#Worth Illinois

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

your hands have always held their own

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1,063 | read on AO3

Heist!Mark finally asks his partner in crime out on that date.

It was early evening and you and your heist partner sat nearly shoulder to shoulder in your shared living room. The sun hung low, just barely brushing its rays against the clouds, tinging their edges amber and yellow.

Recently, there had been a lot more of these calm afternoons where you would sit together, discussing everything and nothing, perhaps watching TV or whatever videos took both your fancy; sometimes you simply watched the sky until you felt sleepy. Occasionally one of his hands might come up to play idly with your hair (a more affectionate gesture than either of you had ever previously initiated, but you didn't really mind, and neither of you mentioned it).

'This next heist…’ he started, ‘it's supposed to set us up, pretty much for life. And it got me thinking—'

'That's dangerous,' you interrupted.

'Yeah, maybe for you,' he quipped back, eyebrows raised mockingly, but there was no malice in his voice.

'Anyway,' he continued, voice softening. 'I was thinking about the future and stuff. Like, what do we do after this? And as nice as it would be to be able to relax and just enjoy the rest of our lives without worrying about the next spot to rob, I think I would kind of miss doing these jobs with you.'

That got your full attention. He wasn't quite meeting your eyes — instead, a loose strand on his clothes was apparently very interesting — but something about his words and the gentle sincerity with which he'd spoken them took you a little off-guard.

‘...I hadn't really thought much about it. About what happens after.’ And it was true, you hadn't; nothing past the first few wild, exciting dreams that sprung to mind when reading the amount of money the pair of you were being offered for this particular artefact. No real, solid plans.

‘I think I'd miss it too,’ you continued quietly. ‘But I mean, who's to say we can't do a couple more every once in a while, just for the fun of it, y'know? We don't even have to go after anything that valuable. More like just… for old times’ sake.’ You caught his gaze and he smiled, a little fond and a little hopeful, dark eyes twinkling.

‘Yeah, cool… So, uhm,’ he averted his gaze again and you couldn't help but find his uncharacteristic hesitance and bashfulness adorable, wondering what was on his mind that was making him act this awkward.

‘So I was wondering, once this heist is over, if you'd maybe wanna go out sometime?’

‘Sure, is that it?’ you question, oblivious. (Or maybe not wanting to get ahead of yourself. Surely there's no way he meant it like that.)

Your crime partner’s head perked up, eyes wide and looking directly into yours, as if searching for something.

‘Really?’

‘Umm, yeah?’ you say, incredulous. ‘What's got you so nervous? And… surprised? We go out together all the time.’

‘No, buddy, you don't get it…’ he said, sat looking a little like a kicked puppy. The look of disappointment that crossed his face broke your heart and instantly made you regret your words.

His hands returned to fidgeting and oh, you wanted to take those hands in yours and ease the nerves from his palms, thread his fingers through your own, press your lips to his knuckles.

Mark sighed. One of his hands came to rest on his knee while the other carded through his hair. You found yourself wanting to do the same.

‘Listen…’ he began again, eyes downcast while his hand came to rest in his lap. ‘We've been friends for what feels like ages now, working together for even longer. I know we butt heads at times, I can be an idiot and you can get on my nerves but-’ Finally his eyes met yours, and the affection in them made your breath catch in your throat.

The sun was setting by now, casting a gorgeous orange glow through the room and over his features. It made his eyes appear almost golden, and it suddenly occurred to you that no shiny trinket you could steal could ever possibly be worth more than the look those eyes were giving you in this moment. You internally cringed at the thought, but you couldn't deny it was true.

‘You're really important to me,’ he said earnestly. ‘I don't always agree with you but I always trust your judgement. I probably trust you more than anyone else, to be honest. You're my best friend, and maybe I'm wrong, but I think there could be something else here? And I wanna try being more? If that's okay with you.’

‘You mean-’

‘Yeah.’ He took your hand, said your name, foregoing any of his nicknames for you. ‘I love you — I always have, as a friend, but I think I have feelings for you. So, if you reciprocate even a little, let me take you out. On a real date. And if things don't work out,’ (you didn't miss the small flicker of something sad as he added that part) ‘well, we can still work together. And we'll still be friends, right?’ he asked hopefully.

You could feel your heart thrumming wildly, from his words, the intensity of his gaze and the warmth radiating from his hand to yours.

You took his other hand, the one still atop his knee, and replied softly: ‘I'd really love that, actually. To go on a date with you, I mean.’

The smile he gave you was genuine, unlike the typical cocky. It was wide and crinkled the skin beneath his eyes. You briefly wondered whether he could feel your racing pulse through your intertwined hands.

‘Then it's agreed. After the heist.’

‘After the heist,’ you promised.

Inevitably, you would run into problems and possibly danger in your next heist, as you usually did, but you trusted Mark, and you knew you could count on him when push came to shove. You knew that you would follow him anywhere, and the two of you had a better chance of conquering any obstacles you faced if you were together, as you always had.

The sun dipped beneath the clouds, the room was warm, and things felt comfortably the same and yet like this was a turning point for the pair of you.

You were sure this heist would be one to remember.

[grandwretch]

bro i was looking up serial killers in the 80s for a throwaway line from robin about profiling and stuff and there was apparently a serial killer active from 1982 to 1984 that was fROM the same area of indiana stranger things is set in. wtf. like yeah that'll work for a fic set in 1985 i guess. jesus christ.

[engagemythrusters]

re: wanting to go back to grad school. It will be hard but that doesn't make it impossible. You may also be surprised how many of your cohort and even professors may have similar struggles. I'm also in humanities and looking to go back to grad school and I'm actually in a group chat with some other neurodivergent professionals in my field where we swap tips, memes, and venting support! Fight against the self-doubt in your brain and take advantage of the resources available to you through your university. Be honest with your professors about your needs! A lot of them will be incredibly understanding--especially at that level in that field I've found. Also be sure to look into programs and schools that work for you and have the environment you need to succeed. And if the course load does end up being too much or the degree part of the deal isn't worth the costs, you could also look into auditing options with the university. Follow your passions! You can do this!

Thank you sm <3 that was really helpful

Okay. Deep breath. Worse case scenario I leave with only my masters right? And that’s not an “only” situatuon! That’s a good job done! So. Yeah.

Thank you <3

[spookyfoxdreamer]

[big-tees-and-short-skirts]

i want all lawn mowers to die and explode forever (silently)

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔇🔇🔇🔇🔇🔇📛🔇🔇🔇📛📛🔇

[dalkyum]

did I even make a gifset if I don’t sit here second guessing my work and my coloring for multiple hours before posting it

[is-this-even-relatable]

Danny runs an Infinite Realms shop. Curiosities from every dimension, any culturally significant item lost to time, and some cheap china. He’s got it all~

____________________

NEW FIC IDEA JUST DROPPED

Ok so i’ve been steeped in the dpxdc for many a year now. I've seen a bit of everything. I want to combine some of those ideas with a bit of my own headcanon and see what takes shape.

____________________

Danny, half dead and half alive, one of the rarest species in existence, grown up yet still so young considering his immortality, powerful sovereign of an infinite dimension of beings from every possible world and universe, decides to settle somewhere and take it slow. After all, he's got eternity to do so.

So he finds a dimension he thought could only exist in comic books, and thought to himself, Now this, this is a nice place to settle. He loves how many heroes there are in this world, heck there are even aliens! Yet there are many heroes for a reason. With so many dark forces in the universe, it had to produce many bright beacons of hope to balance the encroaching evil. That is another reason why he chose this particular dimension, and this particular city. There was just so much negative energy, too much, in fact, that the heroes in this city, Gotham, could not keep up. He hoped that over the next century or however long he remained in this dimension, that his presence would provide a much-needed balm to the area, and that the sickly dark fingers of cosmic corruption would lessen. If not, well, he could always take a more direct approach. After all, he had the power of infinite universes backing him, one measly dimension’s worth of corruption against him would be like a minnow trying to catch a shark.

With a little bit of time travel shenanigans (thanks, Clockwork!), Danny soon has a perfectly legal identity as one Daniel James Fenton-Phantom, 30 years old (he figures he can pass as such, even though he stopped aging around 25), from a random town in bumfuck Illinois (sue him, it’s familiar). And after a bit of researching, Danny chooses a small street in the rougher side of the city. Not too big to be deemed as suspicious for buying practically the whole block, and out of the way enough to not attract too much attention. He spends a couple weeks getting used to the energy in this new dimension and setting up his haunt. He cleaned up what he was now referring to as “his street” in his head, and got rid of the debris, trash and general wear from the buildings. He hired some locals to renovate one, an old apartment that he was planning on renting out and staying in. He also chose a smaller building, somewhat tucked away in the corner, to use as his own personal store. The rest he leased out for cheap to small and struggling local businesses. He figured it’s the least he could do after already occupying so much space.

Several days later, and voila, his home was set.

[notbecauseofvictories]

Last post, I promise, but I do think it’s good and important to see local art (defining that term as broadly as possible) but in my experience you have to put up with the little kick of embarrassment you feel witnessing something too earnest, a little clumsy, not polished within an inch of its life or in step with prevailing trends.

I’m thinking of the dance performances I saw this weekend, but also last week’s street festival, where I watched short films and walked through local art exhibits; I’m thinking about Chicago’s outsider art museum, and even the elaborately decorated (ostensibly tacky) yards I see in rural Illinois, but South Carolina and Tennessee before that, and Michigan before that. Maybe I should cast an even broader net: my aunt’s cross stitch, my grand-aunt’s horrible poetry; the art they display at the nearby retirement community and the halfway house too, which comes from the residents.

If you’re not used to leaving space for that little kick, you might turn away or scoff at all this small, fumbling art. But I think there’s value in forcing yourself to look beyond that initial stab of secondhand embarrassment---to actually appreciate the art in front of you as an expression of something deeply human. You don’t have to think it’s objectively good, or even subjectively good. You don’t have to pretend that a local woman with a talent for oils is the next [INSERT FAMOUS ARTIST HERE]. But I do think you have to appreciate it, because otherwise there is no entrance into making art yourself.

And that, more than anything, is worth preserving.

[thegroovyarchives]

70's/80's/90's 4th of July Station IDs/Bumpers 1. WFAA-TV, Dallas–Fort Worth, Texas, 1986 2. WMTW-TV, Poland Spring, Maine, 70's 3. WNBC-TV, New York City, New York, 1993 4. WPXI-TV, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1983 5. WABC-TV, New York City, New York, 1986 6. KABC-TV, Los Angeles, California, 1986 7. KDKA-TV, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1987 8. WUSA-TV, Washington DC, 80's 9. KTLA-TV, Los Angeles, California, 70's 10. WGN-TV, Chicago, Illinois, 1981

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

An astonishingly simple and comprehensive guide to avoiding airborne illness while traveling. Many of these tips work for trips to the pharmacy or grocery store too. Stay safe out there!

By Korin Miller

Whether you’re traveling domestically or heading abroad, feeling your best at your destination means you’ll get the most out of your trip. Unfortunately, COVID-19 is still out there, and cases are expected to climb again as we head into the winter months. By now you’re likely aware of basic COVID prevention strategies, but air travel presents unique challenges that can be tricky to navigate.

Luckily, you can take steps to lower the odds of picking up the illness on your next flight. To help you do just that, we asked doctors and health policy researchers how they lower their COVID risk while flying. Here’s what they recommend.

Wear a mask—before you’re even on the plane Many of us know this already, but it’s worth recalling: Research has found that wearing a well-fitting, high-quality mask like an N95 or KN95 lowers your chances of picking up COVID-19 by 83%, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. But when you wear a mask during your travels matters, says William Schaffner, MD, an infectious disease specialist and professor at the Vanderbilt University School of Medicine.

“You really want to use your mask consistently around others, whether you’re in the airport or on that plane,” he says. Thomas A. Russo, MD, professor and chief of the Division of Infectious Diseases at the University at Buffalo’s medical school, agrees. “Think about the whole process when you fly—going through the airport, checking in, boarding the plane, and being on the plane—you’re going to interact with people from all parts of the world… There’s a risk you might get COVID,” he says.

You can help protect yourself by always keeping your mask on—and wearing a relatively new one. Compared to a mask that’s gotten a lot of use, a fresh one will fit more snugly around the nose, cheeks, and chin and, in turn, catch particles more effectively.

Put the air vent to good use If you prefer not to wear a mask, you should take steps to protect yourself in other ways. For example, after you get to your seat, adjust the vent so the air blows over your face, suggests Sheldon H. Jacobson, PhD, a University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign professor and researcher whose work includes using data-driven risk assessments to inform public health policy.

Dr. Jacobson says most airplanes use high-efficiency particulate air (HEPA) filters that catch microbes. Plus, cabin air is refreshed every few minutes, and a good portion comes from outside the aircraft. As a result, what blows out of the vents is pretty fresh. This strategy also keeps the air around you moving faster, meaning there’s less time for you to inhale any possible germs in the cabin, according to Dr. Jacobson. Still, if the person sitting next to you is coughing and sneezing, it’s best to wear a mask if you have one, he says. The filtration system can only do so much in that instance—and it’s not always on before takeoff and after landing.

Be mindful about how you eat and drink If you can, Dr. Russo suggests eating before you get to the airport to lessen the number of times you’ll need to remove your mask when you’re around other people. If you need to dine at the airport, Dr. Schaffner recommends looking for seating away from crowded areas.

When masks were still required for air travel, the suggested strategy for eating and drinking on board was to wait until your fellow fliers finished their snacks and refreshments. But now, Dr. Russo points out, the people around you may not mask up at all. Instead, he suggests dropping your mask, taking a sip or bite, and immediately pulling it back up. This lowers the odds you’ll breathe in viral particles that may be floating around, he explains.

Plan your vaccine around your trip Dr. Schaffner and Dr. Russo recommend getting the updated COVID-19 vaccine about two weeks before your trip. “It’s a good strategy,” Dr. Russo says. It usually takes 14 days or so for your body to build up immunity to COVID after getting vaccinated, according to the World Health Organization. This means your body should be ready to fight the virus by the time you fly, Dr. Russo says. Immunity also fades over time, making the timing of your shot important, he says.

Wash your hands…a lot Experts say you’re more likely to get COVID-19 from breathing in infectious droplets and particles than from touching things. But there’s still a chance you could get sick if you happen to touch a contaminated surface and then your eyes, nose, or mouth.

“What we’ve learned is that transmission from this virus from inanimate objects is very low, but it’s not zero,” Dr. Russo says. That’s why he recommends good hand hygiene while flying. You should wash your hands with soap and water, making sure to scrub for at least 20 seconds, and do so often: before and after security, whenever you use the bathroom, and before eating or touching your face. Hand sanitizer is also a good option in a pinch, Dr. Russo says. But he stresses that keeping your hands clean shouldn’t replace masking up. “It’s much, much less helpful than wearing a mask,” he says.

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 29

WC 2500, Masterpost

A Press of the Button:

An Exclusive Interview with Jason Wayne and Danny Nightingale Following the Infamous New Years Eve Choice

By Clark Kent

“I’m going to throw up.”

I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to overhear that; it’s not exactly an auspicious start to an interview. Here inside of Wayne Manor’s stately halls the noise of the crowd of press outside of the gate has fallen away and the words from the other side of the door are clear. The voice isn’t one that I recognize, so I place it as the young man at the center of the event: Daniel Nightingale.

“Danny, please, I’ve never liked Daniel,” he’ll introduce himself to me once I’m inside the sitting room. Jason Todd is at his boyfriend’s side, looming like an avenging angel. Or, since we’re in Gotham, a very large bat.

When I was assigned the interview, I hadn’t been sure where it would be held. As readers may know, Jason Todd hasn’t lived at the Manor since his miraculous return from the dead. There were, as he said, too many memories in the Manor for him to return. At the time he had still been struggling to overcome the unfortunate amnesia that he had suffered during his brutal abduction as a teenager.

Whatever trauma is still lingering, it’s clear that both young men are taking comfort being in the manor. The proverbial wagons have been circled inside of the family home. Even cleaned up the sitting room shows signs of a rotation cast of family keeping the pair company: a plethora of blankets, stacked board games, feel-good food, and, of all things, a plush trilobite.

As we take our seats, Danny leans unconsciously into Jason’s space like a flower to the sun. His nerves are clear in the way that his fingers fidget restlessly with the edge of his sleeves. The red sweater is far too large for him and hangs off of one thin shoulder. I have to guess that it’s Jason’s sweater and worn today for comfort. I doubt anyone could blame Danny seeking comfort wherever he can find it.

Less than a week ago Danny was abducted from the Wayne’s New Years Eve party by a Gotham villain known as Two Face. The villain came into being after Harvey Dent, a district attorney in Gotham, was traumatically exposed to a toxic chemical. (More about Two Face can be read in the article ‘A Flip of a Coin’.) Danny had been taken off site while a handful of party goers were strapped to an explosive device.

Presented with the horrifying choice between his boyfriend or his father and youngest brother, Jason had pressed the red button connected to Danny’s trap.

Danny Nightingale had been electrocuted to death.

And survived.

It’s the perfect sort of awful story to capture the attention of the public and press alike, and it’s the reason that I’m at Wayne Manor now.

Hoping to make Danny feel more settled, I start off with some pleasantries before going in with a soft question. How is he doing with all the attention that the event has been getting? It must be overwhelming.

Danny glances towards the front of the house where outside lies the front yard, the protective gate, and the press. “It is. I feel like I’m still getting used to living in a city as big as Gotham, so all of this suddenly… yeah, it’s a lot.”

Danny grew up in a much smaller city in central Illinois called Amity Park. He moved to Gotham in the late summer of last year to continue his education at Gotham University. It’s a change that he describes as good, even as overwhelming as it is.

“Gotham has been surprisingly easy to fall in love with. I can see why Gothamites are so protective of the city,” Danny explains with the first hint of a smile on his face that I’ve seen since I came through the doors.

When I ask him if he hopes to stay in Gotham long term, Danny glances at Jason and blushes faintly. “I’d like to, if I can find work. There’s a lot here worth staying for and the city is just part of that.”

The words cause the first blush I’ve seen on Jason’s cheeks since he was new to the Wayne family and a little overwhelmed himself. Clearly Jason is one of the things worth staying for.

We talk a little about how Danny likes the Wayne family. He admits that he’s still getting to know them. He’d only been introduced to most of the family at the end of last year, right before finals. Already, though, there are stories to be told about board games and good food. Beyond the Waynes, Danny has someone else very important in Gotham.

“Your sister is in town, isn’t she?” I ask. “I imagine having her here during this has been nice.”

“It is. I was actually supposed to go and see her after New Years, but obviously…” Danny clears his throat and Jason takes one of Danny’s hands in his. Danny instantly relaxes into Jason’s side. “But yeah, having her here is really nice.”

“I take it you two are close then?”

“She was my anchor growing up,” Danny says with a little smile that’s tinged with sadness. “I wish she hadn’t had to be. Now that I’m older I know how unfair that was to her, but I’m so lucky that she did. She could so easily resent me for it, but she doesn’t at all. It makes it really easy to love her.”

“Not that it’s hard,” Jason adds with a chuckle. “I think her and Dick have already made an oldest sibling club and Damian thinks both Nightingales hung the moon, I swear.”

“Speaking of Nightingale, that isn’t your original last name, is it?”

It’s been an item of note in the recent write ups on Danny that both of the siblings had changed their last name to Nightingale from their birth name of Fenton. Their parents, doctors both, still go by Fenton. In Gotham, at least, the Doctor Fentons would be described as mad scientists. The so-called ‘ectobiologists’ have made their life a study of ghosts. In Amity Park, ‘the most haunted town in America’, they’re just part of the atmosphere.

Danny sighs and glances away. “No. Jazz and I both changed our last names when we turned eighteen. Jazz had wanted me to change it and go with her when she turned eighteen, but she had this great scholarship for college and she’d taken care of me enough. I couldn’t put that on her too, so I refused to until I was eighteen.”

“So you didn’t actually emancipate yourself?”

“Nope. One day late for that. But I moved out the same day I changed my name.”

“How did your parents take that?”

A wry smile twists Danny’s lips. “They didn’t notice until months later when the lab had gotten too dirty.”

“The lab?”

“It was one of my chores to clean it; another thing that I get was messed up now that I’m older and away from there. We, um, think that it was my exposure to all those chemicals that made me a meta.”

By all accounts, Danny’s meta status is how he survived the electrocution. It’s a label that he looks slightly uncomfortable with.

“It’s not that I mind being a meta,” he’s quick to assure me. “It’s just that… what actually made me one was an accident in the lab. I was electrocuted.” He raises his left arm up. The overly large red sleeve pools down to reveal a branching network of faint silver scars tracing his skin. “It’s hard right now to think back to it, after what happened. I really didn’t know if I would survive… either time. I’m lucky that all I have are scars.”

“But you thought that you might survive.”

“I did,” Danny says with a little shrug. He seems almost at ease with that question, unlike Jason.

Jason has to take a moment to press a kiss to Danny’s temple.

“After the first time I was electrocuted,” Danny explains, “I became a little more resistant to electricity— little shocks and things. It’s not like I ever tested it out with anything big. I guess it was just a feeling I had.”

When I ask Danny if he’s alright to talk about the night of the party he looks stressed by the idea but still gives a little nod. As he points out, it is why I’m there.

“I was getting some fresh air,” Danny explains. He’s picking at the sweater again. “The night was really lovely, but it’s just not the sort of thing I’m used to, you know? So I just wanted a moment to gather myself. I guess… I guess they were already watching me, because they knocked me out before I even really knew they were there.

“I woke up strapped to a metal chair. They’d taken my shoes and socks off. I couldn't understand why, but then,” Danny has to pause here and take a moment. Jason pulls him closer. “Then I noticed that my feet were in water and there was a wire in the water too. The wire wasn’t live but it’s… I mean it wasn’t hard to put it all together.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“Yeah.” Danny looks over at the windows and the gray winter day beyond them. “I didn’t know who had taken me or why. I could hear some people close, talking about waiting for a signal, but it wasn’t much. When my eyes adjusted I could see a camera on a tripod and a laptop. I didn’t know what was going on, not until it turned on.

“Two Face was on it. I guess you know I’m not a native Gothamite that it took me a moment to recognize him,” Danny said with a weak laugh. “He explained what he was doing.”

I ask Danny what his first thought was when hearing the plan.

“Worry for Jason. Which I know sounds insane, but I guess… I guess I had already accepted the circumstance I was in. I just didn’t want Jason to have to go through that choice.”

“And then Jason was on the screen.”

“Yeah.”

“Jason, what were you feeling at seeing Danny on the television?”

“What do you think?” Jason asks, frustration lacing through his voice. “I was pissed off. I was scared. I was… I hated myself.”

“Why?”

“Because Danny was only in that situation because he was dating a Wayne. Because he was dating me. And there he was, a few seconds from death, bleeding, and… and telling me that he loved me.”

While Danny sounds almost detached talking about it, possibly a coping mechanism, Jason sounds like every wound is still fresh. It paints a terrifying picture of what it’s like to be the one to die versus the one who presses the button.

I turn back to Danny. “You said something to Jason in the video after that. There's been a great deal of debate about your words. Do you feel alright discussing them.”

Danny nods. I read out the quote: You know what you have to do, don’t you?

“Danny, what did you mean?”

“That Jason had to press my button,” Danny says with surprising ease. It’s clear that the order was one that he still stands by.

I ask about that certainty.

Danny gives a little shrug. He tucks himself back further under Jason’s arm, but I'm certain that the move is more for Jason’s comfort. “It was me or a group of other people. That would have been enough. I would never put myself first like that, but then you add in Damian and Bruce being part of that group? I couldn’t ask Jason to choose me over his family and Jason knows I wouldn’t.”

What about the chance of survival?

“Jason and I had talked about my accident before. Death… it’s something we both get, you know? So we both knew that there could be a chance of me surviving, but there was never any guarantee.”

“Are you going on record that you told Jason to press the button, knowing it could kill you?”

“Absolutely.”

And how did that insistence make Jason feel? Right then it seems all Jason can do is curl up around Danny, as if he can shield him from the past.

“Fucking horrible. Danny just looked at the whole situation and made the choice for me. I don’t know, maybe I should think that was freeing, but I still had to press the button.”

I point out that he could have made the other choice and he just shakes his head. “And make Danny live with that? He had made his choice. He didn’t want to trade his life for theirs. I hated it, but what sort of person would I have been if I didn’t let Danny take control of his own life? I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with either choice, so at least… at least I could listen to Danny.”

So Jason had pressed the button, Danny had been electrocuted (he refused to speak on the experience), and Jason had attacked Two Face. The man had ended up with a broken jaw and fractures in the orbital rim. It was while Jason had been sobbing in his father’s arms that they had gotten the word from one of Gotham’s local heroes: Danny was still alive.

“What did I feel? Hope,” Jason said with an almost despairing laugh. “I don’t… hope and I don't do well these days, but I felt hope. I don’t know if I believed it until I was actually holding his hands.”

“I was a little out of it when they got there,” Danny admits, which seems more than fair considering everyone else would have been dead. “But I’m so grateful to Nightwing and the paramedics taking care of me and letting me see Jason before the hospital. I really… I really needed him right then.”

And now?

“I’d like to say that I’m alright, but,” Danny shrugs, “it’s a lot to go through. But I know I’ll be alright. Jason and his family are amazing and I have Jazz here. I’ll keep healing, physically and mentally, and so will Jason. I know the internet has a lot to say about it all, but I think they need to understand that this turned out the best way that it could have.”

Jason kisses Danny’s temple again with a slight smile. He seems to be in agreement with everything his boyfriend said.

“I suppose I have just one more question,” I say after a moment of looking over my notes. “Why do you call Danny ‘fish’?”

I don’t get an answer, but maybe hearing those two able to laugh so soon after such a traumatic event is better than a story.

---

AN: *flops dramatically* darlings, this chapter is finally done! Thank you to @chromatographic and @mokulule for cheer/beta reading for me. This one was really hard to write since it's out of the normal style wise for me, but it felt like the best way to tell the story right there.

I hope you enjoy it!

I no longer tag, you can subscribe at the masterpost!

[spookyfoxdreamer]

[cupidbedsy]

𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 ; 𝘤𝘣98 ୨୧

➪ summary: connor's favorite thing about having his girlfriend in chicago is the nights he gets to come home to her

➪ warnings: none

➪ word count: 1.1k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: i completely forgot i wrote this. just a little fic (it's basically a blurb but i wrote like 50 words over a thousand so by my definition it's not) anyway, i hope you guys a short connor little thing today!

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

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Dating the first overall pick was an experience, to say the least. Y/n and Connor had been dating since they were sixteen and she was by his side every step of the way through his hockey career. 

When they knew where Connor was going to be drafted, the two of them got this sinking feeling in their stomachs. They didn’t want to do long distance, it would be too hard on both of them. However, there was something that y/n never told Connor. 

She applied to the University of Illinois-Chicago on a whim. She didn’t think she would get in, so she didn’t see the point in telling her boyfriend about it. Yet, when she got her acceptance letter, she was troubled. She had never seen the campus, knew nothing about Chicago in general, she didn’t know what classes she would have to take. 

But, when she thought about the other schools she had looked at, none of them even compared to being just down the street from where Connor would be every day that he wasn’t on a road trip. None of them were worth being so far away from her boyfriend. 

A week after she got her letter she sat Connor down to talk. Connor didn’t like the way y/n sounded when she said, ‘I need to talk to you’. 

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

“Con, I need to talk to you.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed and sat down on y/n’s couch holding her hand as y/n looked around anxiously.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“What, no, of course not. There’s just something I have been keeping from you.”

“I don’t know if I should be relieved or more nervous now.”

Y/n laughed nervously, “No, uh. You know how we were talking about how we didn’t want to do long distance?”

“Yeah?”

“We might not have to.” Y/n handed the envelope to her boyfriend and watched his reaction nervously. 

Connor had a confused look on his face as he looked at his girlfriend and then at the envelope. He opened and his face was met with the UIC causing him even more confusion. 

“You applied to Chicago?” Y/n just nodded her head and urged him to keep reading. 

He only had to scan a few lines before he was standing up and looking at the girl, “You got in?”

“Mhm.” Before he celebrated he contemplated the situation. He didn’t want her to move to Chicago just because he was going to be there. He loved her and he wanted her to be there, but he didn’t want her to give up her life for him. 

“But what about-”

“‘But what about’ nothing, Connor. I love you and I want to be with you. And if that means going to Chicago with you, I will. Chicago has something no other school doesn’t.”

“What?”

“You, you big dope.”

ू ₒ ु ୨୧ ू ₒ ु

Connor was forever grateful that she kept that secret from him. If he knew that she applied to UIC and didn’t get in, he would be devastated. However, there were ups and downs to being there in Chicago. Connor rarely saw y/n despite her being just down the street from the UC. 

Any time he had an off day, she would have class and anytime she didn’t have class, he would have practice or a game. It was the luck of the draw when they got to be with each other. At points in time, they both thought it would’ve been better if they just stayed in their respective cities. 

Overall, those cons were outweighed by the pros. When Connor had a rough day he could literally walk to her apartment to the UC, though he never did. And when y/n had her rough days, she would call Connor and they could be at each other's places within minutes. Though most days when they had a night game, or any game really, Connor ended up staying at her apartment. 

That was what happened tonight. Y/n was watching the game from her apartment, she had lucked out with only getting one roommate and she had gone home for the break. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving and y/n didn’t particularly want to go home, spending time with Connor was enough for her. 

They had played the Leafs and Kevin scored the overtime goal with an assist from Connor. She had cheered so loudly that she was glad that almost everyone had gone home for the break. She watched post-game live including the interviews and everything that went along with it. When it was done, she turned on the Vancouver game as background noise while she added some food for her and Connor along with some cookies for later. 

She truly had no way of knowing when and if Connor was coming back tonight, but she knew him. She sort of blacked out from the end of the game to when Connor came in through the door, causing her to jump when she heard the sound of his bag against the floor. 

“Hey, Con.”

“Hi.” He took off his suit jacket and his hat, his cheeks rosy from the of Chicago. 

“Thought you guys would be celebrating.” Y/n turned around from where she was stirring at the stove.

“They offered but cuddling with you was much more tempting.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and dropped his head onto her shoulder, “Whatcha making?”

“Soup and I went out and got a bunch of stuffing, because why not.”

“Thank you.” She turned her head and kissed his cheek, “Always.”

Connor went to shower and change as she finished making their food. The two sat and ate dinner while watching the game, talking about whatever came to mind. Connor was going to go shopping with her tomorrow even though Black Friday was today. They were going to buy Christmas decorations so they could decorate her room and part of the main area of the apartment. 

When they were done and the game was done, they climbed under the covers of her bed, Connor wrapping his arms around her as she laid her head on his chest. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“Your OT goal assist. Con that was amazing.”

Connor shrugged and tightened his hold.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And that’s how almost every game night is spent for Connor and y/n. Those nights were their favorite.

𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗚𝗢 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗛𝗔𝗪𝗞𝗦 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @petite-potato4 @absolutelyhugh3s @dyslecticdutchman

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

[truth-has-a-liberal-bias]

Imagine an election night scenario in which a presidential candidate wins only 12 states but wins the election because those states delivered the requisite 270 Electoral College votes.

Just do the math:

California (54)

Texas (40)

Florida (30)

New York (28)

Pennsylvania (19)

Illinois (19)

Ohio (17)

Georgia (16)

Michigan (15)

North Carolina (16)

New Jersey (14)

Virginia (13)

That’s 281 electoral votes, enough to secure the presidency at the expense of the remaining 38 states. Worth noting: 38 is the minimum number of states required to ratify an amendment to the U.S. Constitution. But you need only those 12 to win the presidency.

Unlikely? Of course. But someday? Why not?

The scenario underscores one criticism of the Electoral College: It allows candidates to focus on a few key states rather than campaigning across the entire country. We do that now. They’re called swing states. [...]

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Kamala Harris herself has now borrowed Walz’s lingo and is also calling her opponents “weird”, while Walz is all over our television screens, bolstering the vice-president’s candidacy and playing “attack dog” against the Trump/Vance Republican ticket. I’ll be honest: last month, I would have struggled to pick Walz out of a lineup. This month? I’m Walz-pilled. I have watched dozens of his interviews and clips. And I’m far from alone. He has an army of new fans across the liberal-left: from former Bernie Sanders 2020 campaign co-chair Nina Turner, to one-time Democratic congressman Beto O’Rourke, to gun-control activist David Hogg. “In less than 6 days, I went from not knowing who Tim Walz is,” joked writer Travis Helwig on X, “to deep down believing that if he doesn’t get the VP nod I will storm the capitol.” According to Bloomberg, the Harris campaign has narrowed down its “top tier” of potential running mates to three “white guy” candidates: Walz (hurrah!), plus the Arizona senator Mark Kelly and Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro. Both Kelly and Shapiro have their strengths – and both represent must-win states for the Dems. Allow me, however, to make the clear case for Walz. First, there’s his personality. The 60-year-old governor would bring energy, humor and some much-needed bite to the Democratic presidential ticket. There’s a reason why his videos have been going viral in recent days. Tim Kaine he ain’t. Pick the charismatic and eloquent Walz and you have America’s Fun Uncle ready to go. Then, there’s his résumé. A popular midwest governor from a rural town. A 24-year veteran of the army national guard. A high school teacher who coached the football team to its first state championship. It’s almost too perfect! Finally, there’s his governing record. You will struggle to find a Democratic governor who has achieved more than Walz in the space of a single legislative session. Not Shapiro. Not JB Pritzker of Illinois. Not even Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan. [...] Think about it. Democrats can have Tim Walz on the ticket, who called the anti-war, pro-Palestinian ‘uncommitted’ movement “civically engaged” and praised them for “asking for a change in course” and “for more pressure to be put on” the White House, or they can have Josh Shapiro, who called for a crackdown on anti-war, pro-Palestinian college protesters and even compared them to the KKK. They can have Walz on the ticket, who has reportedly “emerged among labor unions as a popular pick” after signing “into law a series of measures viewed as pro-worker” including banning non-compete agreements and expanding protections for Amazon warehouse workers, or they can have Mark Kelly, who opposed the pro-labor Pro Act in the Senate (but has since touted support for it). They can have Walz, who guaranteed students in Minnesota not just free breakfasts but free lunches, or Shapiro, who has courted controversy in Pennsylvania with his support for school vouchers. They can have Walz, who calls his Republican opponents “weird” and extreme, or Kelly, who calls his Republican opponents “good people” who are “working really hard”. This isn’t rocket science. Walz is the obvious choice. Not only is he the ideal “white guy” running mate for Harris, against both Trump and Vance, but he is already doing the job on television and online, lambasting Vance in particular over IVF treatment and insisting he mind his “own damn business”.

Zeteo News founder Mehdi Hasan for The Guardian on why picking Tim Walz as Kamala Harris's running mate is the best option (07.29.2024).

Zeteo News founder Mehdi Hasan wrote in The Guardian why Tim Walz should be Kamala Harris’s running mate. Hasan’s opinion piece is worth reading.

[mamasturn]

how many drinks? benny cross

pairing: benny cross x black fem oc (sennett aliah) summary: she's new in town and the infamous biker benny cross invites her for drinks. warning: suggestive themes. light language. tags: @faephoria @thetaoofzoe @turn-thy-paige @contrarybeliefs @qveendiorsworld @blukit04 @neewrites

She was in a new era of life. Single, childless, and without any burden on her shoulders. On her way through a town with whom she knew not a soul. It was quite bold of her, she had to admit. To trudge into a small town in the heart of Illinois with a smaller Black population than the spectacles on the bottom of her shoe, from a city in Georgia where everywhere she turned, someone looked like her. 

She was far from nervous or afraid. The most they could do was call her out her name, but who was she to get bent out of shape over misplaced anger and lack of intelligence? No one. 

So, she packed her car with her belongings, drove to Illinois, sweet talked her way into a small house for less than it was worth, and began to make herself at home. Home. As best as she could, she figured. 

She kept in contact with her mother and cousin, who both cursed her for going to Illinois, but praised her courage and determination. She’d done what they never would have dreamed of. 

After a long day of packing and sweating like a dog, she took a cold shower, shoved her legs into a pair of old Levi’s jeans, threw a distressed cropped shirt on, slipped on her boots, and hopped into her 1952 convertible. 

Her dark hair blew in the wind as she cruised down the street, no care for the speed limit sign. She glanced at the speedometer. 67 in a 25 wasn’t bad, right? Her fingertips drummed along the body of the car as she hummed along to the song playing through the static radio.

If you’re looking for trouble…you’ve come to the right place. 

She’d heard of a bar in town from a group of men at the gas station. Owned and oftentimes filled by outlaw bikers from Chicago. Dangerous guys, the men insisted. To stay clear of at all times. While she wasn’t easily scared, she wouldn’t do what her heart desired to do. She’d be on her best behavior; just get a drink or two, flirt with a man with a scruffy beard, and go back home to look for jobs in the paper. A solid plan, she thought. 

It seemed like the world grew silent when the door of her convertible slammed shut. All eyes were on her. By their facial expressions, she knew what they were thinking. Who the hell is she? An unfamiliar woman with an unfamiliar face. It didn’t phase her. She simply gave a raspy, “Hello,” and tried to brush past the lunkheads at the door who refused to make it easy for her to enter. 

“What’re you doing?” One of them asked roughly. Her eyes dropped and her lips straightened. The tough-guy act wasn’t threatening; it didn’t put the fear of God in her heart. Hell, she could have laughed at how their chests blew up like a balloon and their arms crossed over them. 

“I want a drink. Heard this was the place to be,” she said simply with a shrug. She stood on her toes for a moment to eye the scenery behind them. Men and women in the corners, bikers’ wives gossipping over cigarettes and cold beer, the sound of balls colliding against each other on the pool table. “So, can I come in?” 

The lunkheads glanced at once another. They were prepared to say no. She could see it by the way their tongues lifted against the roof of their mouths and their lips rounded. She rolled her eyes in frustration. What the hell did a girl have to do to get a drink around here? 

“You know what, forget it.” She threw her hands up in surrender and prepared to walk away. She spent hours driving and even more time unpacking, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a lunkhead rejecting her from the bar, especially when she had money she was willing to spend on a drink. 

Then suddenly, she heard a voice say. “She’s with me. Let her in.” Her head bounced like a spring. The owner of the voice stood behind the lunkheads. He nodded toward the entrance and she knew better than to think too long, so she smiled slyly at the men outside and brushed past them. “Thank you, boys.” 

This was the place to be, she noted. The smell of smoke and strong liquor burned her nose and she loved it. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. Finally. She was brought out of her fantasy world when he asked, “Do you want a drink?” His voice was hardly above a whisper, but his blue eyes on hers forced her attention to be directed to him. She nodded. 

He led her to the bar which was crowded but they were swift to move out the way for Benny, she heard them call him, and some pretty thing from around the way. At that, she became the star of the evening. The men glanced at her like they wanted to eat her or kill her, and the women tilted their heads in interest as to who she was. She chose not to respond. Nothing would keep her from getting the buzz she so rightfully deserved. 

“Pick your poison,” he said, pointing toward the wall of neatly organized liquor behind Johnny, who took on serving for the time being. 

“Whiskey neat,” she told Johnny, whose eyebrows raised. The corner of her lips turned upward. “Need something strong.” 

Johnny chuckled, “You got it, darlin’.” 

The man, Benny, wasn’t a man of many words, she noticed. He only spoke when he needed to. She presumed he was a man of action. He had to be if rather than asking her a million and one questions at the door, he simply told the guards to let her in. Rather than asking her what she wanted, he told her to pick for herself. A man of action, she noted. 

He was incredibly handsome, too. She had never seen herself finding herself attracted to a man again after her split from her husband a year prior. But Benny, he was a sight for sore eyes. Dirty blonde hair styled messily, daunting blue eyes, and a scruffy beard. Lord, she was a goner for beards. 

She appreciated the dirt on his boots, rips in his jeans, and crinkled in his cut. A seasoned biker. She’d never been with a biker before. Was it worth what the women in here giggled and blushed over when their men walked in the room and gave them a wink? She wondered how bad she’d be for wanting to find out. 

“You’ve got a wandering eye,” he said after some time. He didn’t look at her as he said it. His eyes were trained on the liquid he swirled in his short glass. She should’ve been embarrassed for getting caught but she was far from it. “You stare at strangers often?” 

She smiled slyly. “Just the ones who get me a drink. Which, I appreciate, by the way. Haven’t been able to find a decent joint all day.” She thanked Johnny who’d handed her a drink and knocked it back in one go. That caught Benny’s attention. How she didn’t flinch when it went down her throat. How her full lips pursed just slightly, how a drop of whiskey escaped her lips and slid off her cheek down her neck until it settled at the valley of her breasts. He sighed deeply. 

“Look who’s starting now, Benny,” she teased. For the first time that night, Benny met her eyes. God, he was so beautiful. She’d grab him and lick the drop of whiskey right off his lips. He beat her to the punch. She was jealous of his lip; having the ability to be caressed by his tongue. 

“Never caught your name,” Benny said, not directly addressing her comment. He nodded at Johnny, who had filled both their glasses. “I’d assume it compliments that unique personality of yours.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, a smile spreading across her blood-red lips. “Sennett.” 

Benny nodded, intrigued. Sennett. She was something spicy. She moved without a care in the world. She was bold and free. He knew from the moment she strutted to the door after hopping out of her convertible that she was a force to be reckoned with. He wanted to reckon with it. 

“Sennett.” Her name tasted tangy on his tongue. Like a piece of sour candy that he knew would cause a tinge of discomfort before it got delicious. With his hands folded on the table, he asked, “How many drinks do you think you’re having tonight, Sennett?"

She shivered. “How ever many you’re willing to treat me to.” 

His eyebrow raised in interest, “Good.” 

-

She knew how to handle her liquor, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her in more ways than one. Liquid courage was a beautiful thing. It had her pressed against a wall in a dimly lit closet filled with dust and cobwebs but she didn’t mind it at all. 

Benny was mysterious. So mysterious and so under the radar that she didn’t expect his boldness and assertiveness to boil over the way it did. He had his hand wrapped around her throat as he claimed ownership over her lips with a dominance and intentionality that knocked the wind out of her chest. 

Her red nails combed through his dirty blonde hair and tugged at the roots. Her body was on fire, lit up like a flame. She could feel the sweat gather at her forehead and droplets slid down the valley of her breasts. The throbbing between her thighs pounded like a drum. She was desparate to soothe the ache and used his thigh to rid the tension building within her. 

Benny chuckled against her lips, snaking his hand between their bodies. His calloused fingers caressed her stomach, his thumb and forefinger tugging at her belly ring. She winced. Then, they dropped to the crevice between her thighs. Her jeans were thick but she could feel the warmth of his fingertips grazing her clit and she jolted. “Benny…”

His lips fell to her neck and she moaned loudly. He nipped and sucked until her chest and collarbone were bruised. Against her skin he whispered, “Not here…not now.” She released a guttural groan of frustration. Sennett could appreciate a man with logic, but goodness, all she wanted to do was have him take her right then and there. 

“Why not?”

Benny broke away from her. His arm stayed wrapped around her waist with his hand stroking her backside. His right thumb swiped along the sides of her mouth to wipe away the remnants of their oral tango. “Cause contrary to popular belief, I’m a man of class.” His words were stoic but she heard the playfulness in them. “And uh, a closet isn’t comfy for anybody.” 

Sennett’s hand didn’t fall from his hair and his didn’t fall from her waist. She hummed and nodded once. “Well, we’ll see how many drinks it takes you to take me in a closet next time, yeah?” 

His eyebrow raised. A force to be reckoned with for sure.