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🐍 Track 2 - . . . Ready for It?

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Logan had a new phone. And for the first time in a while, it felt nice to just be disconnected from the world for a bit. The people who truly mattered had his phone number. His Instagram had been wiped, along with every other social media. The American had gone dark. 

And apparently you had done the same thing. 

His parents and brother knew where he would be, just in case for emergencies. However, he asked them to not text much. He needed time away, well, away from the current grid. It hurt him, seeing how supportive everyone was with Theo. No one had ever congratulated him when he first got signed. Hell, even Oscar hadn’t known right away, claiming he had forgotten. 

Of course, he had given you his new number because you’d be the only person he previously knew that he’d still be in contact with. You also gave Logan you’re new number, having similar ideas to your friend. 

Well, he had given George his new number. The Briton had texted his old number in a panic-like manner when Logan deactivated everything. Under a temporary contract, Logan wasn’t legally allowed to tell George anything except that he was safe and needed time away. 

The brunet was not happy with that, but he let Logan know that if he needed anything, he would come running. A bit of happiness let itself seep into Logan’s heart, thankful for the Mercedes driver’s friendship. 

When he had read the email after the social media posts went up, his mind blanked. 

What did Andretti want with him? A washed-out jobless nobody. He believes they should have been looking at someone like Carlos or even Ollie, who was making good times in F2 car. It had to be anyone but him. 

So why was it him? 

He had been about to call you when you had first facetimed him on his laptop. He couldn’t even get words about before you started screeching. Logan chuckled as you went on a rant, as this could be their big break. His silence had given you a look into how he was truly feeling. 

Your voice had quieted down on the device. 

“You’re going to take the offer right?” 

Logan winced at your tone, which gave you the information you needed. You rolled your eyes as you sat on your bed. 

“Logan, we were just dropped by two teams that didn’t even want us. They pushed us away like we were nothing. And now, there’s a team with top potential that truly wants us, and you don’t want to take the opportunity?” 

The American boy sighed. You had a point. 

“I’m just scared that I’m going to get there, and then make a fool out of myself. Then Michael is going to see how truly bad of a driver I am,” he hugged out. 

You could hear the fear in his voice, and it devastated you. Where did your confident and smiley boy go? Williams would pay for it, one way or another. 

You were hesitant to say something. 

“Logan, even if our times aren’t what we’re wanting at first, Michael said that we will get better. He’s sent my manager some data and it looks like we are scarily similar with our driving styles. Logan, the car is going to be made for us. Michael made sure that I knew that we’d have a chance, because I’m not driving if you’re not. Together or nothing, we come as a package.” 

Logan sat up quickly off his bed. He glared at you through his laptop.

“You did not just quote Charles Leclerc to me.” 

“And what if I did?”  

“No, you can’t give this offer up if I don’t drive.” 

You glared back at him, although you had a smile. 

“It’s either both of us, or none of us. I’m tired of never seeing you, and you need a friend you can count on. I’m sorry to say but Oscar has done a very shit job of being your friend. I’d say that George is a better friend than him.” 

Logan sighed. “No, you’re right. It’s just hard to accept that.” 

Your smile dropped a bit. 

“Logan, he was supposed to be your friend and then he dropped you. Everyone had dropped you so many times and you’ve been the one to pick yourself back up. But now, you’ve been dropped a final time, yet someone wants to be the first to help you back up, to clean your wounds, and to heal you. And now you don’t even want that?” 

You had a point. 

Like always. 

“Your words never seem to fail me woman.” 

“That’s because men are the inferior being.” 

Logan snorted. 

“Will I see you in Milan next week?” you asked with hopeful eyes. Logan could see the glimmer that shined in them. He didn’t want to be the person to damped that. 

“I will see you in Milan.” 

The first thing that popped into Logan’s mind when he got to the base was “Holy Shit.” 

The building was massive as he walked through the giant doors. He really thought that this was a movie set with how grand it was. Surely this couldn’t it? Maybe he had the wrong address. 

“Mr. Sargeant?” 

Or maybe he did. His body turned to the lady standing near the front desk. He showed a smile that was definitely a tad too wide and showed too many teeth. Thankfully the lady didn’t show any malice as she sweetly grinned at the blond. 

“Yes ma’am. That’s me.” 

Always the good southern-hospitality manners with him. 

“I’m glad you could make it. If you’d follow me, Michael is waiting in his office for you.” 

Logan breathed a sigh of relief when he finally knew that he didn’t have to circumnavigate the entirety of the building. 

The air was fresh as he walked behind the lady, who he now knew as Marissa Andretti, Michael’s sister and Head of Directors. Her own American accent was like a comforting blanket to Logan. Gosh, did he miss hearing a familiar voice to his own during 2023. 

The one voice he couldn’t wait to hear was your own. He knew he’d be safe once he heard the lisps of a Southern draw when you talked. The slurred vowels and the biting consonants would be music to his ears. 

“How have you liked the simulator and the data so far?” Marissa asked as she led Logan down yet another hallway. How big was this building and were they leading him to his death? 

Yet, despite his concerns, Logan was very happy with the results. 

“The car is already so fast. It’s like it’s just an extension of me instead of working against me. It feels so right.” 

Technically, Logan had been on the first plane to Milan to start testing, as his own anxiety wouldn’t let him wait until the week was up. You had your own simulator back in the States, so you did your testing there. Logan had been back in London when the email came, and his set up was not going to function with the high tech that Andretti needed. 

Marissa smiled over her shoulder. “Good, that is exactly what we are wanting to hear.” 

Finally, she stopped in front of a door that had a giant-ass A on the front. Logan wanted to laugh at the cinematics. Surely, this was a movie and he was going to be the main character. Marissa pushed a button and the door slowly swung open. 

Logan’s smile grew once he saw you in one of the very plush seats in front of the desk. You immediately stood up and jumped into his arms. He breathed deeply and all weight slowly melted from his body. It had been so long since he had gotten to hug you, hold you, feel you. 

When you pulled away, you had a blinding smile on your face. 

“Glad to see you here Logs.” 

His nose scrunched at the old nickname. 

“I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were 12, Y/n.” 

You huffed. 

“Fine, no nickname for you.” 

“I take it back. I ban you from calling me Logan.” 

“Isn’t that your name?” 

“No?” 

“Logs!” 

“Ah there it is!” 

A cough signaled to Logan that they weren’t actually alone. He sheepishly turned around to face the man who, hopefully after this meeting, would be his boss for a couple of years. Logan turned his full body towards the desk and stepped with his hand outstretched. 

Michael had a knowing smile as he shook Logan’s hand. 

“I am so sorry sir, I didn’t even realize that you were already here, and I haven’t seen her in a while, and it’s so good to just here the accents because the grid is entirely too European and Asian, sometimes I couldn’t even understand them, and…” 

Michael put his hands on Logan’s shoulders. 

“It’s just fine kid. I totally get you.” 

Logan visibly relaxed under Michael’s hands. 

“Now, why don’t you sit down and we can start talking contracts.” 

Logan lit up at the word. 

“Contracts?”

You gave him a smirk. 

“Yes Logs, contracts.” 

Logan felt as though he couldn’t breathe. But this time, it was with excitement and not dread. His butt quickly found the seat next to yours. Marissa left the room with promises of coming back with celebratory drinks. 

Michael pulled out two small stacks of paper before he started speaking. 

“So, I’ve talked with both of your managers and we’ve come up with a contract. You two can look over it as I read the big details. The finer print is stuff that you both have already previously gone over, but you are still encouraged to look over it one final time.”

You and Logan had the same exact papers. 

In the initial emailing process, the two of you had voiced that you were a packaged deal. Logan was surprised to see that Michael had said that he wouldn’t want it any other way and was glad to possibly not have to deal with drivers hating each other. Logan thought anything would be better than Brocedes 2016. 

You looked down at the words as Michael read them out loud. 

“Ok, so in the contract, the two of you will be signed until 2027. There is an exit clause in section C, but we are not allowed to terminate prior to 2027. The two of you will be granted ambassadorship with whatever sponsors we’ve received. The sponsorships are in section E and it gives a rundown of each one and what they will be contributing to the team. 

“Per secrecy of wanting to keep the identities secret until we reach the grid for testing, the two of you will go under pseudonyms.” 

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Like a call sign?” 

Marissa flashed a wicked grin. 

“Exactly like a call sign.” 

You continued, “Do we get to come up with them?” 

Michael clasped his hands. “So we thought that Y/n could go by Phoenix and then Logan would go Venus.” 

Your eyes widened as you took in the name. Wasn’t too bad, you thought. 

Logan let out a sigh of relief. “At least it’s not like Eagle or something. That would be super obvious.” 

The boss-man chuckled before he looked back down at the contract. 

“Since the two of you did not specify a salary, we took the liberty to come up with one ourselves. But please feel free to mention what you’d like and we can always raise it. We also liked to put in that for every point scored, the two of you get a bonus as a little incentive. The salary will not be dropped no matter if points are scored or not. Think of it as a baseline.” 

Michael chuckled as he watched yours and Logan’s eyes drastically widen at the sight of the eight digits before the decimal. Logan gulped at the sight. 

“Michael, I think you added too many zeros.” 

“I think I didn’t add enough.” 

Logan couldn’t respond. 

You looked up from the paper to Michael. “I think it’s high enough.” 

The goateed-man smiled back at you and continued. 

“I’ve seen the skills parts on your resumes and thankfully the two of you do not need to learn Italian from scratch. I don’t even know when the two of you had time to learn it, but thankfully it is not required in meetings or in the garage.” 

Logan smirked as he looked at the words. 

“What’s the fun in that? We can have secret conversations with ourselves.” 

You tapped his shoulder. 

“Except Ferrari will know and maybe Lewis.” 

“I’ll have my Duolingo account at the ready.” 

Michael watched as the two of you pored over the papers and bickered like an old married couple. He and Marissa already had a bet going to see when the two of you would get together. But, you didn’t need to know that.

“I digress. You can speak in Italian if you want to. The next couple of sections are just PR related. The two of you wanted to bring you own teams in, which is fine. I’ve sent emails and meeting times to each of them and have been replied to. All is in motion. Logan, you mentioned something to me once about your personal trainer leaving?” 

A sigh left his lips at the mention of Benny. He really didn’t want anyone else. He slowly nodded. 

“He had to leave to be with his family. Williams wasn’t the most accommodating and he was told that he had to be at every race. Normally I didn’t even need him until race day. He’d miss so much time with his family because of traveling and things like that.” 

“Well, I think we have you covered.” 

Logan looked back down at the paper. A small gasp left his lips. 

Ben Jacobs was written in black ink under “Personal Trainer.” 

“How?” 

Michael smiled. 

“It took some convincing, but he said he’d come back for you. Of course, Ben will be highly compensated to return after he said he wouldn’t. His family will also be accommodated for any race that they’d like to attend and Ben can show up however late he needs. His leave will also be paid time as well.” 

Logan could kiss the man if he could. Tears pooled in his eyes and he could only manage a small thank you. Your hand rested on his shoulder in comfort. He just couldn’t wait to see him again. 

“Looks like that is everything. Are you two ready to sign?” 

Yours and Logan’s heads nodded eagerly as pens were uncapped. There was light scratching for a few moments as you filled out the needed information on the multiple sheets of paper. Once everything was completed, you let out a sigh of relief. You and Logan could finally do this. 

Marissa showed up at the right moments with a few different beverages. You took one of the iced americanos, claiming that Italian espresso was, in fact, the best kind. Logan surprised you as he took a mimosa. 

He side-eyed you. 

“It’s freshly squeezed orange juice and you cannot go wrong with it. It’s a classic.”

You held you drink up and your other hand in mock surrender. 

Michael took a black coffee and sipped it. 

“Now, onto the fun stuff.” 

Your eyebrows pinched. “Fun stuff?” 

Michael smirked before pulling up a projector that was attached to his laptop. He started to click through the slides. 

“First, the car.” 

On the slide was a sleek yellow and black livery. The black really highlighted the tamer yellow. 

Michael pointed at it. 

“This is our 2024 livery. We designed it awhile back, but it’s finally going to be used.” 

You let out a whistle as a video played the engine noise. To you, it sounded fast. You had been able to do a few laps with an actual car to get the feel of it since IndyCar were so much different. Michael claimed though that you were a natural in the car, being able to command it to what you needed it to do. Logan was quite the same. 

The next slide showed multiple models of Lamborghinis. With it came a smirk from the sister and brother pair. 

Logan looked at them. 

“I don’t know whether to be excited about the smirks or nervous.” 

Marissa was the one to pull up something on her personal iPad. She showed the official Lamborghini website. 

“Because the two of you will now technically ambassadors for Lambo as well, you two need to pick out what models the two of you would like to own. For now, we can start with one, but Tonino wanted his drivers to start a small collection.” 

You made her pause. 

“Tonino, as in, Tonino Lamborghini?” 

Marissa sent a gentle smile to calm you down. 

“Yes. Mr. Tonino will be at quite a few races to watch. He has mentioned wanting to see Ferrari fail, but our data is saying that although we look promising, there’s not guarantee.” 

Logan exhaled sharply. 

“No pressure right?” 

Michael leaned forward over the desk. 

“Listen to me Logan. You have been with a team that has now destroyed every bit of self-confidence. Mr. Tonino is actually the one who put your name on my radar. If you’re good enough for him, you need to believe that you’re good enough for everyone else.” 

Logan was taken back. Mr. Tonino was the one to bring him up? He felt honored in a good way. A nod of his head let Michael and Marissa know that they could continue. Logan turned your way, only to find you already smiling at him. He hoped that he could always be on the receiving end of that smile. 

Marissa continued where she left off. 

“Just look over the models and customize it however you’d like. We’ll get it sent to the factory to be made in time for the first race in Bahrain. These cars will be shipped along with our supplies so you can always have them.” 

You smirked. “I’ve always wanted a black Lamborghini Aventador.” 

Logan turned to Marissa. “I’d love a black Lamborghini Huracan.” 

A smile grew on your face. “Aw, Logan. We’ll get matching Lambos.” 

Logan thought that if you had been an emoji, you’d be the one with the big teary eyes and a pout. Marissa looked pleased at the requests for the different models. 

You raised your hand. “Do we need to start looking for places to stay here in Milan?” 

Michael lifted his eyebrows. 

“You don’t actually. Between races, the two of you are more than welcome to either go home or adventure somewhere. We will let you know when it is crucial to come back here to do some testing. Housing is provided when you need to be here. There are multiple estates that can be used on bought property.” 

You and Logan definitely liked the sound of that. Maybe you could stay in close villas or something. Or maybe in the same place as you tended to get lonely. That’s what being pushed out of everything does to someone in a year. You can’t remember the last time that you were invited to do something with the team, always retreating to your small hotel room after a race. You feel as though Logan might feel the same. 

Michael moved to the next slide, showing the race suits. 

“These are the suits for the season. Black or white fireproofs will go well with them. Helmets are up to the two of you. You will need on standard for some races and then you can choose what races you want fun ones to be. Miami, Austin, Las Vegas, and Imola are going to be considered our home races.” 

“What about Monza?” Logan questioned. 

Michael had a glint in his eyes. 

“That will forever belong to the Tifosi I’m afraid.” 

You decided to pipe up. 

“Or Charles Leclerc. I feel like wherever he goes, the Tifosi goes with him. You make him trade teams, the Italians will follow him.” 

Logan shot you a teasing look. 

“You always have to bring him up in one way or another.” 

You shrugged. 

“He’s a good driver. Let’s not bring up that you’re such a fanboy for Max Verstappen of all people.” 

Logan’s torso shifted. 

“It’s not every day that one beats Sir Lewis Hamilton and take away his 8th championship!” 

Laughs erupted from Michael and Marissa, making you and Logan pause. You cleared your throat. 

“Sorry, please continue.” 

Michael went a bit further with the slides, going over compatible data to the car. He went over sponsors and things like that before he finally leaned back into his chair. 

“Are we able to drive the cars today?” 

Much like you were, Logan was itching to be back behind the wheel. And hopefully, the wheel belonged to a reliable car. 

Michael stood from where he sat, making you and Logan also rise to your feet. 

“I’d thought you’d never ask,” he said, making his way to the door. When the two of you didn’t follow, he turned back around. 

“Are you ready for it?” 

lamborghini_racing has posted

Lamborghini_racing Are you ready for it?

liked by y/n.nation, logang2, box_box_express, and 4,205,095 others

l4mbo.child a hello or how are you doing WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE

f1_fan I fear they have gagged the entire grid with this

ferrariforza damn, I thought we had the best livery - sorry kings 👑

lambo_drivers all I'm asking is who is going to be driving this beast?

lo-girlies do I even utter his name in fear that it might not happen?

y/nfan or even utter her name?

thepaddock_person who 🤨

childofF1 I'll say it - LOGAN AND Y/N FOR LAMBO 2024

box_box_express the paint, the yellow, the black, the lighting, THE EVERYTHING

taylorswiftxf1 I see the admin is a Taylor fan??

phoenix95 has posted

phoenix95 baby let the games begin

liked by venus2, Lamborghini_racing, y/n.nation, dior, and 2,195,086 others

4theF1_girlies EXCUSE MEEEEEEE

driver95 ayo - we got the Lightning McQueen number with a queen

lambo_duo oh gosh I hope I live to see the day that they reveal their drivers

venus2 looking snazzy 😎

phoenix95 no one ever says that anymore

venus2 🥺

phoenix95 fine...thank you

venus2 🥰

venusxphoenix WHOEVER THEY ARE - THEY HAVE MY HEART

rising_phoenix95 immediate fan

lambo_child the Aventador is such a slay 💅

lambof1 I wonder if they have like matching cars with their contracts

venus2 has posted

venus2 let the games begin now

liked by phoenix95, marissa_andretti, Lamborghini_racing, and 4,205,850 others

lambof1 I THINK I CALLED IT?? THE MATCHING BLACK CARS

pitstop_nightmare I'M SORRY FERRARI BUT THIS IS TOO SEXY

lamborghinivsferrari THE HURACAN 🥵😱

c16_leclerc I'm guessing they went to Charles's school of serving cunt

hamilton44lewis and graduated with a degree in slay

phoenix95 that's sexy baby

venus2 thanks 😚

phoenix95 ...I was talking about the car?

venus2 sure...sure you were 😈

box_box_express I feel like I have some sleuthing to do - hold please

logansarg2 I miss Logan so much - it's heartbreaking to see all of his accounts go dark, I guess I'll have to stan this dude instead

y/n.nation I miss our girl so much

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @disneyprincemuke @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince, and look don’t ask me why this is what my brain came up with but: meetcute at the STI clinic

(OMG, I love your brain so much. This made me cackle and immediately start writing it. Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

Getting Clinical

(firstprince, 2k, T; read it below or on AO3)

Alex has to admit that the very last thing that he expected to get upon coming out to his mother was an appointment made in his name at an LGBTQ+ focused sexual health clinic near his apartment. Really, he should have known better, given the PowerPoints that resulted from said coming out, but still. He’s a grown-ass man with a career. He lives on his own in a city in which she does not live. He can take care of himself.

He still goes to the appointment when he gets back to New York. It’s already made, after all, and it’s been a while since he was tested. Since he’s had any sexual partners, in point of fact; he’s been more or less a hermit for the past couple of years, throwing himself into his work and only letting Nora and June drag him out on rare occasion. The whole bisexual revelation had been a slow thing, born of the unexpected feelings evoked in him when one of the senior partners at his law firm came out as gay, in combination with finding himself staring a little too long at the shirtless male leads when he’d put on The Mummy or Indiana Jones on in the background while working late nights at home. He hasn’t actually acted on any of this newfound knowledge save for flirting a bit with the barista at the coffee shop in his building.

He’s gonna, though. He’s determined to get out there and meet someone. A number of someones, maybe—why not have some fun while he’s discovering a bit more about himself? Explore what’s out there. So it makes sense to just go when he gets the email from his mom with a screenshot of the appointment confirmation.

“I wonder if anyone’s done a comparative study of these lubes,” Nora says, too loudly, from where she sits beside him inspecting a selection of samples that she’s collected from a display in the waiting room. More than one person waiting nearby looks over at them, and Alex sinks a little deeper into his chair.

“Ugh, why are you here again?”

“For the moral support,” she chirps with too much glee. “Not like I have any need to be tested right now. Although, June and I did meet this very intriguing guy—”

“All right, enough of that,” he interrupts sharply before she can say any more about her and his sister’s sex life. He already knows far too much about it as it is. “No one asked you to come.”

Nora tips her head at him. “Not in so many words, no. But if I had to listen to one more minute of you hemming and hawing about whether you could make the appointment or whether this was the ‘right place for you’”—she adds the air quotes, annoyingly—“I was gonna start breaking things.” Something softens in her expression, then. “You do belong in these spaces, you know.”

“I know,” he mutters, staring down into his lap. He’s even getting better at believing it.

At that, Nora returns to her lube investigation, and Alex rage-reads some twitter threads until someone steps up to the empty chair next to him and says in a mellifluous British accent, “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

The waiting room is not that crowded, so Alex doesn’t know why this guy needs to sit directly next to him. He’s in the middle of trying to figure out a polite way to convey this when he finally looks up and right into what he’s pretty sure are the bluest pair of eyes on the planet. Jesus fuck, this man might be the most attractive person he’s ever laid eyes on in person. He doesn’t actually seem like he could be real, but he’s here, looking hopefully at Alex like he wants to be next to him, which is, let’s just say, intriguing—

“It’s only— there’s an outlet on the wall here, and my phone is dying,” Blue Eyes says with an apologetic smile.

Right. So, not particularly interested in sitting next to Alex, then. And that’s definitely not a hollow feeling of disappointment settling into his stomach.

“Yeah, no problem, man,” Alex says, trying to school his expression into something appropriate for conversing with strangers. “It’s all yours.”

Blue Eyes thanks him and takes the seat as he reaches into his bag to pull out a phone cord. The thing is, the outlet is kind of under the chairs and between the two of them, which necessitates some twisting and bending as he tries to blindly reach for it. That definitely doesn’t seem to be working, though, so Alex ends up twisting in his chair too to try to see if he can help.

“A little lower, I think—”

“Oh, thank you, I just can’t quite feel—”

“Fuck, you’re too far now— look, you need to shift to the right, yeah, there—”

“Ah, there it goes,” Blue Eyes murmurs with a pleased hum that brings to mind a very different setting than the one they’re currently in.

This seems to occur to Blue Eyes at the same time as it does Alex, which is approximately when they both look up and realize that their faces have ended up quite close together. Blue Eyes’ cheeks are rapidly turning a lurid pink; Alex quickly replays their previous exchange in his head and yeah, fuck. Suggestive doesn’t seem to begin to cover it. Slowly, Blue Eyes straightens, his posture stiff and eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Er, thank you,” he coughs.

“Don’t mention it,” Alex mumbles in response.

A strained silence settles over them that’s somehow heavier than your usual odd-encounter-with-a-stranger awkwardness. At some point during this encounter, Nora had disappeared to god knows where, so Alex doesn’t even have her company to fall back on. He scrolls on his phone without actually reading anything on it, half hoping one of them will be called into the doctor and half dreading it. Next to him, Blue Eyes is typing furiously with his thumbs.

Alex shouldn’t interrupt him. Just… mind his own business. That would be the reasonable thing to do.

Oh well.

“So, come here often?” he tries to joke, only to realize too late the implications behind asking such a question in a sexual health clinic. He grimaces, hard. “Fuck, I didn’t mean— you don’t have to answer that. I was just— trying to make it not awkward.”

To his relief, Blue Eyes just looks amused. “And made it exceedingly awkward instead?” he replies with a tiny smirk tilting his perfect mouth. There’s a mole right next to the corner of it that Alex would very much like to bite. “I do visit regularly, in fact,” he continues after a moment. “I consider my and my partners’ sexual health to be very important.”

Fuck, that just makes him hotter, which shouldn’t be physically possible. “Lucky person,” Alex hears himself say. “Your partner.”

“Oh, I, uh,” Blue Eyes stammers slightly. “I’m not dating anyone. Currently, that is. I’m just getting out of a relationship, actually.”

“Sorry,” Alex winces.

“Don’t be,” he replies lightly, a flickering smile on his lips. “I’m well shot of him. Anyway, it’s been long enough. Thought I should get back out there.”

“Oh,” Alex says. That’s a good sign, right? Alex could just ask him out. They could have fun if nothing else. That’s all he’s looking for right now. And he’s good at picking people—women, anyway—up. Or was, historically. He just needs to… say something charming. “Well, good luck, then.”

Not that.

He’s really, really hoping he’s not misreading the look of resignation that flickers across Blue Eyes’ face. Before Alex can figure out how to make his big mouth say something useful, though, Blue Eyes’ gaze flickers up behind him. “Ah, your partner’s returned.”

Alex glances back long enough to see Nora flopping down into the chair next to him with more lube samples. “Oh, she’s not my—”

“Alex?” a nurse calls from the other side of the waiting room, leaving him little other choice but to get up and follow her. Blue Eyes shoots him a tight smile and a tiny nod of acknowledgement that they’re probably never going to see each other again before Alex turns and starts walking away.

He’s halfway through the door to the exam rooms when he glances back to see Blue Eyes still watching him, which is frankly more than he can take.

“Sorry, just— forgot something,” he says to the nurse before all but sprinting back to his chair. He plucks Blue Eyes’ phone right out of his slack grip, opens a new contact page, and types in his number. Then, as if he’s in some kind of fever dream, he actually says, “Let me know when you get your results,” and winks.

Alex hurries off again before the nurse can call after him, leaving one extremely stunned Brit in his wake.

~~~~

A week later, Alex’s test results from the clinic show up in his inbox. He’s clean, of course, no surprises there, but the visit itself had been worthwhile—he’d found himself talking to the doctor about aspects related to his health and wellness that went beyond what he might encounter now that he’d be branching out, so to speak—so all in all, not a waste of time.

His phone stays silent, though.

Of course it was always a long shot. That doesn’t change the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue that not even his endless cups of coffee can cover up. He gets the results on a Friday and lets himself be dragged out to a club on Saturday night to ‘celebrate’, though he ends up politely rebuffing the advances of everyone who hits on him. Nora gives him a look after the third one—a tall, gorgeous brunet with a jaw chiseled out of marble and blue eyes that do give him a half a second of pause—but he shrugs her off.

On Monday morning, he’s in the middle of a conference with a partner and a client when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He assumes it’s Nora or June, so he nearly drops the damned thing on the floor when he finally gets out and swipes open to see a screenshot of an email that looks suspiciously familiar. There’s one key difference, though: under ‘name’ at the top, the text says Henry Fox-Mountchristen.

The screenshot has been sent without comment or followup, just a dry, clinical report, and somehow it’s still one of the sexiest texts he’s ever gotten. Fuck, he’s at work.

Which is exactly what he sends back to Henry. (Henry, he thinks, mulling over the name. It suits him. Alex would very much like to taste it, pressed into his skin.)

Apologies, but you did ask to be informed.

Am I to assume this was an academic interest, or…?

nothing academic about what i want to do to you, sweetheart

Right, then. Jolly good. Are you free this weekend?

Alex wants to say he’s free tonight, actually, so they can put those results to good use, but halfway through writing his reply, he stops. Yes, he wants Henry in his bed, but he also doesn’t want Henry to think he’s only interested in sex. Which is exactly the opposite of what he told himself he was going to do when he started exploring his bisexuality. He shouldn’t be looking for a relationship, and there’s no guarantee Henry is interested in one either. Maybe he’s just busy until then.

Alex thinks another moment, then sends back: what did you have in mind?

~~~~~

(Henry takes him on a date date, all romantic candlelit dinner with a single red rose and a walk in Central Park afterward with their fingers tangled together. And when he finally leans in to kiss Alex, it’s soft and sweet and Alex feels it down to his fucking toes. So, like. That’s a whole thing.

Turns out that they do make good use of their test results that night, thoroughly. And again, the next morning in the shower. And again and again, until they each get a reminder email from the clinic that it’s time for a regular screening.

Which they each promptly delete.)

[ghoulangerlee]

*taps on shoulder* hi, i wanna hear trans dad copia thoughts!

they are honestly not very happy thoughts 99% of the time though Copia does try. Under the read more just in case no one wants to read about trans dad Copia trying his best

Copia becomes a dad, he's a little careless, thinks that being on T will stop him from getting pregnant (it doesn't). (He's very young at this time, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties by now. He doesn't want to get rid of the baby, because part of him hopes he can keep it. He wants to be a father, he wants to be a parent so bad.)

He has to give the kid up because of his status in the church, the Clergy are already so firm with him, hard on him for every little thing, and while Sister does try to make things easier for him, she can't stop everything. The Clergy are not very nice people, just because they're the Clergy of a Satanic church does not absolve them from being bigots and difficult about certain things.

So, he gives the child up; a son, he doesn't even get to name the child, but Sister promises that she'll make sure he goes to someone who'll love and raise him like their own. She'll make sure this child is taken care of. (Sort of as a penance for her own sins of leaving Copia to be raised by the Siblings of the church along with the other orphaned children.)

He never forgets about this child, because how could he? When he held his son in his arms so shortly after giving birth. It's something that, for as long as he lives, he'll never feel that type of love he felt right then and there.

So, he lives on, works with Sister silently to funnel some money towards the child, he's not allowed to know who the family is, or what the child's name is. He's not allowed to see photos, to know what he looks like.

But Sister promises that every single holiday, every single birthday, she sends money to the family, letting them know who it's from, that he still thinks about them. That he's still present despite not being present.

When Copia becomes a Cardinal and subsequently the leader of the Ghost project, he becomes the busiest he's ever been, trying to find the corruption within the church, trying to follow Satan to the best of his ability, trying to do everything.

Including still being there for the child he had to give up.

He does, eventually talk about it, to his ghouls specifically, and like, they're not human, they're different. They start bringing forth questions about why he had to give his son up. Why he has to stay away from him.

By the time Copia reaches Papacy, he's in his fifties and he's missed a solid twenty years of his son's life.

And, it's in his own moment of weakness, against Sister's wishes, that he reaches out. He finds the files on Sister's desk one day while in her office looking for something, snaps a photo of the contents, the phone numbers, email addresses. There's no photos of his son in there, but there's descriptions and various letters.

He almost wants to take them and read them for himself. But he can't.

He has the contact information and that's enough. It's enough.

And, he reaches out to the family first; his son, the kid he gave up is in college now, studying theology of all things. Interested in religion and culture. So knowledge hungry in the same ways that Copia was when he was in his twenties.

The family is ecstatic that he's reached out.

Thanking him for all the years of supporting him. For the money and the gifts. The little things. He wasn't there physically, but his presence was so great that it almost felt like he was there.

They give him a phone number, it's his son's. His son, Elias. He finds out his name from Elias' mother who promises to send Copia photos, many photos of them over the years.

Elias has his nose, his lips, the softness in his face. His hair is only a little darker than Copia's had been before the gray had taken over.

He's got the eye.

Something that makes his breath leave him. Stark white staring back at him from the photograph he's looking at.

His son.

[elena-mayfair]

Will you help me?

Paring: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, Batman x f!reader Genre: Thriller, mystery, horror, slow burn Warnings: rating T+/M, blood and gore, violence, strong language, themes of depression and suicide Summary: When in distress seek help from friends. But what if friends have proven to be untrustworthy? What if there is no one to turn to for help? How to establish new relationships? Sometimes all it takes is one simple question: will you help me? Word count: 8k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors.

Chapter one: Bright future, dark city Chapter two: Curious people Chapter three: Madness and old friends Chapter four: I am innocent

***

"Do you like scars? Do scars make the man?," you hummed under your breath the lyrics of the song playing through the speakers as you stared in the mirror at the deep cut healing on your arm. Four stitches, seemingly not much and yet the scar would become a sure reminder of the day you almost drowned. After two weeks, the wound had almost healed, leaving a pale red thin line decorated with dots on the sides where the stitches had been just a few days ago. Two weeks were enough to heal the surface wounds. For the purple-green bruise that painfully scored your body to disappear almost completely, for the brown scab to fall off showing softly pink flesh, for the number of pain pills you took every day to decrease from eight to two. Two weeks, enough time to heal the wounds on your body, enough time to recover, enough time for rest and regeneration, time which you spent locked up in your apartment isolated from everyone…time not nearly enough to heal the wounds that were not visible at first glance.

"There are still good people in this world," you repeated each day as you replayed the events of that evening over and over again, trying to push them out of your mind. The indifferent look in the rearview mirror, the car speeding through the city, the cold metal touch on your forehead, the two wrecked cars, the creepy grin, the gunshots, the maniacal laughter…

Indifference…

"There are still good people in this world," you insisted, clenching your eyes as if that would somehow help push the images away. Black rapid water, screeching tires, impact, yanking, pain, cold, panic, water rising, horror…

Fear…

"There are still good people in this world," you repeated once again, forcefully pushing away the recurring images. There was Lucius Fox, who, in a compassionate and understanding email, assured you that all medical expenses were covered by insurance provided by the company. Lucius Fox, who assured you that you don't have to worry about your job or your place in the company, and you are to take as much sick leave as necessary. Lucius Fox, who personally signed a card wishing you a quick recovery that was attached to a small package delivered by a courier, containing a new phone. "'With wishes for a swift recovery, from the company,'" not many words and yet a faint smile appeared on your face.

"Yes…there are good people in the world…" such as your colleagues at work who, despite knowing each other for a relatively short time, sent you a sincere and kind message. Such as the policewoman who made sure you arrived home safely by escorting you to your door. Such as the paramedics who, seeing your fear and stubbornness in refusing to be taken to the hospital, showed great understanding and kindness in attending to your wounds at home. Such as the doctor who visited you twice at your home. Such as the Chinese food delivery guy who knocked on your door every other day…such as….

Kindness…a concerned look, a warm tone, a gentle assistance when your legs refused to obey you, a kind smile…Nightwing.

Hope…the light shining in the darkness of the water, the muffled explosion heralding rescue, the strong sure grip on your body, the life he took from his lips to give to you…Batman.

Support…the phone call answered in the middle of the night when you woke up from a nightmare drenched in sweat, the words of reassurance and comfort spoken each time when fear rose within you all over again, the understanding and empathy when you refused to recount your experiences in detail, the quiet empathy when he visited you at home time and again whenever you had no strength to go out…Jonathan Crane.

Over the past two weeks, Professor Crane proved to be your greatest support and your only contact with the outside world. The initial information about the car accident was enough to swap visits at his office for home visits. The suggestion came from him, he argued that if you felt up to it would be advisable not to interrupt the therapy process you had started. He explained that especially now, in a situation of increased stress, your mind becomes more susceptible to negative thoughts and feelings. Initially, you refused. The idea of having a psychiatrist come to your home, your safe place, your oasis of peace, seemed wrong. You only accepted the suggestion of sedative medication, which was delivered to your home. You appreciated the gesture and understanding, simply going to the pharmacy seemed like a mission for which you did not have the strength. However, this situation only lasted for two days. The night before day three, you woke up terrified in the middle of the night certain that the Joker had found you. That he was sitting in your living room, turning a gun in his hand, that as soon as you came out of your bedroom you would see him, that wide creepy smile, hear his maniacal laughter, feel the bullet piercing your body. "Hello toots!" he will say, "did you really think you would get away with it! HA!" he will snarl, "did you really think that you can drive a car off the road and be done with me?! HA HA HA HA HA!" he will laugh as a fired bullet will pierce your stomach.

Fright paralyzed you completely making you unable to move from the bed. Fright so sure of his presence. Horror fueled by the awareness of your complete loneliness, the absence of anyone you could call, anyone who could come, anyone you could turn to for help, you were alone. Not thinking much, you dialed the Professor's number, and to your surprise he answered. For an hour he talked to you on the phone, trying to calm you down and convince you to come out to the living room, but when that didn't help, he got in his car and drove to your home in the middle of the night.

***

~~Few days earlier~~

"You need to come to the door and open it," Professor Crane's voice echoed on the other side of the line, "I'm at the door."

"I can't…" you replied in a weak voice. Your heart pounded in your chest with each beat making it harder to breathe. Curled up against the bedroom wall, with your knees drawn to your chest, you stared at the door in horror, anxiously awaiting the moment when it would open to reveal the shiny gun metal.

"You have to…" Crane replied.

"He's there…" you whispered, "if I open the door… he is there… he will kill me…"

"Y/N think about it," Crane said in a calm controlled tone, "I know you are terrified. You are experiencing a panic attack. Your body is probably shaking, your pulse is accelerated, cold sweat is covering your skin," he listed the symptoms, "You are having a panic attack."

"But Joker…"

"Think," he interrupted you, "I know it's difficult at the moment but think for a second. If the Joker was actually in your apartment, would he wait for you to come out of your bedroom? If you didn't wake up, would he wait until morning? If he was really in your apartment, would he wait and risk you calling 911?"

"He could…"

"Y/N!" Crane raised his voice, "Do you think he wouldn't have heard our conversation through the door? Do you think if he heard it he wouldn't react?"

"He's insane…"

"Y/N open the door."

"I can't."

"Get up and open the door."

"I'm afraid…"

"Y/N!"

"I'm sorry…"

"Open the fucking door!" he shouted commandingly. It worked.

With your legs shaking, you slowly got up from the bed and cautiously opened the bedroom door, carefully looking out first, ready to close them immediately. The living room was empty, exactly as you had left it the previous evening. There was no sign of anyone's presence. No shoe marks on the floor, no furniture moved, no smell, no Joker.

"Y/N, are you there?" you heard on the phone which you still held tightly to your ear. You didn't answer, instead you headed for the front door behind which Crane was waiting.

"There's no one here…" you whispered in a weak voice, opening the door wide and looking at the Professor. He stood there, wearing a dark brown coat, looking at you intently. He, too, was pressing the phone to his ear. "There's no one here…" you repeated while your body shook again.

"Can I come in?"

You moved away from the door letting him in.

"It was all so real…" you tried to explain weakly. You leaned against the door and slid slowly to the floor. Adrenaline was leaving your body like air through a punctured balloon. "I, I was sure, I was convinced that he was here."

"The mind can be very decieving…" Crane looked around the apartment as if despite everything he wanted to make sure you were alone. He checked the other rooms, the bedroom, the bathroom, and for a moment even looked out the window, simultaneously making sure it was closed.

"I couldn't imagine it…" you argued in a half whisper, "it was too real."

"Traumatic experiences can trigger in a person anxiety levels so strong that imagination can seem real," Crane explained. He squatted in front of you and his green eyes looked straight into yours, "are you hurt?" he asked, "can you stand up?"

"I think so…" you nodded uncertainly then, grasping Crane's outstretched hand, you got up on your feet.

"Alright…" belaying you, Crane walked you over to the couch, turned on the soft lamp light, then sat down across from you and once again began to pierce you with his gaze, "Then now tell me, why would the Joker want to kill you? What exactly happened two weeks ago?"

And so you did. Two cups of tea and three hours later, Crane knew everything. Every little detail starting from the party at 44 Below, to your first encounter with Batman, to Joker's Arkham brakeout, ending up with Batman and Nightwing's rescuing you after you drove the car of the road. Every single feeling, every single thought, every single fear, fascination, emotion, thought. Every most trivial detail. You hid nothing, for the first time you were completely honest with him. With a flow of words, you poured out everything that was sitting inside you, and you had to admit that you felt damn good about it. Crane only listened. Sitting comfortably on the couch next to you, sipping tea, he did not interrupt, did not comment, only listened without taking his penetrating eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked when you finished the story.

"Good," you replied without hesitation, "really good…" you added at the sight of a smile on Crane's face, "but I'm afraid this intervention is going to tug hard on my wallet."

"Don't worry about that now. We're finally talking honestly, you finally lowered your guard enough to open up to me. Don't bother with trivial matters now."

"I needed this, I'll admit it. I needed to get it off my chest, and let's be honest, I don't have anyone to talk to. We've already established that. And the only person I considered a friend….well…. let's just say that I wasn't wrong for not trusting people."

"And yet you trusted me."

"That's different. My emotional exhibitionism is driven by pure selfishness and the need to throw out negative emotions. After what happened today, you might as well be a pizza delivery guy," you quipped.

"Would you also call a pizza delivery guy in the middle of the night paralyzed with fear?" he smirked.

"I guess not," you chuckled, "why did you come?"

"It's not unusual for a psychotherapist to respond to a crisis situation, even in the middle of the night," even though his words sounded serious and professional something completely different shone in his eyes. A mystery, a dangerous gleam, betraying something contrary to the spoken words.

"Thank you," you looked confidently into the cryptic green, "I didn't know what to do. I was afraid. You were…" you hesitated, "you were the first person I thought of," you lied hiding your embarrassment in your tea cup. He wasn't. But the person you thought of was not someone you could call in the middle of the night, even if you had the possibility to do so. "Why did I thought of him…." you rebuked yourself in your mind.

"Something is bothering you," Crane noticed.

"Many things bother me," you replied evasively.

"I thought we were over word games…"

"Because we are," you sighed in resignation, "forgive me. I guess that's my habit."

"If you want we can go back to standard questions like 'how do you feel about it', 'do you want to talk about it'," he smiled mischievously.

"No, thank you!" you denied immediately, "you don't even realize how annoying these questions are."

"So talk."

You took another sip of tea and gazed at the full moon rising against the black sky. A moon that involuntarily made you think of the Batman signal lighting up the night sky. The symbol of the Dark Knight, the protector of Gotham. The symbol of hope that there is someone in this world who cares.

"For the last two weeks I've been cooped up at home and I've been doing some reading…" you began, still staring at the sky outside the window, "colleagues recently joked that I have little chance of ever finding myself in the middle of a fight between Batman and Gotham's psychos. And yet here we are."

"Wrong place, wrong time."

"Possibly," you replied quietly, "But with spare time on my hands and a million questions in my head, for the past two weeks I've done nothing but read newspapers, archived posts, blogs, forums. How is it possible that I have never heard anything about this before?!" you threw a frustrated question, angrily looking into the green gleam, "how the fuck is that possible that I never ever heard anything about Batman, Nightwing, Robin, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Green Arrow?! How?! It seems like it is fairly common knowledge! It seems that every big city has its own Batman! So tell me Professor, how come I never heard any of it?!" Crane answered nothing, clearly taken aback by your question, "Like dude can fucking fly! And it seems like this is the first time I ever heard about it!"

"I think you already have the answer to this rhetorical question," Crane stated.

"Something is missing…" you sighed heavily, "something is not right with me…" you tapped angrily with your finger on the side of your forehead, "something is not right in my head. I feel like I should know these things, and yet I don't. I feel like I'm missing part of my mind. Like there are gaps in there, missing pieces which I cannot find," your gaze met his again and hung on for longer than was polite, "Will you help me? Will you help me find the missing pieces?"

"I will," he replied without a moment's hesitation, "but it will require a different approach. If it is indeed as you think, if indeed some parts of your mind are blocked, it will not be enough to simply talk it through. I will expect you to be completely honest and trusting."

"I can do that."

"Good. Let's start from changing the dynamic of our relationship," he scooted closer to you, set his tea cup down on the table then extended his hand to you, "Jonathan," he smiled anticipating your reaction.

You only shook his hand with a smile on your face and relief in your heart certain that you did the right thing by telling him about your worries. Confident that you could count on his help.

***

"Hey isn't that the girl we rescued last time?!" Dick Grayson asked at the sight of the photo and personal file displayed on the Batcomputer screen. Dressed in sweatpants and a tight tank top with a towel hung around his neck and a water bottle in his hand, he was rubbing sweat from his forehead after intense training. His younger foster brother followed him closely step by step, exhaustion painting on his face. Tim was eager to work, to train, to improve his skills, and the years of practice Dick had had over him posed a satisfying challenge.

"The one who tried to drown Joker?" Tim asked standing behind Bruce's chair.

"Yup, the one!" Dick replied, "She got some fight in here! She would rather drove care of the road into the bay than get the Joker to his destination! That's impressive!"

"Is she a friend or foe?!" Tim inquired.

"I don't know yet," Bruce replied without taking his eyes off the monitor, "She works for me."

"What?!"

"How come?!"

"She works at Wayne Tech, we hired her less than two months ago," Bruce replied in a poised voice upon hearing their simultaneous question, "I've had the opportunity to talk to her a few times."

"And?"

"And I can't tell if she's really an innocent victim of circumstance or just a good con artist."

"Do you want me to keep an eye on her?" Tim asked, "I could keep tabs on her for a while, see where she goes, who she hangs out with, what she does after work."

"No, Tim," Bruce refused immediately, "if she is indeed a crook sooner or later she will reappear under not very favorable circumstances and then we will have grounds to be suspicious of her. For the time being, we must assume that she is innocent, as she claims. Besides, as Bruce Wayne, I will have the opportunity to keep an eye on her every day. And as Batman… I want to take on this case personally."

"But…" Dick tried to object yet Bruce didn't give him a chance.

"We have more important things to deal with," Bruce interrupted him by minimizing Y/N's photo, "another victim. Marc Phillips, age forty-five, pilot," a photo of a middle-aged brunet appeared on the computer screen.

"The pilot of the avionette from which the newlyweds jumped," Dick stated, quickly tracing with his eyes over the text on the screen.

"That's right," Bruce confirmed, "After the incident he was under the psychological observation by Professor Jonathan Crane, he stayed in the psychiatric ward of Elliot Memorial Hospital, from which he was released two days ago."

"What happened?" Tim asked unable to find an answer on the screen.

"He hung himself."

Silence fell in the cave as all three began to analyze the facts and the cause-and-effect sequence in their minds. Each of them knew that there was an element of strangeness in the previous victims, an element of the unusual and untold that connected them all. Suicide by hanging had nothing inexplicable about it.

"It doesn't make any sense," Dick began, "I mean it makes sense, but at the same time it doesn't make sense. Oh you know what I mean!"

"It doesn't fit the residual pattern we've had so far," Tim joined in, "the guy hung himself. There's a cause and a reason."

"I want you to inspect his apartment," Bruce informed, finally getting up from the computer and looking at them, " inspect his apartment, talk to the Elliot Memorial staff, and most importantly Professor Crane. His file is perfectly clean, which doesn't change the fact that we can't exclude him from the suspects list."

"What about you?"

"I have an interrogation to attend to."

***

Gotham by day was not much different from Gotham during the night. Thick rain clouds usually hung over the city effectively blocking the sun shrouding the city in a damp sheen. The wet streets and buildings reflected the city lights dressing the city in a veil of mysticism and secrecy. Walking through the city you didn't feel overwhelmed, quite the opposite. Despite the thick clouds in the sky, the brisk air from the bay allowed you to breathe fully, for the first time in weeks. For a moment you forgot where and for what purpose you were going, allowing yourself to once again admire the mysterious beauty of the city, marvel at the million lights and colors refracted in the droplets of water, gaze at the statues carved into the buildings' walls seemingly crying over the fate of the inhabitants, gargoyles lurking on the rooftops appearing to drool at the sight of their victims. The beauty and menace of the city seemed to clash with each other at every turn as if battling for dominance over the city and its citizens. Every alley seemed to hide a mystery, every street seemed to teem with secrets deeply hidden. Gotham was dangerous but also beautiful. For around the next corner, a frantic death could be waiting to herald the end of the adventure, or a laughing group of children in their innocence kicking a ball joyfully, a sign of goodness and purity that had to be protected.

Lost in thought, lost between delight and fear, you didn't notice when your feet led you to the First Gotham City Police District building. A building that was a perfect representation of the city itself. Modern style merged with age-old classics. The central part of the building wore the signs of the age, while the modern wings on the sides, although initially appearing incongruous with the rest, effectively brought the building into the 21st century. In the center of the tall clock tower a blue GCPD glowed, while gargoyles positioned on the sides seemed to keep a watchful eye on the surroundings.

The interior proved to be a perfect reflection of its exterior and an even more appropriate deepening of Gotham's atmosphere. Dark, stuffy, dusty, shrouded in a yellowish light that seemed too dim to meet health and safety requirements. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air ignoring more regulations and laws. On old-fashioned cluttered desks stood modern computers bearing the Wayne Tech logo bringing an element of modernity to the age-old interior. From an office nearby, raised voices could be heard indicating a confrontation behind closed doors. A little farther behind bars, several criminals were taunting the cops, doing their worst to provoke them. Someone reported a theft, someone else a missing person, another a beating. Fragments of conversations between police officers drew a picture of deep-rooted crime.

"I'm telling you Frank, Maroni will go to war with Falcone! It's only a matter of time!" said one.

"Don't even joke like that! We don't need a gang war now when the Joker has escaped from Arkham!" countered the other.

"He didn't escape, he got busted out."

"By two chicks! Can you imagine?"

"Yeah, trust me, I can," the man laughed rubbishly, "chick who has the balls to bust Joker out of the Asylum must have some imagination if you know what I mean."

"Damnn man, you are sick!"

You shuddered at their words as if something disgusting had touched your skin. "What a pig," you thought and headed for the reception desk behind which a young policewoman was drowning in paperwork.

"Excuse me," you snapped her out of her work, "My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I was supposed to report to the police station to provide a statement."

"Y/N Y/L/N," the policewoman lifted her gaze from above the documents and looked at you with a gentle smile, "yes, yes…Arkham case…" she said more to herself while searching the computer for information, "Commissioner Gordon is in his office waiting for you. Please follow me," she stated and gestured you deeper into the building.

The commissioner's office situated on a small rise in the central part of the police station towered above everything as if emphasizing his presence and authority. A yellowish light shone through the glass walls from within, gently illuminating the entire precinct, bringing to your mind a faint ray of hope breaking through the darkness and gloom. Inside, the office was as messy and hazy as the entire post. Despite the large centrally located windows, it seemed murky and tight. The central part brightly lit contrasted so much with the black corners hidden in shadow. Thick cigarette smoke drifted against the yellow warm light. Cigarette butts spilled out of an ashtray that fought for its place on the desk with coffee cups and stacks of documents and folders. Stacks of files were crammed on shelves and in boxes piled against the wall and on the floor around the desk even more than everything else so far informing you of the scale of crime in Gotham. The commissioner sat behind his desk bent over the files with a cigarette hanging at his lips as if not paying attention to his surroundings.

"Commissioner Gordon," the policewoman began.

"I told you I am busy," Gordon muttered under his breath, "if nothing is burning or exploding Bullock can handle it."

"Miss Y/L/N to see you, Commissioner," she finished, announcing your presence forcing the commissioner to raise his eyes from over his papers and interrupt his work.

"Thank you, Alice," he turned to the policewoman changing his tone of voice, "find Bullock and send him to me please," he instructed, "Miss Y/L/N please sit down," he turned to you pointing to a chair on the other side of the desk.

You took the seat opposite him, and although you tried very hard to remain calm and composed you were sure that Gordon clearly saw nerves and uncertainty in your movements. You involuntarily looked around the room wanting to register every little detail, returning your gaze again and again to the dark corners shrouded in shadow.

"Would you like something to drink?" Gordon asked politely, "the coffee is dreadful but it gets the job done."

"No, thank you," you replied just as kindly.

"I see you're feeling better now," Gordon continued, "I'm glad, and thank you for showing up."

"Did I have a choice?" you asked without thinking, momentarily regretting not biting your tongue.

"We brought you in to give a statement, you are not under suspicion in any way," Gordon explained, "nor do we have any grounds to interrogate you against your will."

"So if I want I can leave and refuse to testify?" since you had already started there was no point in backing out.

"You can," Gordon confirmed, "but I think it would look very suspicious. Would you agree with me?"

"I think you're right," you admitted quietly.

The door opened abruptly and a second man entered the office. Medium height with a heavier physique, another picture of contrast and clash of two contradictions. His lengthy hair and several days of facial stubble expressed nonchalance and neglect, yet his suit blazer, shirt and tie showed professionalism and elegance.

"Miss Y/L/N, my partner, Detective Bullock," Gordon introduced the man.

"Right, so how was it with the Joker and his girlfriend," Bullock leaned against the glass wall of the office and asked directly, "We know you helped him escape, we know you were the driver of the car the Joker used to escape," Bullock didn't plan to play nice.

"I... it's not quite like that…" you began.

"During the escape, you broke more than a dozen laws, caused two accidents, and damage to public property," Bullock listed, "three people are in the hospital of which one is in serious condition and fighting for life."

"I'm sorry…" you cringed at the sound of your own words, knowing very well how pathetic that sounded.

"Sorry ain't gonna cover that sweetheart! You gotta work with us here."

"It's not like I had any choice…" you tried to defend quietly.

"We can book you for complicity and charge you with a fine," he added.

"And what about the assumption of innocence?" you looked at Bullock defiantly.

"It went to shit the moment you pressed on the gas."

"Miss Y/L/N, please tell us how it happened that you were dragged into this situation," Gordon interjected into the conversation, adopting the role of a good cop, "everything, with details."

"I didn't know," you looked at him trying to sound as sincere as you could, "I had no idea. I was asked by a friend to pick up her boyfriend, who was returning from a short vacation. I had no reason not to agree."

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," Gordon inserted.

"That's right," you confirmed, seeing no point in hiding her identity.

"How long have you known each other?"

"Most of our lives," you replied, "we grew up together, went to school together, we used to be inseparable. Then, life happened and we just each went our separate ways. Harleen moved out to Gotham and I stayed in my hometown with my family and contact just stopped."

"And yet you decided to renew it," Gordon continued.

"I recently moved to Gotham, I don't know anyone here, I thought it was a good opportunity to renew an old friendship."

"Why did you move to Gotham?" Bullock cut in.

"For work."

"As a Joker's getaway driver?"

"No!" you denied angrily, "As an engineer at Wayne Enterprises. You can check it out. I was hired at Wayne Tech as an engineer. Lucius Fox is my direct supervisor."

"We know," Gordon stated, "what was happening on the eve of the Joker's escape? You were seen at 44 Below." A cold shiver ran down your spine when you realized how bad it all looked.

"I met Harleen for the first time in years," you began to explain, "I don't know the city very well yet, so I decided to rely on her."

"Didn't it seem suspicious to you that you were going to a club beneath a club?"

"She said her boyfriend knew the owner and that it was a VIP club," you replied, "I had no reason not to trust her."

"And then? Nothing seemed suspicious to you?"

"At times, sure," you admitted, "strange types watching us, drinks appearing out of nowhere, it was unusual, but I was happy to spend time with my friend, I didn't want to look like a freak, and also alcohol did its job."

"Please continue the story," Gordon encouraged.

"Everything was pretty normal until we were invited to the owner's office," you continued, and you had to admit to yourself that now as you were telling the story out loud in front of the cops, it sounded very bad, "Harleen called him Ozzy, a short corpulent man. There was another one, big and stocky, Harleen seemed to know him," you recalled from memory, "Butch, she called him Butch."

"Oswald Cobblepot and Butch Gilzean," Bullock threw in.

"There were a few others there as well, I think security guards," you continued, "I refused to go inside."

"Why?"

"Something felt off," you countered, "I'm sorry don't have a better explanation."

"What happened next?"

"Batman happened," you replied quietly, "Batman fell out of the ceiling," you repeated looking Gordon in the eyes, "he jumped out through the ceiling vent grate, beat everyone up in a snap, and told us to leave."

"Just like that?" Bullock questioned.

"I didn't ask him why," you furrowed your eyebrows, "I almost shit myself when he jumped out of the ceiling. Sorry, but I didn't give a shit about his reasons!"

"Alright, that was Saturday," you followed Gordon's voice with your eyes, "What happened on Sunday?"

You calmed your blood pressure, regretting not asking for a glass of water, and continued.

"As I mentioned earlier, Harleen asked me to go with her to pick up her boyfriend who she said was returning from a short vacation. She was very eager for me to meet him, so I didn't refuse even though I didn't feel like socializing after the Saturday events."

"After all that happened you just said yes?" Bullock inquired.

"I know how it looks, but I didn't even have time to think about it all," you replied, "more than that, I looked at everything through the prism of our friendship."

"Continue please," Gordon encouraged.

"Harleen didn't tell me where we were going, and I didn't ask. I was tired and lost in thought. In the car, we talked about her work at Arkham Asylum, and we got into a discussion about how dangerous that job was and how dangerous Gotham was. Trivial matters of life decisions and supporting each other, the kind that friends talk about. Although now as I recall that conversation, it takes on a whole different context…" you remarked quietly, "anyways, Harleen said she wanted to drive up to Arkham on the way because the doctors were donating blood on Sundays and now it was her turn. I had no reason to suspect a lie."

"What happened next?"

"Harleen went to the hospital and I stayed in front of the gate by the car. She was gone for a long time. And suddenly I heard an explosion and sirens! I was scared that something had happened!"

"Why didn't you run away? A normal person would have run away," Bullock threw in another question.

"I was worried about my friend! You have my recording! I called 911, reported the incident and seriously for a moment I wanted to go into the Asylum and look for her! I was afraid for her! But before I could go in I saw her from a distance running. I had her on the phone, she was screaming for me to start the engine. I thought she was running away from whatever was going on there. I didn't think twice! I jumped in the car and started the engine. She shouted, urged me on, everything happened very fast…" you recounted in one breath, "I didn't even look at the seat next to me. Only at the moment when the Joker put the gun to my head did I realize what was really happening."

"But you didn't stop the car," Bullock noted.

"Did you skip the part where the Joker put the gun to my forehead, detective?" you fumed angrily, "again, I've never been in a situation like that, obviously! I didn't know what to do! Everything happened very quickly! Only screaming and a gun to my forehead! I was trying not to kill us and at the same time not to kill anyone along the way! And then everything sped up even more when Batman appeared out of nowhere! So forgive me, Detective Bullock, but I didn't think, I reacted to the situation! Joker as soon as he saw Batman started shooting! I was afraid that he would shoot one of the people walking by, I was afraid that I would cause a crash! I tried to maneuver through traffic and not cause an accident!"

"How did it happen that you drove off the road?" Gordon asked softly.

"I did it on purpose," you replied as if slightly embarrassed.

"On purpose?"

"The situation escalated, I knew Harleen was a great swimmer, it seemed the only way out of the situation. I didn't want anyone innocent to get hurt."

"Weren't you concerned for yourself?"

"I wasn't thinking," you replied, "I wanted to stop all this. Driving off the road seemed the best solution at that moment."

"How did you get out of the car?"

"Batman pulled me out," you replied, "he saved my life…." you added in a half-whisper.

Silence fell when you finished telling the story. Gordon and Bullock exchanged meaningful glances as if they were wordlessly exchanging thoughts. Your gaze wandered once again to a dark corner of the commissioner's office hidden in shadows an anxious shiver ran down your spine. The shadow seemed to have a shape.

"Alright,'" Gordon broke the silence, "we have no more questions. Detective Bullock will escort you to the exit. Please do not leave the city and remain available should we have any more questions."

"Commissioner, what about Harleen? Have you found her? Is she safe?" you asked unable to hide the worry in your voice.

"Harleen Quinzel remains wanted with a warrant for her arrest. Her whereabouts are currently unknown," Gordon stated before thanking you again for your time and closing the door behind you.

*

Gordon watched Bullock and Y/N walking away for a moment before turning the lock on the door and sitting down again behind the desk, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag while slowly letting the smoke out.

"What do you think?" he asked into the space.

"I think she is telling the truth," a growly voice answered from the shadows.

"Yes, I think so too. Poor girl. I haven't seen such bad luck in one person for a long time," he sighed heavily.

"Though just because she doesn't lie doesn't change the fact that we have to keep an eye on her. Her history with Qunizel and genuine concern for her safety makes me think that Miss Y/L/N still has a role to play. Either of her own will or in spite of it."

"You want me to put APB on her?"

"No. I will handle this myself."

"I'm sure you've heard about the pilot," Gordon added after a moment, letting out a puff of smoke, "have you had a chance to check out his apartment yet?"

"I've got Nightwing and Robin working on it as we speak," Batman replied, "I'll let you know when I know something."

"Batman, I don't think there's any connection. The guy hung himself!" Gordon began to think aloud receiving only a cold breath of air in response. The shadow was just an empty shadow again. Batman was gone.

***

Across town in a small suite on the second floor of an apartment building once lived Marc Phillips. Marc was an average man, working as a car mechanic by day, earning just enough to live an average life and pay alimony. Marc wasn't proud of his average life, but he was proud of his avionette. A beautiful little plane that he loved more than his own wife, although he never admitted it. He cherished it, cared for it, looked after it like it was the most precious treasure. Mark didn't quite like his average life, but he loved the moments when he took the avionette into the air above streets and buildings and skyscrapers. Yes, in those moments Marc felt he was alive. How happy he was when his closest friend found a lovely woman he wanted to marry. She was a good, honest woman, the kind Marc had met very few in his life. How proud he was when he was able to offer them a private flight in his beautiful avionette for their dream honeymoon. How despaired he was when all that joy splashed into a wet stain on the dirty pavement. Marc knew that if he was gone no one would take care of his beautiful avionette, his greatest pride. As he put the loop around his neck, he imagined how rust ruined and ate away the red paint, how moisture covered the blue with a foul green hue. Yet that evening Marc wanted to feel free. He wanted all his fears and anxieties to disappear. He wanted to rise above his mediocre life one last time. His last flight, however, turned out to be short, just half a meter, which was given to him by a knocked-down chair. Then came the darkness.

"Bills, payment notices, signed divorce papers, nothing interesting," Tim was browsing through a dresser drawer, looking for anything that might provide a link to the investigation.

"Standard rope probably purchased at Home Depot. Good strong weave, zero rush, looks like he was tying it for two days," Dick looked closely at the marks, "he knew full well what he was doing. The rope was woven tightly with a triple twist, leaving no chance of breaking. The length was chosen almost perfectly, considering the height of the chair."

"Poor bastard," Tim muttered under his breath, "what do we know about his psychiatrist?"

"Professor Jonathan Crane. A renowned psychiatrist, specializing mainly in trauma, PTSD, and phobias. Born in Gotham, he graduated from Gotham University with honors. He later worked at Metropolis General Hospital and the Royal Memorial Hospital in Star City. Recently, he has become the head of the psychiatric wing at Elliot Memorial."

"Isn't that chick who broke the Joker out of Asylum a psychiatrist as well?" Tim asked inquisitively.

"Hey, just because we have two psychiatrists on file doesn't mean they have any connection to each other, Robin," Dick corrected his brother.

"A bit too much of a coincidence don't you think?" Tim countered and returned to searching through the drawers, "Hey Nightwing?!"

"Yup?"

"Didn't Batman seem more cryptic than usual to you today?"

"Yup!"

"He's hiding something."

"Yup!"

"Do you think it has something to do with that girl?"

"Yup!"

"Hey, I found the pills!"

"Good job Robin!" Nightwing applauded as he walked over to his brother, "Damn, a whole drawer of pills."

"Sedatives, sleeping pills, antidepressants," Robin looked at each bottle separately to finally stop at one, "these I don't know," he stated lifting a small bottle to the light.

"Neither do I," Nightwing stated looking at the pill, "take them, take them all. This is the only trace so far."

"Not quite!" Robin grinned, raising the folder of documents to eye level, "hospital discharge and diagnosis!" he announced with a smirk.

"Jackpot! Our job is done here."

***

If one would raise his eyes upward and look at the evening sky casting its blackness over the city he would see nothing. He would not see the black figure rising and falling between the buildings, spreading his cape and gliding above the city. He would not have noticed the calm face and keen eyes scanning the city intently. He wouldn't have noticed the discreet turns of his head picking up on disturbing sounds. He would not have heard his cape flapping in the wind, would not have noticed the worry painted on his face at the sight of the huddled figure sitting on the edge of the bridge leading to Gotham North. From the street, it was hard to see the black figure in the starless sky. Yet Batman could see everything. He perched on the building's rooftop close enough to see everything yet far enough away to remain unnoticed. She was sitting there, exactly where the metal railings had been until two weeks ago. Black leather jacket, heavy boots, her hair loose and dancing in the wind, she seemed distant. Gazing into the rough waters of the bay, she seemingly carelessly waved her legs hanging off the bridge. "Why would she come here?" he wondered, "what is she hiding?"

For a moment he thought of leaving her there. For a moment he considered turning his back to her and carrying on with his patrol. For a moment he was convinced that he shouldn't approach her, that this was a very bad move. And yet there was something wrong with the sad picture he was observing, something that wouldn't let him just walk away. Zooming in on her face, he realized that something was missing. He was missing the feisty smile he had come to know, the carefree laugh and that adorable embarrassment. The picture was broken. He couldn't simply ignore it. He gently jumped off the roof and soared toward her landing softly a few steps away, careful not to scare her.

"Don't jump," he murmured quietly as he approached her slowly. She shuddered and turned abruptly, too abruptly for his liking.

"Batman…" she gasped with widened eyes.

"You're not planning to jump are you?"

"No," she replied shortly, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm the one who should be asking you that."

"I'm waiting," she replied without taking her eyes off him.

"Waiting for what?"

"A miracle, I guess,'" she quipped, "my phone died in the water, and Harleen doesn't respond to my messages on Insta, Messenger and Twitter. Don't know why, but I was kinda hoping that I would find her here."

"You shouldn't be looking for her."

"She's my friend!" she fumed angrily, "if nothing else at least she owes me an explanation."

"Let it go. She has made her choices."

"It's so easy for you to judge people Batman?" she asked and looked away gazing once again at the water below, "it's so easy for you to cross someone out? Maybe it's not what you think it is?"

Batman did not answer immediately. Part of Bruce knew he shouldn't, yet he drowned out that voice. He sat down next to her on the edge of the bridge and fixed his eyes on the raising waves.

"Then tell me how you think it is…" out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch slightly surprised by his action, but she did not take her gaze off the water.

"Harleen is a good person. All her life she has wanted to help people. That's why she chose her specialty. She has always said that there is a stigma against people with mental disorders, especially those who commit crimes. She objected to the statement that the criminally insane cannot be cured. She always said that she would prove to ignorant people that illness, any illness, can be cured or at least mitigated," Y/N said and Batman listened in silence, "Does that sound to you like a description of someone you treat like a criminal?"

"No," he admitted, "but I, unlike you, know something you don't."

"Which is?"

"I know who the Joker is."

"Another reason to consider her his victim, not his accomplice," Y/N stated stubbornly, "you know she's a wanted criminal?"

"I know."

"I'll find her first and prove that she, like me, is just an innocent victim of circumstance," fierceness flashed in her eyes and Bruce realized that there were no words that could stop her, "I'll find her before the cops find her, before you do!" she furrowed her brows angrily and tightened her hands on the edge of the bridge. Bruce knew this fierceness well. He saw it many times in Dick's eyes, Jason's, Tim's, in his own each time he looked in the mirror.

"You almost drowned," he tried to appeal to her sense of self-preservation, "you almost died in there," he looked at her but she stubbornly stared into the water.

"You saved me…" she whispered finally, "And I thank you for that," he did not comment. "Thank you also for sending paramedics to my house."

"You're welcome."

"How did you know where I live?"

"I didn't," he lied, "The policewoman knew."

"Right…"

"Leave the Harleen case to me and the cops," he insisted gently, "two weeks ago you almost drowned. Leave it. Go back to your normal life, to your family, to your job."

"I can't…" she replied before adding after a brief pause, "you're right, I almost died. I should have died. Every day I get from now on is a gift. I can't just go back to work and normal life. I can't leave her."

"I can't let you put yourself in danger and potentially hinder the investigation."

"Then help me,"" she snapped her eyes and looked straight into his own, "Will you help me, Batman?"

***

Chapter six: Choices that define us ~~***~~

Author note: It took a while but here we are at the end of chapter five! Thank you for your patience. I'm really trying to publish chapters as consistently as I can but unfortunately, there is work and other responsibilities. And these chapters, well they do take time. I hope it was worth the wait! We had slow down a bit, take a breather after chapter four, tighten the plot, so we could pick up the pace again. Besides, I am really enjoying slow world-building, adding characters, adding new pieces to the story, connecting the dots. I do hope that it will pay off at the end. I've been asked for a tag list and I took the liberty of adding some of you so please let me know if you want to be added or removed. I thank you all for your DMs, comments and reblogs. Even if I do not respond to all of them, I assure I read them all, and each brings a smile to my face. Enough of me bubbling, gotta start working on chapter six cos I kinda miss Bruce ;) For now, as always Dear Reader, I thank you for reading.

~~***~~ Tag list: @clown-princesa @theclassicvinyldragon @blondwhowrites @green-parx @batgirlspain

[notetaeker]

found out today that google is full of sh!t PLS PROTECT YOURSELVES

my account got hacked, the hacker changed all my recovery details and now has access to my google drive files, my emails, any photos in google photos, and also the login info to so many websites that use google and there is NO way to get anything back or at least delete the acct.

You would think that google, as a company offering to store and handle so much info and FILES in particular and also passwords and login infos for other websites would have some kind of support for this but no they don't even have a single customer service phone number or any way of recovering anything. I searched around online for solutions but the internet is FILLED with THOUSANDS of ppl with the same concern for YEARS who lost their files, lost their connected youtube accts with thousands of subscribers. I lost access to my yahoo acct too but they had a customer service phone number (paid) but at least they verified my identity and helped me to get access back and secured my account. PSA: DO NOT RELY ON GOOGLE TO SAVE ANYTHING FOR YOU. BACK UP YOUR OWN STUFF ELSEWHERE. If anything goes wrong there is literally 0 recourse - google offers absolutely 0 support:

My only wish now is to be able to at least delete the account so they don't have access to all my info anymore but there is literally no place to go for that so I just have to be okay knowing some evil people indefinitely have 10+ years worth of my private info (emails, files, photos)

PLS learn from my mistake and use this opportunity unentangle yourself from google. They literally. have no recourse if anything goes wrong. It's not like it's impossible: Yahoo literally asked me for my state ID and location to give me access back to my account.

[eccentricallygothic]

not really a request (not even sure i’m in the right ask box) buttttt i would love to hear any brain rot or wip scraps you wanna rant about. love when writers just info dump and i’ve been secretly lurking on your page for a bit. decided to make myself known

Hiiii! This is my first time doing this and I hope I didn't overshare but I am SO happy that you are making yourself known! Welcome to the blog, I hope to see more of you! <333

Now!! I am sharing two because why not? I've a lot more than these (maybe more than I'd like to admit 😭) but we will start with Auggie Walker and then move onto the Stevie one.

Auggie is an intimidating man and that's why I haven't written for him yet. I am so afraid I won't be able to capture him right and the idea is so good in my head I feel like I'll ruin it while translating it into a story 😭 but this idea has been living in my head rent free because it's a big fear for me!

And about the Stevie one, I've always been quite open about this and I will never shut up! I love, love, LOVE the sci-fi side of the MCU and specifically Steve's whole serum thing. It inspires me so much and I come up with something new everytime I see it! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Please do let me know what you think about them! 🩷

(also, for whatever it's worth, these are my WIPs so I request no one steal them please!)

. . .

As August received an attachment from your number, his eyebrows furrowed because you knew to send them all through email. Making a mental note to reprimand you for it later, he tapped on it within the next second. Now his head tilted to the side. 

A video. 

He had asked you for some documents which your boss knew very well weren't supposed to be in this medium.

The man tapped on it nevertheless, the sound and content inside catching him off guard as his eyebrows slightly raised. He was in disbelief. Moving the phone closer to his face and away from where he held it against his work table, August increased the brightness of the screen to make sure it was you. 

Which, you were. 

"Mr. Walker…" You panted and whined, clutching one of your breasts as your other hand hid between your legs. "Oh, Mr. Walker… I am so needy for you…" You were in the janitor's closet on this very floor, phone placed on one of the shelves next to the files you had been carrying for the meeting that had just passed along your ipad. The lighting was dim and your disheveled hair stuck to your sweaty skin. "Won't you bend me over your table and make a good girl out of me~ I-" August blinked as the screen went black before a notification popped up.

Message deleted. 

The man's head spun with the sudden influx of emotions, the sudden discomfort in his boxers getting tighter as he realised what had just happened. He smirked. 

You had not meant to send it. 

.

The fire that had taken over your body was dissipating and fast as you gaped at your screen. You were the stupidest person you knew. Instead of tapping on save you had chosen to share the video you were planning to watch until you orgasmed. Since your boss August Walker was your most frequently interacted with contact, it was an instant send that took you a few moments to register as you had been busy bouncing on your own fingers to orgasm. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" You chanted in panic as you leaned against the wall of the small room, holding a shelf for support as your own heartbeat pounded through your ears. "I am so fucking–" 

There was a knock on the door.

. . .

"Where… do you think you're going, doll?" Steve was reading the Sunday newspaper by the fireplace when he saw his young wife drag her luggage bag to the front door of their humble abode. 

"Mommy and Daddy's home." Y/n responded curtly, not turning to look at him. Because his face was still of the man she had fallen in love with and married. But she couldn't let herself surrender to it anymore. 

"Without my permission or a prior discussion?" Tilting his head to the side, the man raised an amused eyebrow at the stiff girl who started to drag the heavy bag again. 

"Won't be needing any of that anymore." Since the man didn't expect what was coming, he chuckled and furrowed his eyebrows. 

He couldn't recall doing anything against her wishes in the last 24 hours. So what was this? 

"And why do you think is that?" Y/n sighed as she ceased her struggle against the luggage bag, biting her lip and closing her eyes. 

Well, the talk would have to happen sometime. 

It was now or never.

"You are not the man I married, Steve" since she usually referred to him as hubby, this felt like an insult, almost. 

The Captain put the newspaper down against his lap now. "What silly Sunday morning shenanigan is this, doll?" He snickered before shaking his head. "I know I have been busy after everything but…" Now he patted his lap. "Come here."

"No."

"You know little wives can't tell their husbands that, baby. Haven't we been over this so many times already?" His coaxing voice had her turn her back to him. 

Fuck. 

She was so in love with him. 

Why did he have to get the stupid serum?

"Good thing I am not your wife anymore, then." As she placed the ring on the shoe cupboard next to the door, Y/n failed to catch that he had stood up to the towering height the procedure had granted him.

He was a giant now. 

"This is not funny anymore, doll." Steve warned as he started to decrease the distance between them. 

"It's not meant to be. You're not my Steve. You're-" her words were suppressed by a gasp when she noticed he was now standing right behind her. 

"Who am I, then?" Though his eyes and tone turned darker, he was genuinely confused. 

"Captain America." It broke his heart when the girl backed up to create some distance between them. "The man I married was Brooklyn's most ambitious and brave… not America's pride. You're… practically a stranger" he sighed. 

This had occurred to him once but he had assured himself that they were stronger than that. 

"Come on, baby." Y/n flinched when he reached for her smaller hand and clasped it between both of his, kissing her fingertips. "I know it's different, and maybe even scary. But I am still me. So what if I am Captain America? Doesn't mean I am not your Steve… Can't you feel me?" He pressed his bigger body against hers. 

"That's the thing" she whispered, devastated. "I can't." Tears welled up in her eyes as she felt herself getting scared and breathless under him. "I have tried. Ever since the day you walked out of that machine, I have. But I can't." Y/n didn't know why but she found herself thinking about how helpless she was against him. "I don't recognize you without your face. I feel like I am in a stranger's arms every night. It's not the same. Every time you touch me it feels like I am betraying the love of my life." Though the rational part of Steve's brain felt both crushed and sadly fond of her devotion to that form of his that no one else had ever taken seriously, her next words completely flipped everything over inside his head. "Please. Let me go." Reason gave way to desperation.

Oh..

He could never do that. 

Maybe not even in death.

"Can't do that, baby." Her tears finally spilled down at his words. She started to softly struggle, the panicked gesture breaking his heart more and more by the passing second. "Why are you punishing us for something I had to do? For you, me, all of us. Come on, we are stronger than this. You knew my ambitions, you said it yourself just now." His own eyes were glassy as he breathlessly chuckled as an effort to somehow lighten the situation, ignoring her faint pleas as she struggled to push him away. "Remember-" Steve grunted as he gathered her now assaulting hands away from his neck and chest before locking them above her head. "Remember when your father didn't approve of me because he thought I wasn't good enough for you?" A trickled tear hung off the sharp tip of his nose. "Remember the hell you raised for us? You didn't even listen to me. You kept going for us until you succeeded."

But his words fell on deaf ears; something he wasn't used to coming from her. "Steve, you're scaring me! Let me go!" A thick bile settled at the base of her throat as she tried to break free, crying a bit harder now. 

"There, you said it yourself. You said Steve!" Her obvious unwillingness to this position seemed to not faze him one bit. "Silly girl! How can you call me by my name and then say that it's not me?" 

"Because you're not my Steve!" Fear was making her chest contract as she seethed out breathlessly. 

"Come on!" One of his hands trailed down her body as he caressed and groped her tits before slipping his hand under her dress. "Not your Steve?" 

"No. Your hands are big and rough! Your body is hard! You don't even smell the same! I DON'T feel you so stop!" A twisted smile now spreads on his priorly hurt features. 

"I see…" Steve lowered his head momentarily before he sighed a little. "Then," a resolution flashed in the brilliant blue of his eyes, "I guess I just have to show you that it's still me." 

. . .

[feeshies]

for most of my life, i had an extreme fear of phone calls that went beyond regular social anxiety. it's not even a generational thing because i'm from the generation where it was normal to call up your friend's land line without warning, but some "lower case t" trauma happened and i became very afraid of it. it got to a point where one of my middle school requirements to graduate was to choose a "personal goal" that i would work towards over the course of the year, and i chose "get over my fear of the phone". and i didn't! i got my neighbor to lie on my behalf and sign a thing saying i reached my goal lol.

but in 2021 i got a job at a law firm and oh god that did more to kill that anxiety than anything.

it was a very slow climb. the first time i had to call a client, i vomited before and after making the call. when i was moved to work the front desk (because of staffing; i was not the man for the job), i would deliberately avoid eating too close to my shifts so i wouldn't get sick. i would plan my entire afternoons around making a single outgoing phone call because i needed that mental preparation.

after almost an entire year of that, my fear of letting down my superiors won out over my fear of phones. i am invincible now.

i'm now at the point where i would rather call a number than send an email if i need help. i get disappointed when i don't see a phone number listed when i'm looking for support. i'm moving in a few weeks and i need to work out some healthcare shit, and i spent an entire morning getting transferred from number to number, coming out as trans to a different stranger every time, and being treated like an idiot, and i didn't care. i don't have to prepare a script anymore (i used to have to write them out and get someone to proofread before making a call). i was browsing reddit while i was on hold. i was more frustrated than afraid.

i'm invincible.

[chantylay]

Here are the contacts for the Finnish act to let them know that we want them to officially declare that they will withdraw if Israel is allowed to participate. Please remember that this is not a harassment campaign. We want the artists and delegations to know they have our support in standing up to the EBU.

the EBU: https://www.ebu.ch/about/contact-us

YLE: phone 09 1480 5500 email tekninen.neuvonta@yle.fi please be aware of international charges if you call the phone number

Windows95man is on instagram as @windows95man that also highlighted as an existing URL on tumblr as I typed that. Finns of tumblr let me know if that account is genuine. His manager's email is lilli@allday.fi

Henri Piispanen is also on instagram @piispahenri

You have heard of acts that need to change lyrics for Eurovision, now get ready for the act that has to change his name: Windows95man (featuring Henri Piispanen), singing "No Rules" for Finland.

This song is so much fun. It's got a 90s synthpop vibe, but manages to thread the needle of sounding enough like the music of the time to be recognizable, but modernized enough not to sound dated. Lyrically, it's about the importance of being yourself even when it goes against arbitrary social rules. The vocals are probably not going to win over any juries (although Piispanen does manage a pretty impressive high note), but it's not that kind of song. Most likely, it will be this years joke act that bombs with the juries but comes top 5 in the televote for an overall left side finish (incidentally, it is my wife's new favorite song this year). I don't see this being left behind in the televote only semis.

Now lets talk about that staging. This was brilliant. How do you encapsulate the "No Rules" ethos without actually breaking any rules? You make the lead guy run around in nude-illusion underwear and plan your shots in such a way to make people wonder if he really is just wearing a t-shirt. The physical comedy is really well done on that front. It comes of as silly and charming more than lewd. The denim hotpants descending from the heavens is iconic, and I sincerely hope that between those giant blocks the Malmo stage is set to have, there is a spare rig that will allow the finnish team to replicate that moment. The denim egg poses a small problem with the shape of the stage, but I think if they leave it close enough to the LED wall, it won't be chronically blocking the view for audience members in the standing zone.

[inukag-archive]

Can you help point this wayward soul toward fics where the characters are involved with online accounts including, but not limited to, OnlyFans and stuff?? Thank you!!

Hello Hello Hello Nonnie!

OnlyFans/streaming is a very niche NSFW type, so to give you as many options as possible we also expanded this list to include online relationships and phone/video sex.

As always if any of our followers have suggestions please add them in the notes!

[Digital Sex Work Specific]

Members Only by @anisaanisa (E)

Working during a pandemic was hard enough, harder when you’re on the front line. If Kagome was so essential, why couldn’t she pay her rent at the end of the month?

Kagome tries to make ends meet juggling two jobs, an OnlyFans account and a cute coworker that just won’t quit living in her head rent-free.

--

Cam You See Me? (Series) by @keizfanfiction (E)

Inuyasha has a secret part-time job and Kagome has a shameless addiction. One day the pretty office worker confronts the hot male nurse when he’s sitting by himself in the mailroom, and then a discovery is made that might change their tentative relationship for the better.

--

Pennies and Dimes by @witchygirl99 (M)

The story of Kagome Higurashi: talking off clients, surviving her bachelor's degree, and having a secret Not-Friends-with-Benefits arrangement with the most attractive jerk ever. Who she definitely isn't falling in love with. Not even a little.

--

Love In the Time of COVID-19 by TheMondayChild (E)

One of Inuyasha’s tenants finds a very interesting way of supporting herself after being furloughed. He goes from being only a fan to being more than a landlord when she calls upon him to perform some maintenance.

[Online Relationships]

Massive Multiplayer Shenanigans (Series) by @clearwillow (E)

Modern college AU. InuKag and MirSan pairings. There's something to be said for anonymity in MMORPGs. A story about a game that's less about the game and more its players.

--

The Sound of His Voice by @splendentgoddess (E)

All she knows about him is he’s single, and shyer than he publicly lets on. They flirt openly on the air, but it’s all just an act...or is it? Kagome would love to meet DJ Ash in real life, to date him, or hell, even to just jump into bed with him. Kami, the sound of his voice does things to her. But he’s afraid it would ruin what they have if they ever met in person. What secret is he hiding?

--

You've Got Mail by @witchygirl99 (T)

One email can change everything. Two people in a world of unloving careers and deathly essays come together. There's a reason these two were meant to talk. Some would call it fate. They would call it annoyance. Really? It's called love.

--

Miscommunication by Disenchanter (M)

Inuyasha's not a 'one-girl' type of guy, so he leaps at the chance to get any pretty woman's number. Too bad he couldn't read his latest conquest's so he ended up texting a secluded author facing her worst enemy—writers block.

--

Quarantine Series by @superpixie42 (E)

Starting a new relationship can be hard when you have to host all your dates via webchat because of Covid-19 quarantine regulations.

--

The Right Wrong Number by @neutronstarchild (E)

A drunk Kagome texts her ex-bf Bankotsu a bikini picture of herself and Sango from a poolside bar at 2am, because he’s a cheating asshole and doesn’t know what he’s goddamned missing. But Kagome made a critical mistake: she hit a 6 instead of an 8, and the grumpy half-demon who received the text has some opinions about the lateness and the content. His resultant picture starts a sexy chain reaction, leaving both their lives changed.

--

Sexy Baby by KrissMe (M)

[COMPLETE] School girl by day, pornstar by night. After Kagome gets involved in the adult entertainment business at a young age to make ends meet, can she open her heart to someone who might actually love her. Does he even see it when he is just as promiscuous as she? And what about her perverted teacher who would do anything to have her?

[luvgirlxblue]

I don't get paid enough for this, pt.1

Character: Shoto Todoroki

Category: [series]

Words: 0.9k

Warnings: some for the entire series in general, but none for this part :)

Authors notes: it's 2am you know the drill

Y/N: no race for this one either but i mentioned hair in your face so keep that in mind, Y/N is female and both Y/N and Shoto are in their early 20's. quirk: temperature. as the name suggests you can simply change the temperature in certain areas or of certain objects.

Beep, beep, beep, be-

"Alright, that's enough of that." Y/N grumbled while rubbing her eyes. Slamming her hand down on the alarm clock she thought about quitting her job and joining the circus just so she wouldn't have to wake up at such an early time for an 9 hour shift at the hole-in-a-wall cafe. Rolling out of bed she pushed the hair out of her face and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. After going through the necessary motions of her morning routine, she eyed the uniform hanging on the handles of her wardrobe, and sighed. "I'll have to get those coffee stains out later."

Keys? Check. Purse, Check. Motivation? Nope, but considering she was already clocking in at this point, there wasn't much to do about it, she had to support her cat child after all.

And so the day began: late trains, rude customers, loud kids and occasionally spilling hot drinks on herself were all parts of the many trials of her job. After graduating highschool, since she didn't have any ambition of pro-hero or public service work, she was relatively stuck for choices. So here she was doing the best she could to support herself while she figured things out.

It was around 7PM now, and the population of the small shop had thinned out considerably. While cleaning out cups, Y/N heard the bell above the door tinkle quietly, and sighing she reluctantly pulled out her notepad. Not bothering to look up she asked the stranger what they would like to drink in a monotone voice. The response she got back was pretty standard but after writing the order down, and going to ask for a name, she stopped dead in her tracks. She was met with red and white hair, and two hetero-chromatic eyes (with a huge scar to match) staring at back at her.

Taking a look at the outfit he had on, her first impression was that whoever this man was, he was probably either a low-ranking hero, or some obsessive fan-boy. Probably some sidekick that had shown up on TV beside on of the pro's, or maybe some kind of eccentric PR manager? That would explain away the strange hair colour...

Now, Y/N had lost much of her previous interest in heroes after realising that her quirk just wasn't cut out for the job, but she did remember the faces of most of the finalists in U.A's sports festival -the one she had watched at 14. Blurry memories of the winner and runners up began to swim across her mind. The main three being the hot-headed #8 Dynamight, of course the up-and-coming #5 Deku, and... oh. Right. Shit- wait there was no way he was just casually standing in front of her right now. Did the number #9 pro-hero just walk in? To a place like this? Now? Ah- the coffee, this ha to be the best one you've made yet, don't mess up Y/N don't-

"Excuse me ma'am, but are you alright? You dropped your notebook."

You turn your face back to a slightly concerned looking Shoto holding out your notebook.

"Oh, me? I'm fine - i'll just start on your drink sir..."

There was no way she would let a rising pro catch her stuttering. Absolutely not. Never.

Y/N takes the opportunity to slink away behind the counter and turn her back to him, while focusing a little too hard on the whirring of the espresso machines.

Shoto took the hint and sat himself down at one of the booths in the corner, while he pulled out his phone to occupy himself with.

After a little while he took a break from work emails and paperwork too peak at his barista. Sure, she had recognised him, that much was clear - it was nothing new. But what was new was that she hadn't screamed, or thrown herself at him, or fainted, or asked for an autograph, or gushed about his quirk or display even a hint of any other fan-girlish reaction he'd been subject to in the past. She had just...done nothing?

It was a well known fact that Shoto wasn't the fastest when it came to social ques or interacting with fans (something his PR team had tried to capitalise on), and he could not figure out why the woman had been so casual about meeting him. (Was she not aware of his rankings? Maybe she preferred Dynamight over him?)

And suddenly it was one of those rare moments in his life, where, despite growing up in the shadow of a famous pro-hero himself, and attending a prestigious and well known school, he felt...

Small. Unimportant.

Another quick glance confirms none of the other patrons seemed to recognise (or care) who he was either.

He decided it was a welcome contrast to the attention he usually boasted, and that he was grateful to the woman for not mentioning it.

Y/N on the other hand was quite dejected. She had seen the way these heroes lived - in luxury and comfort - and it only added insult to injury to see his dazzling face juxtaposed against the cracked wall of the diner. She was also gloomy about his eventual departure, and it reminded her of how insignificant her interactions with people like him would always be.

Just another face in another crowd.

She still had a couple more hours of her shift left, and both of these harsh facts were making her more than irritated at this point.

That's why, when the first explosion burst through the door, and her ears started to ring, her first thought was annoyance at all the damage coming out of her paycheck instead of worry for the blood seeping out of the wound on her head.

[mariacallous]

You're not being paranoid. If you always feel like somebody's watching you, as the song goes, you're probably right. Especially if you're at work.

Over the course of the Covid-19 pandemic, as labor shifted to work-from-home, a huge number of US employers ramped up the use of surveillance software to track employees. The research firm Gartner says 60 percent of large employers have deployed such monitoring software—it doubled during the pandemic—and will likely hit 70 percent in the next few years.

That's right—even as we've shifted toward a hybrid model with many workers returning to offices, different methods of employee surveillance (dubbed "bossware" by some) aren't going away; it's here to stay and could get much more invasive. 

As detailed in the book Your Boss Is an Algorithm, authors Antonio Aloisi and Valerio de Stefano describe "expanded managerial powers" that companies have put into place over the pandemic. This includes the adoption of more tools, including software and hardware, to track worker productivity, their day-to-day activities and movements, computer and mobile phone keystrokes, and even their health statuses. 

This can be called "datafication" or "informatisation," according to the book, or "the practice by which every movement, either offline or online, is traced, revised and stored as necessary, for statistical, financial, commercial and electoral purposes."

Ironically, experts point out that there's not sufficient data to support the idea that all this data collection and employee monitoring actually increases productivity. But as the use of surveillance tech continues, workers should understand how they might be surveilled and what, if anything, they can do about it.

What Kind of Monitoring Is Happening?

Using surveillance tools to monitor employees is not new. Many workplaces continue to deploy low-tech tools like security cameras, as well as more intrusive ones, like content filters that flag content in emails and voicemails or unusual activity on work computers and devices. The workplace maxim has long been that if you're in the office and/or using office phones or laptops, then you should never assume any activity or conversation you have is private.

But the newer generation of tools goes beyond that kind of surveillance to include monitoring through wearables, office furniture, cameras that track body and eye movement, AI-driven software that can hire as well as issue work assignments and reprimands automatically, and even biometric data collection through health apps or microchips implanted inside the body of employees.

Some of these methods can be used to track where employees are, what they’re doing at any given moment, what their body temperature is, and what they’re viewing online. Employers can collect data and use it to score workers on their individual productivity or to track data trends across an entire workforce.

These tools aren't being rolled out only in office spaces, but in work-from-home spaces and on the road to mobile workers such as long-haul truck drivers and Amazon warehouse workers.

Is This Legal?

As you might imagine, the laws of the land have had a hard time keeping up with the quick pace of these new tools. In most countries, there are no laws specifically forbidding employers from, say, video-monitoring their workforce, except in places where employees should have a “reasonable expectation of privacy,” such as bathrooms or locker rooms.

In the US, the 1986 Electronic Communications Privacy Act laid out the rule that employees should not intercept employee communication, but its exceptions—that they can be intercepted to protect the privacy and rights of the employer or if business duties require it, or if the employee granted prior permission—make the law toothless and easy to get around.

A few states in the US require employers to post notice if they are electronically monitoring people in the office, and there are some protections for the purpose of collective bargaining, such as discussing unionizing.

In February, US Democratic senators led by Bob Casey of Pennsylvania moved to introduce legislation to curtail workplace monitoring by employers. It would require bosses to better notify employees of on- and off-duty surveillance and would establish an office at the US Department of Labor to track work monitoring issues.

What You Can Do

Privacy experts say that unfortunately for many employees, the only recourse for a worker who doesn't like a company's surveillance policies is to find another job.

Short of that, employees can make a formal request for disclosure of a company's data collection and surveillance policies, typically from the human resources department. Such policies may be outlined in an employee handbook, but also may not be readily available, especially for smaller companies and startups. Workers who are part of a workers' union can request the information through their representatives.

A company may not know it is required to post that it's surveilling employees or that it is in a state where two parties must consent to phone-conversation monitoring. You could choose to let your company know it's not in compliance, and if the company doesn't make changes (and you’re in the United States), you could alert your state's workforce commission or file a complaint with the US Occupational Safety and Health Administration or over HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) medical privacy issues.

Apart from all that, general data hygiene is also a good counter. Clear your browser cache regularly, and don't keep private data on work devices or transmit them over work email accounts. Block your workstation's webcam when it's not in use (if you're allowed to do that) and ask your employers if you can opt out of surveillance tools that are not required for your work.

Most importantly, be mindful when your employer issues notices about workplace privacy changes or when new software or hardware is introduced for the purposes of monitoring. Ask questions and research what these tools are if you don't get a good explanation from your bosses.

[specialagentlokitty]

Mr Evershed x Student!reader - what makes us who we are

Part three:

First Mr Evershed dealt with the teacher in the school, he arranged a meeting for that very safe afternoon once school finished.

“Come on Martin, some of us want to go home.” Mrs Carp sighed.

“No, I’ve had it up to here with you lot. We’re going to talk about what happened today regarding one of the students.”

All the teachers shared a look and he began to talk.

Berating them for judging their own students, for judging them on who they are or what they look like.

All the teachers just sat in silence, a few of them looking away with guilty looks on their faces.

“A teacher assaulted a student today. They left before the end of the day, but police have been informed and there will be an investigation again that teacher and this school.”

The teachers gasped.

“Are they okay?” Mrs Paracha asked.

“No because of the actions of you lot and that substitute teacher the student has sworn to never return to school. You’ve failed them, failed to support them, help them.”

He grabbed his jacket and looked at them all.

“I will be having a meeting with the trust about this incident.”

With that he left, having to speak to the police next he helped them with your contact details and address, and the following morning he had a meeting with the trust.

It was a long meeting, a lot of back and forth with them, but they finally agreed to roll out more training for the teachers.

Mr Evershed was given permission to do whatever it took to get you to return to the school, even if it meant him going to find out outside of school, and offering you online classes if that’s what you wanted.

So when his meeting ended he immediately went to his office to try and call you, but he got sent straight to voicemail.

He sighed, deciding to leave a voicemail and give you a day or two to see if you would get in contact.

You woke up to the new voicemail, so you decided to check what it was and stuck your phone on speaker as you sat up.

“Hi (Y/N) it’s Mr Evershed, please call us back as soon as you get this so we know you’re okay. Thank you.”

Scoffing a little, you hung up and shook your head, making your way down the stairs as you grabbed a drink and sat on the back doorstep.

Looking out at the dark clouds rolling in, you sighed to yourself and started pulling all the garden furniture into the small gap between your house and the fence and went back inside.

You turned all the lights on, closed the windows and curtains and settled to watch some TV instead.

The following day you received another phone call and an email which you ignored, and on the third day, with the weather being nice you decided to do some cleaning.

You opened all the windows, music flowing out from them as you walked around in some sorts and a short sleeved T-shirt.

There was a knock on your door and you sat up, heading to the window, you peaked through the blinds to see two officers standing there with Mr Evershed.

They knocked again.

Sighing, you grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on, and put your mask on before you opened the door.

“Can we have a chat?” An officer smiled.

“Names and badge numbers.”

They complied and you nodded, looking them up and down before stepping aside to let them in and took them through the living room and you sat down, covering your legs with a blanket.

“Your headteacher spoke to us about the incident, we’ve taken statements and we will be pressing charges as you’re a minor, but we’d like a statement from you if that’s okay?”

You shrugged a little, telling them briefly what had happened and they made note of it all.

“We can offer you resources to help, counselling, therapy?” One of them offered.

“Don’t bother, not interested.”

“Well, if you change your mind just give a call.”

One left his card on the table and Mr Evershed showed them out before coming back in and you narrowed your gaze at him.

“I’d like to talk too if that’s okay?”

“Well you’ve already invited yourself in so whatever I guess.”

Getting up, you headed to the back garden and sat on one of the steps leading to the grass, and he followed you, sitting next to you.

Stretching your legs, you placed your hands behind you and leant back a little.

“Why’d you file a report?”

“You were assaulted, it had ti be taken further.”

“Don’t really matter since I’m not going back.”

He sighed.

“I’ve spoken to all the teachers, and the trust. That’s not going to happen anymore (Y/N) I promise.”

You shook your head.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can, because I mean it. It’s never going to happen again (Y/N) alright? I’ll make sure it’ll never happen again.”

You loved your hands, laying down as you stared up at the bright blue sky.

Mr Evershed said, turning so he could look down at you.

“Don’t throw everything away (Y/N), you’ve got your whole future ahead of you!”

“Do I? Do I really? I can’t work in any customer facing jobs because of my scars.”

“Scars?” He asked confused.

Yes, he’d seen the one on your face, but he thought that was the only one.

You sat up, and took your mask off, placing it on the grass, you took your hoodie off, tossing it with the mask and you held out one of your arms to him.

He noticed another two scars, just as wide and jagged as the one going across your face.

You then lowered your arm and pointed to both of your legs, and was a few scars on your legs as well, and he frowned a little.

“Not the only ones, got more.”

He looked at you, sad eyes connecting with yours for a second.

“(Y/N) what on earth happened?” He asked softly.

“Accident.”

You ran a hand up and down your arm, fingers brushing again the scars as you stared at the grass.

“(Y/N)?”

You held a blank expression on your face, you just stared. It’s like you were sat there but at the same time you weren’t.

You blinked and flicked your eyes to him before looking at your hoodie and mask.

“It was years ago, just before I went to secondary school. We were coming back from a holiday, my mum and I were playing a game and my dad was driving. It was late, like real late, pitch black, and stormy too.”

He nodded his head. Carefully listening as you spoke.

“My dad said there was something wrong with the car and pulled over on to the grass so he could take a look, and my mum got out to help him. It was a hill we were parked on top, and apparently that road was known for its drunk drivers and speeders.”

Mr Evershed felt his heart drop as he realised where this story was going.

“One minute everything was fine, the next thing I knew I was waking up in hospital after months of being in a coma. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t talk. We’d been hit by some drunk teens, my mum and dad were killed on impact. I’d been trapped in the car when it hit the bottom of that hill, most of the injuries were blunt force trauma and glass.”

He watched as you gestured your legs, and a few small scars along your forearms.

He nodded his head and gestured to your upper arm and face.

“What happened there?”

“What stopped the car.”

You looked at him.

“Barbed wire.”

“Oh god…” he whispered.

You shrugged a little, resting your arms on your knees.

“Just life innit.”

He shook his head and wiped a few tears that had fallen.

He had never felt so heartbroken before, so upset over something that had happened.

You were the victim of a tragic accident, and people looked at you as if you were some criminal mastermind.

“People look at me and they see some deformed freak. They looked disgusted and scared when they see me, why do you think I don’t look at people?”

He reached out and carefully placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Look at me.”

You turned your head but you didn’t meet his gaze.

“Please?”

You finally met his eyes, and he smiled softly, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You’re not deformed, you’re not a freak or a monster. You’re you. And that’s a great thing, that’s an amazing thing! You’re a great person, scars are what make us who we are you know.”

“What does mine make me…?” You mumbled.

He smiled a little more and took his hand away, clapping them together.

“A survivor.”

You looked at him, and you smiled a little.

It was a crooked smile because of the scar on your face, but it was still a smile. A real smile.

Mr Evershed didn’t look at you like everyone else did, he looked at you with compassion and kindness, looking past the obvious marks on your skin to see who you really were.

He could see you for the person that you were.

“Everything like this is what makes us who we are, and I’m so sorry for what happened. But I know somewhere deep down inside that stubborn exterior there is a wonderful young person who has so much potential.”

“You think?”

He nodded his head.

“I know it. Please come back, finish your education and show the world you’re more than your scars and you’re more than the bad things that have happened.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He asked.

“Okay.” You nodded.

He beamed brightly and told you to come in the following morning.

So, as much as you didn’t want to, you did, and you stood in reception waiting for him, a small smile on your face as you saw him wave you over.

Padding over, he led you over to the desk in reception and started to put papers on the desk.

“You just need to fill these in, just some stuff you missed and a form to say I can attend the court case with you next month if you want.”

“I’d like that. Thank you sir.”

He handed you a pen so you could sign it there and then, and he got you to waited so he could walk you to your first lesson of the day.

You started coming into school every day, putting all your effort into your work.

It was an improvement that took a while for anyone else to see, you were getting better grades, your attendance had gone up and you started to attend school events as well.

Today you walked in, and you stopped when you saw Mr Evershed and you gave him a small wave and he blinked in surprise.

“You’re not wearing your mask.” He said.

“I’m more than my scars. I don’t think I should hide them anymore.”

He smiled and nodded his head in understanding.

“You are, I’m proud of you.”

You smiled and carried on walking to school, and no one looked twice at you, a few students stared but they offered you a smile as you walked to your first class.

Mr Evershed was right.

You’re more than your scars. More than the things that had happened, and you just needed a little help to navigate around the world and figure out what your path was in life.

But you had so much ahead of you

[buzzconnect]

BuzzConnects: Customized Bedding Sets, Stylish Hoodies, and Trendsetting T-Shirts Just for You

Contact Information

Website: https://buzzconnects.net/

Business Email: support@buzzconnects.net

Business Address: 701 Tillery Street Unit 12-1294, Austin, Texas 78702, United States

Business Phone Number: +1 (512) 316-0860

Business Registration Number: 804938699

Support Time: 7:00 am - 10:00 pm (GMT -5)

Founded in 2023, BuzzConnects was created to simplify product customization. Recognizing the limitations of existing retail processes, our entrepreneurs pioneered a platform offering a diverse range of easily customizable products. Today, we thrive as a dedicated community of satisfied customers.

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Linktr.ee

[chicago-geniza]

Everybody please clap I went to the asthma diet study and then to two pharmacies in wholly disparate areas of Chicago and went to T-Mobile and found out how to fix my phone even if they didn't have the requisite component in stock and discovered insurance needs to renew the prior approval on my T for the new year so I sent it to my doctor for review and discovered I am locked out of my state benefits online account and the email tech support was singularly unhelpful so am calling the Humboldt Park office in the morning to see if a human being can sort it out, vaguely recall I do NOT need to renew Medicaid but want to make absolutely sure so will call THAT number first thing in the morning too; also - replaced my busted headphones at the student store so I didn't have a meltdown, picked up a notebook and some Post-Its, impulsively swung by the uni library and discovered my card still worked and checked out Cayhill on Benjamin, Nietzsche on tragedy, and two Ernst Bloch books in translation, also cased their periodicals for dissertation research; nobody is there! It's so quiet and still. They have Dialog and their microfiche stores are un-fucking-believable. I'm going to start reserving a cubicle--there's a word for library cubicle that sounds like cassock, that's my middle-word, the monkish studiousness, hunched over illuminating manuscripts, it's my mnemonic, like the image the word passes through by association before I remember--carrel, that's it. (Sp?) Passel, tassel. Bundles of papers, tops of scholars' caps and trails of tapestries in halls of learning, it's the phonetic associations, it's never semantic for me, really. Diogenes in a barrel. Etc. K calls it constellation thinking, which I prefer to the pathological tone with which people cut the phrase "free association." It's fun to write like this, how I think! Freewheeling at any rate. Kept thinking of that quote about how we are dancing animals put on earth to fart around, like. Yeah. Truly my mind woke up when I spent a day with the common cold under a gray sky running stupid Kafkaesque errands and dilly-dallying about it. An old woman came up to me and complained about the parking and the traffic and her bad leg and her bad doctor and the bad weather. We commiserated, comrades in misery, each with our bad legs and our bad doctors under the weight of the sullen sky. I love the city, I love the bus driver who greeted everyone cheerfully despite the dreariness, I love that three people on the train platform were wearing the same shoes as me, these Adidas sneakers I got at the thrift store seven years ago. It is so much easier to be open and kind when I do not feel like a prey animal all the time. Did not think this post would arrive at "encomium to anxiety medication and Going Outside [which I am able to do because of anxiety medication]" but here we are lol

[briankeene]

Another End of the Road

My last two signings of the year occurred this past weekend — one at a Barnes & Noble in Pikesville, MD and another at a bar in Mechanicsburg, PA.

I almost never book signings or appearances for the time period between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve if I can help it, because that is one of my most productive times of the year, writing-wise. That’s when Los Angeles and New York City and Portland go quiet, and the publishing, comic book and movie industries go dark (or at least on minimal systems life support), and as a result, there are less emails and phone calls and other things to handle. My peers get quieter, too, which means even less emails and phone calls and text messages and people popping by during writing hours.

Thanks to everyone who showed up at a signing o an appearance this year. I genuinely appreciate it, and I hope the experience was worth it for you. If we took a picture or a selfie together, here’s a thread on my message board where I’d love you to share it.

My Patreon subscribers know that I’ve been secretly working on a half-intended follow-up to END OF THE ROAD this past year. As a result, I’ve got a Moleskine notebook with some random notes and observations I made while I was out there. Most of those notes will remain hidden for now, because they deal with the subject matter of the book, which will remain shrouded in secrecy for now. But here are some other observations I can share:

Excerpted from Project: The Last Mile notebook…

*Without a doubt, the peers I signed with the most times this past year were my pals Richard Chizmar and Ronald Malfi, both of whom have been doing this as long as I have, and both of whom subscribe to the same path to success that I do — write book, go on road and sign nd sell book, repeat process all over again. In comparing notes, all three of us saw a marked increase in sales this year as a result of those efforts, versus the pandemic years when we had to stay home.

*The era of signing at multiple conventions is at a wane. The reader-centric cons — Boskone, Scares That Care AuthorCon, StokerCon, KillerCon, Camp Necon, and Merrimack Valley Halloween Book Festival — are still lucrative due to high attendance numbers and turnout, but the smaller regional conventions, and the big multimedia conventions just aren’t worth it anymore. For the smaller cons, it’s a numbers game. Unless you’ve been invited as a guest and the organizers are paying your way, by the time you’ve paid for your travel, hotel room, table and food, you’ll have a hard time breaking even, particularly as inflation pushes the costs for all of those things higher and higher. And the bigger multimedia cons that have actors and other celebrities as well as authors? The actors’ prices have increased significantly, and by the time an attendee purchases a few autographed pictures and a selfie, they must then divide what little money they have left between a meal, a Funko Pop, a t-shirt, and perhaps one of your books. For authors — the way forward is conventions focused solely on readers (as listed above) and bookstores and libraries.

*Barnes & Noble is/are back, baby. Most of them have horror sections again, and most of the managers have much more leeway in what they can order for their store. “But Brian, my local B&N manager said they can’t order my book because it’s not returnable.” Well, that’s only a problem if they have unsold copies, Sparky. Work with the manager. Order a realistic number of copies to sell. Bust your ass promoting the signing. Don’t sit there like a lump when customers walk by your table — engage with them. And work out a deal with the manager to help them liquidate any remaining overstock. Leave two or three signed copies for the shelves, and purchase the rest so that their regional manager doesn’t yell at them for ordering non-returnable books. Then, speak at a library the next weekend, and gift the library with a copy and sell the rest to the folks who show up to hear you talk.

*The popularity of horror fiction runs in cycles. This is provable, demonstrable science (and I’ll refer you to END OF THE ROAD for more on that). Currently, the popularity of horror fiction is at a level not seen since the height of Leisure’s popularity. Indeed, I would argue it is higher. I suspect we’ll hit the peak next year. When will the descent begin? I don’t know. It will come, eventually. It always does. That’s inevitable. But we may ride this wave for a good long while yet. So much of it will depend on the economy and global events. Right now, there’s a glut of books if you tabulate everything from both the mainstream and indie presses and self-published works. But booksellers see a matching demand. This is evidenced not only from people I’ve talked to at the chain stores and online retailers like Amazon, but on anecdotal evidence such as the continuing popularity of alternative sellers like Godless and direct sales via publishers.

Excerpt ends…

So… those are some of the things I’ve jotted down in my Moleskine.

Instead of a honeymoon, Mary and I are opting to do a cross-country Honeymoon Tour next year. At first, we were going to go to Easter Island for our honeymoon, but then some assholes set the island on fire and damaged a bunch of the statues. (A news story that didn’t get much play in the media because it didn’t involve Donald Trump or Kanye West). Then we were going to go to Alaska. But Mary has a new novel dropping next February — ALIEN: ENEMY OF MY ENEMY — and she wants to give it a big push. And me? I live on the road. So instead of gong to Alaska we’re going to go to all of the continental United States, or at least as many as we can possibly manage. We’ll have the details for you early next year.

And until then, I’m looking forward to hunkering down against the cold, and getting some work done in the brief time when the din becomes a murmur.

Thanks again for your support this past year. See you next year.

[4rartsandcrafts]

How to Choose the Right Digital Payment Service Provider in the UAE

In today’s fast-evolving digital economy, selecting the right digital payment service provider in the UAE is crucial for businesses looking to enhance payment processing efficiency and improve customer satisfaction. With the rise of e-commerce and the growing demand for cashless transactions, businesses must choose a provider that offers secure, fast, and cost-effective solutions tailored to the local market.

To ensure smooth and reliable payment services, several key factors should be considered, such as transaction fees, integration capabilities, customer support, and compliance with regional regulations. Below is a guide to help you make an informed decision when selecting a digital payment service provider in the UAE:

1. Understand Your Business Needs

Transaction Volume: Evaluate the number and volume of transactions your business handles daily. Providers that cater to high-volume businesses may offer more competitive pricing structures, while smaller enterprises may benefit from providers tailored to lower transaction rates.

Payment Methods: Consider the variety of payment methods supported, such as mobile wallets, online banking, and contactless payments, to ensure your customers have access to their preferred options.

2. Assess Security and Compliance

Data Security: Ensure that the provider adheres to the latest security protocols, such as PCI-DSS compliance and encryption standards, to protect sensitive customer information.

Regulatory Compliance: The provider should comply with the UAE’s regulatory requirements, including central bank guidelines and data privacy laws, to avoid potential legal issues.

3. Evaluate Integration Capabilities

Ease of Integration: Look for a payment gateway that integrates smoothly with your existing platforms, whether it’s an e-commerce website, mobile app, or ERP system. Providers offering flexible APIs and pre-built plugins tend to be easier to implement.

Platform Compatibility: Ensure the payment solution works seamlessly across different platforms (web, mobile, and in-store) to provide a consistent and hassle-free payment experience for customers.

4. Check the Provider’s Reputation

Market Reputation: Conduct thorough research into the provider’s market reputation. Look for case studies, client testimonials, and reviews from businesses in the UAE to gain insights into their reliability, service quality, and responsiveness to issues.

Industry Experience:Opt for providers with experience working in your industry and a track record of success in the region.

5. Consider Customer Support and Scalability

Customer Assistance: Responsive and 24/7 customer support is vital, especially when dealing with technical issues or processing delays. Ensure the provider offers robust support, including live chat, email, and phone assistance.

Scalability: Choose a provider that can scale as your business grows. As your transaction volume increases, the provider should offer solutions that can accommodate larger operations without compromising efficiency.

6. Review Costs and Transaction Fees

Transparent Pricing: Understand the fee structure, including setup costs, transaction fees, and any additional charges for currency conversion or cross-border transactions. It’s important to find a provider that offers competitive rates without hidden fees.

Cost vs. Value: While cost is a significant factor, ensure that the provider delivers value through reliable service, security, and support, even if the fees are slightly higher.

Choosing the right digital payment service provider in the UAE is essential for aligning with your business objectives and optimizing your payment processes. By evaluating factors such as security, compliance, integration, support, and costs, you can select a provider that not only meets your current needs but also supports future growth.

Unity offers secure, scalable, and efficient payment solutions that empower businesses to accept digital and mobile payments with ease. As a leading digital payment service provider in the UAE, we are committed to driving innovation and supporting the region’s growing digital economy.