him, you will need to make an appointment like everyone else.” You explained calmly, but there was no calming this woman.

“Like hell I’m going to make an appointment to see my own boyfriend, you skank!” She cried. You rolled your eyes and sighed. Bruce didn’t have girlfriends, he’s made that quite clear over the years you’ve been working for him but apparently she didn’t get that memo. Poor little fool.

“Ma’am please calm down. Now, Mr. Wayne has an opening in his schedule three weeks from now. Should I put you down for an appointment?” You asked exuding false kindness. This only seemed to enrage her anymore. The elevator that your desk was positioned in front of dinged as a couple of security guards stepped out and started to lead the hysteric woman away.

“Let me go! Let me talk to that lying cheating bastard!” She cried as she was led away. You let out a sigh of relief as she disappeared from sight. You stood up from your desk and stepped into Bruce’s office.

“You should know that security just escorted a lovely young woman off the premises.” You informed your voice laced with sickly sweet sarcasm. Bruce looked up at you, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have enough time or patience to deal with this today.” He said going back to work.

“I’m guessing she was your date for the gala tonight? Should I change the RSVP?” You asked.

“Don’t bother. I’m sure I can find someone to fill her spot.” He said casually. You nodded slowly and pursed your lips to bite back the snarky remark that was sitting at the tip of your tongue. Of course he’d have a backup model just waiting to be seen on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in Gotham.

“Alright then.”

“Wait. I didn’t mean it like that.” Bruce said hurriedly when he realized how you took it.

“Of course Mr. Wayne.” You responded dutifully before making a motion to exit his office to go back to your work.

“[Y/N], wait.” Bruce commanded. Your heart fluttered at the use of your first name. Somehow it just felt intimate.

“Yes Mr. Wayne?” You asked.

“Would you like to come to the gala with me tonight?” Bruce asked. Your eyes widened in shock. You wanted to accept but it really wouldn’t be professional of you. He was your boss. You started to politely stutter out your refusal but he clarified before you could finish. “As my assistant,  of course. It would be nice to go to one of these things without strings attached for a change.”

“Thank you for the offer sir but I wouldn’t have anything to wear.” You admitted blushing slightly. You would never fit in a crowd like that.

“I’ll have my people send you a dress.” He offered.

“I am your people sir.”

“Right.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Ok then. I give you my permission to leave early today to go get one then. I’ll take care of the bill.”

“You’re too generous, Mr. Wayne.” You stuttered in shock. In all your wildest dreams you didn’t think your day would end with you playing dress up and bumping elbows with millionaires who had far too much money than they knew what to do with..

“Please, call me Bruce.” He insisted gently.

“Thank you Bruce.” You said gratefully.

You accepted Bruce’s offer to join him at the gala. You left work a little after your lunch break and bought a beautifully simple dress from one of the boutiques that Bruce usually had you pick up dresses from for his flings. You were a little taken aback by how expensive everything was in that show and even in such a simple dress you felt a little out of your element, like a child playing dress up in her mother’s clothes. You also took this time to pick Bruce’s tux from the cleaners. With both of the formal wear in hand you returned to the office just before most of the normal employees went home for the day.

“Hello again, Mr. Wayne. Here’s your suit.” You said handing him the garment bag. “I trust the speech and everything else is in order?” You asked.

“Of course. Everything’s in order per your instructions. You don’t need to worry about any surprises from me tonight.” He affirmed.

“Good. So long as you don’t disappear halfway through the night, I think you can make a few new connections with -” You said pulling out the guest list to highlight some important names in attendance for him. His hand covered your own and he took the list from your hands and set it back down on his desk. You looked up at him in surprise at the feeling of his warm calloused touch.

“[Y/N] stop working.” He commanded with a laugh. “You know you’re allowed to enjoy yourself tonight, yes? There’s no need to be so formal around me all the time. You know, we’ve been working together for years but I just realized the other day I know hardly anything about you.” Bruce suggested.

“Oddly enough the same could be said about you, sir.” You retorted before you could think about what you were saying. “I apologize, that was out of line.”

“Not at all.” Bruce disagreed. “If you’d let me, I would like to use tonight to get to know the saint that somehow always makes me look like I’ve got my shit together.”

“I’m only doing my job, Bruce. I’m nothing special.” You insisted.

“I disagree. You work wonders, [Y/N]. I’d like to get to know the woman behind the genius.” He said with a charming smile. You had to remind yourself to breathe as you blushed a deep red.

“You certainly know how to flatter a girl, Mr. Wayne. No wonder why all the women just adore you.” You froze wide eyed at what had just fallen out of your mouth. God. Did you just hit on your boss? Bruce chuckled at you lightly. He didn’t seem offended by your giant mouth.

“It would seem you have your own tricks to enchant men.” He responded with a wink that reduced you to a nervous blubbering mess.

“No! That’s not what I meant! I just - I mean …” You stuttered.

“[Y/N]. Relax. I’m not offended in the least but if it makes you feel better why don’t you go clear your head and put on your dress? The car will be around in a few minutes.”

“Right… I should go do that.” You nodded clutching the box containing your dress to your chest a little tighter. You took a deep breath and turned to stride to the public bathroom on the now abandoned floor.

“I like you [Y/N]. I won’t fire you for flirting.” Bruce called after you. You didn’t turn back but you couldn’t help the blush and the large grin that spread across your face. What was it about this man that turned you into this.

You smoothed your hair down and touched up your makeup slightly so you were at least fairly presentable next to the starlets and heiresses. Obviously there was no way you could compete on their level but you could at least try to blend in. You slipped into your dress before realizing you had run into a bit of an issue: you couldn’t reach your zipper and to add fuel to the fire your dress required you not wear a bra.

“Bruce? Can you do me a favor and zip up my dress?” You swallowed your pride and poked your head out to ask. Bruce strode over to you looking absolutely ravishing in his tux. You turned your back towards him and lifted your hair out of the way. His fingers froze briefly on the zipper when he saw the full expanse of your smooth bare back. Without a word he slowly pulled the zipper up into place but the dress you were in still left much of your back exposed.

“You look absolutely radiant tonight, [Y/N].” He whispered. You blushed at the compliment and turned around to face him.

“Is the car here yet?” You asked.

“It just arrived. Shall we?” He asked offering you his elbow with charming grin. You nodded once and hooked your elbow through his and he led you to the elevator to the awaiting limo below.

The gala was nice and Bruce’s speech went exactly as planned. He was the perfect picture of comfort but you on the other hand certainly felt out of your element and could feel eyes following you all night but Bruce was a real comfort, remaining at your side most of night. While the rich people brushed elbows you and Bruce spent most of the night talking to each other, about literally anything but work. It was a new side of him that you really liked. You were completely engrossed with each other. A few women had the confidence to ask Bruce for a dance but he would always politely refuse never breaking eye contact with you.

“You don’t need to stay with me all night. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself while you go off and mingle.” You said looking over to the woman who he had just rejected.

“To be quite honest I was hoping that you might want to dance with me tonight.” He replied smoothly.

Oh. I don’t know Bruce … I’m not a very good dancer. I’d only accomplish embarrassing both of us.” You said sheepishly. He rose fluidly onto his feet and extended his hand out to you.

“Humor me.” He encouraged gently. You eyed his hand reluctantly before tentatively taking his hand. Bruce guided you to the dancefloor and nudged you into the correct form.

“Just follow my lead.” He said confidently with an encouraging smile. You nodded and glanced down at your feet as the two of you started to slowly spin around the room. As you got into the rhythm of the dance your eyes lifted to be captured by Bruce’s soft, deep gaze. The entire world fell away from you and you nearly forgot about the party around you as Bruce slowly gravitated down until your lips were just centimeters apart. You wanted it. God, did you want it but you were hit by your wall of insecurities and doubts.

“Bruce, we can’t do this.” You whispered abruptly, your eyes still closed in anticipation of your almost-kiss. In the haze of your desire you kicked yourself wondering why you even stopped him in the first place.

“Why?” He asked softly, not making any motion to create more distance between your lips. All it would take is one small move and you would have gotten everything that you have fantasized about and more.

“You’re my boss for crying out loud.” You said more to yourself than him. You couldn’t help but to cringe at your reality. If he were anyone else you might have - Bruce cut off your thoughts by placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head upwards so that you were caught in his gaze once more.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this.” He whispered. His entire intoxicating presence wash over you and in that moment you couldn’t find a single objection. You didn’t want to stop whatever this was.

“I-I can’t. I want this more than anything, Bruce.” You admitted defeated.

“Me too, [Y/N]. We can figure out everything else later but right now there’s only one thing I want to do.” He swore gently.

“And what is that?” You asked blinking up at him. In that moment you probably would have given him anything he asked of you.

“This.” He murmured and slightly leaned forward to close the remaining space between your lips to capture you in a soft, tender kiss.