#answering service for medical office

[notifymd-medicalansweringservice]

Learn how to choose the perfect medical answering service for your healthcare practice with our comprehensive guide. Discover the importance of HIPAA compliance, specialty familiarity, and technology in selecting the right service. As you explore options, consider notifyMD's HIPAA-compliant answering services. With nearly a century of experience, we prioritize your practice's unique needs and provide seamless, secure communication. Contact us today to enhance your practice's communication and patient care!

[captainnomorephonetagblr]

Efficient Bilingual Answering Service

No More Phone Tag offers a consistent bilingual  answering service, guaranteeing your guests get proficient and exact help with both English and Spanish. Upgrade consumer loyalty and grow your scope easily. Visit: https://www.nomorephonetag.com/bilingual-answering-services/

[vox-off]

i work from home 2 days out of the week and i get like. fuck all done on those days. my cat is adorable and my neighbors are loud and we have so many windows and there are noises and some smells sometimes and i've been convinced that my quarterly review was going to be "you're slacking, stop that or you're fired"

well

had my review this morning

not only was absolutely nothing negative said about me at all, three different department heads are fighting. over who gets me on their team. my director wants me to become the full-time trainer, the technical analyst wants to create a analyst team with me as the founding member, and my current department head is metaphorically crouched over me like a dog with food aggression

is this

is this job satisfaction

imagine what could happen if i did my job 5 days a week instead of 3 😳

[carley-cramer95]

How to Ensure Your Medical Office Answering Service is HIPAA Compliant?

Medical office answering services should comply with the HIPAA regulations to secure and protect patients' data and documents. Medical office answering services used in medical or doctors’ offices, clinics, medical facilities, hospitals and other healthcare companies utilize these strict HIPAA Privacy and Security guidelines to protect their reputation and information to offer quality medical services.  

However, It is important to know your medical office answering service provider is providing you HIPAA compliant medical answering service. Consider the following factors if you have doubt or want to research whether your medical office answering service provider is HIPAA compliant or not. 

Ensure Your Medical Office Answering Service is HIPAA Compliant - 

Review and Understand HIPAA Regulations: Familiarize yourself with HIPAA regulations to understand the requirements for protecting patient information.

Choose a Service with a Strong Reputation: Look for a medical answering service that has a strong reputation for HIPAA compliance and can provide references and certifications.

Verify Data Security Measures: Ensure that the answering service has secure data storage, encryption, and authentication protocols in place.

Inquire about Employee Training and Management: Ask about the answering service's employee training and management policies to make sure they are HIPAA compliant.

Audit Logs and Record Retention: Ensure the answering service maintains detailed audit logs and retains records for a specified period of time, as required by HIPAA regulations.

Regularly Review and Update Policies: Regularly review and update HIPAA compliance policies and procedures to ensure ongoing compliance and protection of patient information.

Do Medical Office Answering Services Need to Be HIPAA Compliant?

Yes, medical office answering services handling patient information need to be HIPAA compliant. The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) sets standards for protecting the privacy and security of individuals' medical information. Failing to comply with HIPAA regulations can result in financial penalties and damage to a healthcare organization's reputation.

What Are The Benefits of Using a Medical Answering Service that is HIPAA Compliant?

Following are the benefits of Working with a Medical Answering Service that is HIPAA Compliant. 

Protects patient privacy and confidentiality: HIPAA compliance ensures that patient information is protected and kept confidential, reducing the risk of unauthorized access and breaches.

Compliance with Regulations: Using a HIPAA-compliant service helps medical practices and healthcare organizations stay in compliance with regulations, reducing the risk of fines and legal consequences. Compliance with HIPAA regulations helps avoid the financial and legal consequences of non-compliance.

Improved Efficiency: Increases efficiency and productivity by answering calls quickly. Answering services can handle routine calls and messages, freeing up time for medical staff to focus on patient care and other critical tasks. Reduces staff workload and eliminates after-hours call burden. Provides medical professionals with reliable and professional support.

Increased Patient Satisfaction: Improves patient satisfaction and experience. With prompt and professional service, patients are more likely to have a positive experience and remain loyal to their healthcare provider.

24/7 Availability: Offers 24/7 availability and coverage. A HIPAA-compliant answering service ensures that patients can reach their healthcare providers at all times, even outside of normal business hours.

What Is The Importance of HIPAA Compliance in Medical Answering Services?

Protects Patient Privacy: HIPAA compliance is critical for ensuring that patient information is protected and kept confidential, preventing unauthorized access and ensuring patient privacy.

Avoid Legal Consequences: Failure to comply with HIPAA regulations can result in substantial fines and legal consequences, so it is important to have a HIPAA-compliant medical answering service in place to avoid HIPAA violations and penalties. 

Maintains Patient Trust: Patients trust their healthcare providers to keep their information confidential and secure, and a HIPAA-compliant medical answering service helps maintain that trust. Compliance with HIPAA regulations demonstrates a commitment to professionalism and a high level of care for patient information, helping to maintain patient trust. Patients are more likely to trust their personal health information will be protected with a HIPAA-compliant answering service.

Meets Regulatory Requirements: HIPAA regulations are mandatory for healthcare organizations and medical practices, and a HIPAA-compliant answering service helps meet these requirements.

Promotes Professionalism: Compliance with HIPAA regulations demonstrates a commitment to professionalism and a high level of care for patient information.

Maintains Business Continuity: In the event of a data breach, a HIPAA-compliant medical office answering service can help maintain business continuity and minimize damage to a healthcare organization's reputation.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Palantir’s NHS-stealing Big Lie

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then SAN FRANCISCO (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

Capitalism's Big Lie in four words: "There is no alternative." Looters use this lie for cover, insisting that they're hard-nosed grownups living in the reality of human nature, incentives, and facts (which don't care about your feelings).

The point of "there is no alternative" is to extinguish the innovative imagination. "There is no alternative" is really "stop trying to think of alternatives, dammit." But there are always alternatives, and the only reason to demand that they be excluded from consideration is that these alternatives are manifestly superior to the looter's supposed inevitability.

Right now, there's an attempt underway to loot the NHS, the UK's single most beloved institution. The NHS has been under sustained assault for decades – budget cuts, overt and stealth privatisation, etc. But one of its crown jewels has been stubbournly resistant to being auctioned off: patient data. Not that HMG hasn't repeatedly tried to flog patient data – it's just that the public won't stand for it:

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/nov/21/nhs-data-platform-may-be-undermined-by-lack-of-public-trust-warn-campaigners

Patients – quite reasonably – do not trust the private sector to handle their sensitive medical records.

Now, this presents a real conundrum, because NHS patient data, taken as a whole, holds untold medical insights. The UK is a large and diverse country and those records in aggregate can help researchers understand the efficacy of various medicines and other interventions. Leaving that data inert and unanalysed will cost lives: in the UK, and all over the world.

For years, the stock answer to "how do we do science on NHS records without violating patient privacy?" has been "just anonymise the data." The claim is that if you replace patient names with random numbers, you can release the data to research partners without compromising patient privacy, because no one will be able to turn those numbers back into names.

It would be great if this were true, but it isn't. In theory and in practice, it is surprisingly easy to "re-identify" individuals in anonymous data-sets. To take an obvious example: we know which two dates former PM Tony Blair was given a specific treatment for a cardiac emergency, because this happened while he was in office. We also know Blair's date of birth. Check any trove of NHS data that records a person who matches those three facts and you've found Tony Blair – and all the private data contained alongside those public facts is now in the public domain, forever.

Not everyone has Tony Blair's reidentification hooks, but everyone has data in some kind of database, and those databases are continually being breached, leaked or intentionally released. A breach from a taxi service like Addison-Lee or Uber, or from Transport for London, will reveal the journeys that immediately preceded each prescription at each clinic or hospital in an "anonymous" NHS dataset, which can then be cross-referenced to databases of home addresses and workplaces. In an eyeblink, millions of Britons' records of receiving treatment for STIs or cancer can be connected with named individuals – again, forever.

Re-identification attacks are now considered inevitable; security researchers have made a sport out of seeing how little additional information they need to re-identify individuals in anonymised data-sets. A surprising number of people in any large data-set can be re-identified based on a single characteristic in the data-set.

Given all this, anonymous NHS data releases should have been ruled out years ago. Instead, NHS records are to be handed over to the US military surveillance company Palantir, a notorious human-rights abuser and supplier to the world's most disgusting authoritarian regimes. Palantir – founded by the far-right Trump bagman Peter Thiel – takes its name from the evil wizard Sauron's all-seeing orb in Lord of the Rings ("Sauron, are we the baddies?"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/01/the-palantir-will-see-you-now/#public-private-partnership

The argument for turning over Britons' most sensitive personal data to an offshore war-crimes company is "there is no alternative." The UK needs the medical insights in those NHS records, and this is the only way to get at them.

As with every instance of "there is no alternative," this turns out to be a lie. What's more, the alternative is vastly superior to this chumocratic sell-out, was Made in Britain, and is the envy of medical researchers the world 'round. That alternative is "trusted research environments." In a new article for the Good Law Project, I describe these nigh-miraculous tools for privacy-preserving, best-of-breed medical research:

https://goodlawproject.org/cory-doctorow-health-data-it-isnt-just-palantir-or-bust/

At the outset of the covid pandemic Oxford's Ben Goldacre and his colleagues set out to perform realtime analysis of the data flooding into NHS trusts up and down the country, in order to learn more about this new disease. To do so, they created Opensafely, an open-source database that was tied into each NHS trust's own patient record systems:

https://timharford.com/2022/07/how-to-save-more-lives-and-avoid-a-privacy-apocalypse/

Opensafely has its own database query language, built on SQL, but tailored to medical research. Researchers write programs in this language to extract aggregate data from each NHS trust's servers, posing medical questions of the data without ever directly touching it. These programs are published in advance on a git server, and are preflighted on synthetic NHS data on a test server. Once the program is approved, it is sent to the main Opensafely server, which then farms out parts of the query to each NHS trust, packages up the results, and publishes them to a public repository.

This is better than "the best of both worlds." This public scientific process, with peer review and disclosure built in, allows for frequent, complex analysis of NHS data without giving a single third party access to a a single patient record, ever. Opensafely was wildly successful: in just months, Opensafely collaborators published sixty blockbuster papers in Nature – science that shaped the world's response to the pandemic.

Opensafely was so successful that the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care commissioned a review of the programme with an eye to expanding it to serve as the nation's default way of conducting research on medical data:

https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/better-broader-safer-using-health-data-for-research-and-analysis/better-broader-safer-using-health-data-for-research-and-analysis

This approach is cheaper, safer, and more effective than handing hundreds of millions of pounds to Palantir and hoping they will manage the impossible: anonymising data well enough that it is never re-identified. Trusted Research Environments have been endorsed by national associations of doctors and researchers as the superior alternative to giving the NHS's data to Peter Thiel or any other sharp operator seeking a public contract.

As a lifelong privacy campaigner, I find this approach nothing short of inspiring. I would love for there to be a way for publishers and researchers to glean privacy-preserving insights from public library checkouts (such a system would prove an important counter to Amazon's proprietary god's-eye view of reading habits); or BBC podcasts or streaming video viewership.

You see, there is an alternative. We don't have to choose between science and privacy, or the public interest and private gain. There's always an alternative – if there wasn't, the other side wouldn't have to continuously repeat the lie that no alternative is possible.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/08/the-fire-of-orodruin/#are-we-the-baddies

Image: Gage Skidmore (modified) https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Peter_Thiel_(51876933345).jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[peachesofteal]

soap x cypher masterlist / 18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes overall but this is very soft / inspired by and written for @eilidh-eternal

Johnny is fuming.

You've skipped his lab. Not only have you skipped his lab, but you didn't even let him know. Where are you? He hasn’t even see you in days, getting in late from an op last night, collapsing into bed exhausted. All he wanted was to see your face this morning, peering at him from between the sea of students.

"Sir?"

"What?" He snaps, temper flaring, irritation running hot. The student, a transfer bomb tech from another unit, gulps. Get yerself together, he seethes. Ye're acting like a bloody fool. The tech voices a question, a complicated technical one, but easy to answer, and he rattles off a response before excusing everyone for the day.

He has more important things that need his attention.

He goes back and forth on punishment as he stalks over to the tech building. Overstimulation? Should he tie you to his bed and strap the head of a vibrator to your clit until you're crying? Denial? Humiliation? Should he shave your cunt, and then eat you out for hours, not letting you come once? Should he spank you until your ass is raw and you can't sit for a week?

Anger turns to worry when he steps onto your floor, and doesn't find you. You're not at your console. You're not in the bathrooms, or the break room. You're not anywhere.

He marches to Laswell's office, knocking twice before pushing the door wide, to her surprise.

"Soap?"

"Cypher not in today?" He skips the pleasantries, and she gives him a knowing look.

'She's out sick." Sick? You're sick? His mind is already scrambling, and he barely hears her parting words as he makes for the door, anger draining from his body and being replaced with worry, fear. Why didn't you tell him?

He gets his answer easily enough when you answer his incessant knocking with both wrists in braces, KT tape stretched from the back of your hands to your knuckles. Your face is twisted up, brow furrowed, and he immediately steps forward, hesitant to touch you, but yearning to provide you comfort, to help. To fix.

“Oh, Cy.” He murmurs and you look down to your feet.

“‘m sorry I missed class, I couldn’t… I can’t type, or pick anything up, so-“

“It’s okay. Let’s not worry about that now.” He herds you gently, turning you back into your room, relaxing as he feels you lean into him, one of his hands cradling yours carefully. “Carpal tunnel?” He knows all about it, of course. He has your medical file memorized. Knows about the flare ups that are really bad, knows you’re a perfect candidate for surgery, even though from the looks of it, you’re avoiding that option. He always thought he’d cross that bridge when he came to it, getting you to have the procedures scheduled, but it seems like that bridge is coming up now.

“It’s bad.” You croak. You can’t even work the door handle, trying in vain to flex your fingers, his heart sinking at the agony on your face, when you start to crumple, tears starting in the corners of your eyes.

“Shhh, I’m here, I’m here, wee sweet.” His arms wrap around you, holding you there for a second, rubbing your back, your shoulders, trying to reassure you. “I’ll take care of ye.” He promises, shutting the door with a firm click, and leading you over to your bed, encouraging you to sit, keeping his touch as gentle as he can, as to not jostle you or your hands. “What do ye need?” He smooths a hand over your hair, and you sigh.

“Something to eat.” Oh, sweet Cy. How long have ye felt like this? This is his fault. He should have been here last night. “And some ice, maybe?”

“Have ye taken anything?” He’s already pulling out his phone, shooting a text out to cash in on a favor owed to him by another Sergeant, essentially using them as a delivery service for your needs. “What sounds good to eat?”

“I don’t know, I can’t pick up-“

“I’ll take care of that.” He’s unmoored by your suffering, but a select piece of him is secretly delighted he’ll get to feed you, wash your hair, help you with your clothes, take care of all your needs. His mouth practically waters. You chew on your lip, wincing as you shift and he moves with you, encouraging you to lay down your back, tired eyes blinking up at the ceiling. Poor baby, probably hasnae sleep a wink. “I’ll pick for ye, Cy.”

“Okay.” You whisper, eyes slipping closed. He leans, lips dotting across your forehead.

“I’ve got ye. Want the lights off?” You nod, and he gets up to flick them off, clicking on the little bedside lamp that has the yellow shade, the dim one that you like “Whit feels good for yer hands? Ice? Elevation?”

“Both.” He tacks ice onto the ‘to be delivered list’ and then grabs a pillow, tucking it into your side to place your one wrist on top, arranging your giant quilt on the other to do the same.

He fusses over you, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you’re content, propping you up on more pillows when everything is dropped at your door, and he stashes the ice in the freezer for after he feeds you.

“Got some soup.” He tells you sweetly, and you brighten a little.

“What kind?”

“Yer favorite. The cream of mushroom.” You smile at him and he holds you there, indulging in your sweet expression, until it starts to fade, drooping with realization. Confusion.

“Wait… how do you know it’s my favorite?”

[thealtoduck]

Being adopted by Bruce Wayne…

Batfamily x Adopted!Male Reader

Warnings: Physical and psychological abuse of a child (nothing descriptive), reader has a panic attack.

Summary: After saving a boy from an abusive household Bruce adopts another kid…

——

You never got to meet your real parents all you was that they were a young couple who weren’t ready to have a kid, so you grew up in foster care.

When you were 9 years old you were adopted by a couple in their early 40s. First time you met them you could tell something was off. Though they passed the foster care’s check meaning they were allowed to adopt you.

In the beginning your adopted parents were nice but that only lasted for a short while then things soured. It started with glares, then insults, then a hit, then two…

4 years later…

You were currently sat in a room dark as coal in the basement where your parents would lock you when they were done beating you so they wouldn’t have to look at you. You were crying as your body ached.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs to the basement and you thought your parents were back so you sat back and just waited for the door to unlock. But the door was kicked open revealing a man in cowl and cape. It was Batman.

You instinctively cowered as he took a step closer. He kneeled down and said calmly ”Don’t worry i’m not going to hurt you”. You made eye contact with him. ”Did your parents put you in here?” He asked softly. You hesitated but then nodded.

”Don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with them anymore, they’ve been arrested for their weapon dealing associations with the Gotham crime families” he explained. He reached out a hand to you and said ”Come with me, i’ll take you somewhere safe.

You just looked at his for a few seconds and then took it. The Batman escorted you out of your parents house and tried to hand you over to the GCPD, who were going to take you to social services.

Though as you approached comissioner Gordon you hid behind Batman who said comfortingly ”It’s okay they are going to help you”. You emerged from behind him and went with the police.

As Bruce got in to the batmobile he made a call ”Alfred, i need you to set up a bedroom”. ”Are we expecting company Master Bruce?” Alfred asked. ”Potentionally” Bruce answered.

You were first physically examined just to make sure you didn’t need immediate medical attention. After that you were questioned about what your parents had done to you, then they left you to a recovery center where they would treat your injuries and let you stay a few days.

A few days later they took you in for a meeting to meet with a potiental foster parent. They brought you into a room where a man with black hair and an expensive looking suit were waiting. ”Mr L/n, this is Bruce Wayne, Mr Wayne, this is Y/n L/n” The social service worker introduced you.

Bruce held out a hand and said ”It’s nice to meet you Y/n”. You shook his hand shyly but said nothing. ”He’s not much of a talker” the social worker assured him.

She and Bruce then discussed the possibilty of him becoming your adoptive father if you’d like living with him. It all eventually came down to your choice if you decided to go with him. You nodded.

The next day Bruce took you to Wayne Manor, he tried to make small talk but you were still silent to the point he wondered if you could even speak. He then stopped outside the manor and the two of you walked inside.

Waiting inside the Manor was a the butler who introduced himself as Alfred he offered to take your bag to your room so you handed it to him and uttered a low ”Thank you” to not seem rude.

Bruce then gave you a tour of the manor and then showed you to your room. He said he needed to get back to work in his office and that you were free to do whatever you wanted and to tell Alfred if you needed anything.

As he left you looked around your room it was nice and big but pretty empty at the moment so you left to take a look around the manor. You made your way to find Alfred who was in the kitchen making lunch.

Alfred noticed your presence and asked ”Oh, Hello master Y/n, how may i be of service?”. You only shrugged. ”Oh having a look around i see, could i offer you a drink or something to eat?” Alfred offered you shook your head and said ”No, thank you, i’ll wait”.

”Alright then, well if your looking for company your welcome to stay as Master Bruce’s other children are at school or work” He told you. You decided to stay with Alfred as you found him nice.

You sat down on a stool by the kitchen island and continued watching as Alfred cooked.

”Morning Alfred” a voice said and you looked to see a tall buff guy with black hair and a streak of white in the front, he looked to be in his early 20s. ”Master Jason, nice of you to join us” Alfred greeted. ”Us?” Jason questioned and then noticed you.

”Oh yeah right, he got another one” Jason remembered. ”Master Jason, this is Y/n L/n, Master Y/n this is Jason Todd, master Bruce’s second oldest” Alfred introduced the two of you. ”Hey kid” Jason said walking over to the fridge. You gave him a shy wave in return.

”What’s for breakfast Alfred?” Jason the questioned and the butler answered ”Lunch”. ”Cool my favorite breakfast” Jason stated. The three of you then sat down and ate lunch when you finished Alfred sent you and Jason to the library so he could help you pick out a few books that you could read to keep entertained.

After that when you and Jason were carrying a few books to your room you stopped outside a room where the door was open, you glanced inside.

”Oh that’s the gym, wanna go inside and check it out?” Jason asked, you nodded and you dropped off the books of in your room.

Jason then showed you the gym, you went over and looked at a punching bag and Jason said encouragingly ”Come on give it a hit”. You folded you hand in to a fist and gave the punching bag a light hit.

”Well not bad but could use some improvement” Jason commented and started giving you a lesson in proper boxing techique. He commented that ”You don’t know yet but being a capable fighter will come in useful in this family” you didn’t know what he meant by that but assumed he was joking.

Later that day you were introduced to the rest of family, which was a bit intimidating but they seemed to quickly pick up on your shyness and gave you space.

Though you were quick to bond with Dick, Stephanie, Duke and Barbara who were more sociable. It was harder for you to bond with Cassandra, Tim and Damian who kept more to themselves.

After living with them for a while they decided to tell you about their activities as vigilantes and you promised to keep their secrets.

Your combat training is what would bring you and Damian closer. He would walk in on you practising and Damian’s need to constantly be the smartest person in the room set in. He stood and commented stuff like ”You need extend your kicks more”.

Damian helped you master the basics and then started showing you new stuff, he took you under his wing and made himself responsible for your training.

Soon you started hanging out outside of that and would watch movies together, sit together and read books. Damian appreciated that you were calmer and quieter than your siblings.

Bruce thought this was good as you were only a year older than Damian and he needed to be around someone his own age.

The others would also be made aware of your past home life after an incident where you, Dick and Jason were hanging out in the kitchen and you accidentally broke a glass and reacted by crying and hyperventilating while trying to quickly clean up the pieces of glass, cutting your hands in the process.

Jason and Dick quickly understood you were having a panic attack and immediately started comforting you while Dick cleaned up the glass and got a first aid kit to clean your cuts.

Jason assured you that it was alright and that no one was mad at you and that nothing bad would happen. Then Dick and Jason would clean your cuts and watch a comforting tv show with you.

The family made sure to keep an extra eye on you to make sure you knew you were safe with them and that they would protect you.

[writingquestionsanswered]

do u have any sort of website that can tell me jobs in a small town? trying to write a story set in a small town but i cant come up with any ideas for jobs apart from the essential ones like police or hospital

Jobs in a Small Town

Government: mayor, city manager, city council member, city attorney, city clerk, code enforcement officer, customer service representative, finance director, fire chief/firefighter, paramedic, human resources manager, information technology department, librarian, municipal court clerk/administrator/judicial specialist/court security officer, parks and recreation director, planning and zoning director, police chief/officer or sheriff/deputy, public works director, utilities clerk, wastewater plant operator

Business: business owner/operator or employee (such as a clerk, receptionist, manager, or administrator) at a shop, restaurant, cafe, gas station, mechanic, tow truck, locksmith, landscaper/lawn care, handyman, florist, funeral home, pool cleaner, daycare center, grocery store, feed and pet store, car dealership, clothing boutique, ice cream parlor, liquor store, bar, nightclub, community theater, "big box store" (like Walmart), warehouse store (like Costco), movie theater, mini-golf course

Medical Services: hospital (administration, doctor, surgeon, nurse practitioner, nurse, nurse's aide, respiratory therapist, anesthesiologist, orderly, receptionist, lab worker, security, etc.) Doctor's office or urgent care (administration, doctor, nurse, nurse practitioner, receptionist, etc.) Dentist or orthodontist (administration, dentist/orthodontist, dental assistant, orthodontic assistant, receptionist, etc.) Nursing home/assisted living facility (administration, doctor, nurse, orderly, etc.)

Random: country club employee, dog walker, babysitter/nanny, home nurse, museum director/curator/specialist/employee, town archaeologist (if area is rich in history), industrial jobs (mining, factories/manufacturing, farming/crop production, fishing/fisheries), wedding coordinator, convention center director, attorney, judge, taxi driver, utility repair technician, railway worker, bus driver, school jobs (principal, teacher, teacher's aide, librarian, cafeteria worker, counselor, security officer, custodian), airport jobs (administrative, security, service provider/employee, airline worker, pilot, flight attendant, plane mechanic)

That's all I've got at the moment, but keep an eye on the comments in case others come up with ideas! :)

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[lisenberry]

The Mountain Is You

Ch. 1:  I've become a figment of my imagination

Dom!Ghost and Dom!Price x Sub!Reader

I'm making this one official.

CW: Dom/sub, bondage/discipline, pain play, spanking.

Explicit/NSFW/MDNI

Ghost had been the perfect introductory level Dom.  You’d started visiting the office of Life Connect 141 after a referral from a friend, and he’d had many of the qualities you’d been looking for in a partner. 

He was anonymous and discreet.  With his mask on, you never had to worry about bumping into him in the grocery store or bringing your car into the shop and finding out the man operating the nut driver had whipped your ass raw and called you his perfect little dove as you gargled incoherent sounds around his fingers. 

He was quiet, too, and had a way of making you feel comfortable.  His commands were issued in crisp, clipped tones that were easy to follow and get right.  Yes.  No.  That’s it.  Again?   You even heard his voice in your dreams and used it to ground yourself when you needed motivation or a tether to the present.

You replayed your most effective scenes in your mind in the same way you imagined some people pictured the ocean or listened to bird songs.

The pulsing heat of your backside tucked tightly in a pencil skirt, combined with his languid ‘good girl’ echoing through your mind, was enough to make your panties wet in the middle of a board meeting or standing on the platform at the train station.

And his aftercare was more than sufficient.  Although, to be honest, it bordered a bit on the cold side.  Rehearsed in a way that felt like he was only going through the motions.  Counting the minutes before whispering, “That’s my time, hon,” in your ear as he helped you to your feet.

He was there for you, but he didn’t need you.  It was you who sought out his services.  He’d done his job when you left feeling refreshed and confident to tackle whatever chaos awaited you in the world outside his office.  He was a professional, and you were a client. 

He wasn’t cheap, either.  Your self-care budget had taken a backseat to more pressing responsibilities, and it had become more and more difficult to make an appointment.  He’d become quite popular and needed to be booked further and further in advance.  You didn’t always know if you’d be in the right headspace when he was available, but you didn’t want to give up your place in the rotation. 

But it wasn’t for any of those reasons that you called to cancel your future sessions and take your name off the last-minute openings list.  He didn’t do anything wrong.  It was all you.

You’d trusted Ghost, worked up a relationship where he knew what you wanted and gave it to you exactly how you liked it, with a sniper’s precision.  At least until your latest session, when you desired something a bit...more. 

Work, and life in general, had been especially stressful.  A guy you’d started seeing from the gym had turned out to be a complete creep who stood you up on your second date, and spammed your phone for three days when you didn’t accept his apology or his offer to reschedule.  And your assistant had left for an unexpected medical leave and her temporary replacement didn’t know how to answer the phone. 

You were patient.  You were kind.  You were tired.  And now, on top of everything else, you needed to find a new gym.

It’d been a few months since you’d been in to see him, and you were severely overdue.  It was a recipe for disaster that, had you been a more experienced Sub, you may have been able to avoid.  Never go to bed angry?  Never visit your Dom when you were on the edge of spiraling out of control.

You were in your usual position, bottomless with your hands bound with his silk tie behind your back, ass presented to him on the faux leather sofa and your black lace panties in your mouth.  The mirror in front of you gave a view of the mirror behind you.  A 360 degree look at the crimson blood flowing hot under your fevered skin, the Hitachi vibrator strapped between your thighs and the dark figure at your back orchestrating it all. 

Everything was perfect.  Except that with each crack of the leather crop against your tender surface, you didn’t get any closer to the relief you sought.  You’d hit a wall, right on the cusp of that rapture you chased like a fiend.  Like a starving animal running down a faster prey with the last of its strength.

Pain had always been a curious thing for you.  Walking barefoot on the beach, the sharp rocks and shells against the arches of your feet were tactile and exhilarating.  The punishing ache of a deep tissue massage was more satisfying than the gentle glide of hands on your skin. 

There were times your whole body felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch.  That it needed to be flayed off or burned away, grown anew like antler velvet or snakeskin.

When he counted his twentieth whack, and you weren’t there yet, you whimpered with frustration.  The slickness at your core dried up, and the precipice of your orgasm disappeared from reach.  Just as you teetered at the top of the mountain, you slid back down to the bottom with a hopeless crash.

“Color, pet?”  At the unfamiliar sound of your distress, he stiffened behind you and moved quickly to pull the fabric from your mouth. 

“Green,” you pleaded, tears flooding your eyes unbidden. “Please.  Give me a few more.  I was close.”

“We already did three rounds of twenty.  I can’t go any further today.”  He kept his voice hard and controlled.  “Don’t want to scar this sweet, perfect ass.”

He slipped a glove off one hand and reverently grazed his knuckles over your welting hide.

“I’m renegotiating.  Please!”  You weren’t above begging.  Not like this.  Not when your blood ran hot enough to burn and sweat dripped between your breasts in desperation.

“No.”

“You think I’m weak, is that it?  That I can’t take it?”  Your ire sprung from your helplessness.  Not the physical surrender that you’d craved, but the impotent kind that left you empty and unfulfilled.

“Careful, dove.  Talking back to me like that.”  He slid his gloved hand along your cheek to cup your chin, turning you up to look at him.  Deceptively gentle as he gritted through clenched teeth, “You know better, don’t you?”

“What are you going to do about it?”  A fresh flare of anticipation fluttered through your belly, and settled low, where your bare cunt cradled the head of the vibrator.  

Fathomless eyes narrowed back at you with calculation from the openings of his mask.  The skull painted in place of his face sized you up in a fraction of a second before he let his hand fall away.

You squirmed under his scrutiny, clutching the smooth, hard plastic tighter between your thighs, rutting against the only point of contact you had left.  Willing it to be more and feel better than it did.

He sat silent, watching you struggle for what seemed like hours as your shoulders cramped and your knees shook from the constraints of your position.

“Help me?”  You begged again, running your tongue along your pouty lips.  Hungrily eyeing the zipper of his black dress pants.  “I’ll do anything you want.” 

Finally, he fisted a handful of your hair, pulling tight and sharp.  The sting both too brief and too late.

“You know the rules.”  The sympathetic slant of his head and the soft honesty in his tone pulled you out of the scene once and for all. 

You did know.  For all of its merits, Life Connect 141 also had its limits.  It was a business, and it came with strict guidelines.  No sex and no blood.  No exceptions.  Safe, sane, and consensual.  Sanitized and structured. 

Except none of those things were going to get you where you needed to be at that moment.  So, you did something you never thought you’d do.

You tapped out, muttering your safe word and pulling the plug.  He’d never given up on you before, but the clock had run out, and any further discussion was just a waste of his precious time.

The only indication he’d even heard you was a curt nod of acceptance and a clipped, “Alright,” as he untied your hands and rubbed some life back into your arms.

“Dove?”  He was concerned, and probably looking for his own reassurance.

Too humiliated to melt into his thick, tattooed arms, or to accept his offered ice pack for your battered backside, you simply dressed silently and shook him off with a faked smile.

“I’m fine.  Really.  See you next time.”  With not an ounce of truth.

You didn’t know the etiquette for breaking up your Dom, so you were surprised when you got a call barely an hour after you’d canceled.  Thinking it was a last ditch sales pitch to keep you as a customer, you let it go to voicemail.

But instead of a generic, “What can we do to keep your business,” you were greeted with Ghost’s voice instead.

“It’s me.  I’m just sorry that things ended the way they did.”

Why was he apologizing?  You’re the one who'd made a fool of yourself.  Pushing him for things he couldn’t give you.  As if you were more than just a transaction to him.

“I’d like to take you out for a drink.  There’s someone I’d like you to meet.  He can do more for you than I can.  I think you’ll like him.  I wouldn’t trust my best girl with just anyone.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that, even as it curled your toes.  He probably said that to all his Subs.

“Call me back.  Please?  His name’s John.”

[ms-demeanor]

any tips for Adult Phone Calls? i've been putting some off and it's going to start costing me money if i don't Get It Together soon, but that pressure just makes it harder!! part of my issue is not knowing what The Script is and part of it is that i find real-time conversation as An Adult really daunting....

Yes!

Okay so a big part of my job is answering phone calls; I am a professional person who answers phone calls from people who would rather not have to call me and who are usually confused and upset by what is happening, which often has the potential to be expensive for them. It's a stressful call to make!

As a professional phone answerer, here are the things that help ME when people call:

Be able to describe the reason that you're calling and what you would like to do about it. This is a simple two-step giving basic background information and your desired outcome so that the person answering the phone can get the process started for you. Examples: "Hi, I'm a new patient referred by Doctor X; I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Y." "Hi, I tried to use my credit card but it was rejected, I would like to know why." "Hi, I am calling about a late payment; I would like it removed from my record." "Hi, my sink is leaking and I'd like to schedule a visit for repair." "Hi, I think my computer has a virus, I'd like to bring it in to get checked out."

Call when you have some time. Don't call when you've only got five minutes to be on the phone, this could take a while and you will be less stressed if you call when you've got at least ten minutes to half an hour where you won't be interrupted. If you are less stressed, the person taking the call will be less stressed, and the whole process will work better.

Have any account/ticket/serial number/referral information handy. Pre-game the call in your head and think about any questions they might need to ask you, then gather the information they might need. Examples: If you're calling about something like a car or computer hardware, know the basics of make/model/age. If you're calling a financial institution or service provider, have your account number, verification information, etc. handy If you're calling a medical office you might want to have a list of medications as well as your insurance card available.

And here's some information that might make CALLERS more comfortable:

We're not mad at you for making the phone call; talking to you is our job. You're not bothering anyone or imposing on anyone's time. Please make the call instead of churning in panic for weeks or months; it's much easier to fix something or resolve an issue if it's addressed early than if you respond to it months down the line.

You can just say right off the bat that you're not sure about the call or that you don't know what's going on and you need help. You might want to say something like "Hi, I'm having an issue and I don't know the next steps to take to get it resolved; could you please help me?"

You can also just say something like "Hi, thanks for helping me; I'd like to let you know that I have a little trouble using the phone and may need to ask questions as we go or think for a second. Thanks for being patient with me, here's my issue."

There is like a zero percent chance that your call is going to be one of the more stressful things they do that day. The call is stressful for you, it is very routine for them, and they are used to everything from getting screamed at to trying to communicate in languages they don't speak to help callers.

Also: if you have not called this place before, feel free to call it with no plans to speak to anyone just to see how the phone system works. It may be an automated phone system and you can call and pre-navigate the options and take notes for when you're ready to call back, and you may be able to find out more of what the system will ask of you. If you get picked up by a person when you're not ready you can simply say "Oh, I'm sorry, I've got another call coming in, I'll call back, thank you" and hang up.

The Script for most Adult-type phone calls is "I am having X problem and I need help fixing it," and then requests for information and someone either providing a resolution for you issue or escalating it to the next step in the process.

It's hard to pre-plan a script without more details because some people you'll call will have a more difficult script than others (canceling cable, for instance, can be a hassle and there are people out there who have written specific instructions on how to do that) and some will be very easy (scheduling an appointment or opening an account can often be very simple!) but regardless of how difficult the specific script is you can ask for help along the way, and the process will be easier if you've done a little information gathering about your own needs/issues/desired resolution.

Good luck! Please don't let the phone scare you too much! People on the other end of the phone are usually quite happy to help.

If it's something really contentious like dealing with a collections agency, look up specific resource guides because that's where it pays to have a very specific idea in mind of how you're going to approach the problem.

[jewels-writes]

Surviving the Crash (Captain Price x injured! reader)

Fandom: Call of Duty Word count: 3,001 Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, near death experiences, very poorly proofread Background information: Your callsign is Crow. Part 2 Part 3 — — — —

You’d found yourself in Price’s office for the third time this week, a result of your bad behavior. You heard him sigh, shuffling through the multiple reports he’d taken out of a manilla folder. As he read them, he’d occasionally look up at you and your bruised face. You knew better than to speak first. It was not something you did, especially not while he was reading. Sighing, he set the papers down on his desk before giving you his undivided attention.

“This is the third report I’ve gotten this week, Crow.” His words weren’t angry, not even disappointed. Just.. tired. He was tired of dealing with adults who acted like children, and as far as he was concerned, you were just another one. “Let me guess; you want to explain this one too?” he asked, adjusting his position so he leaned on one of his chair’s arm rests, his head resting on his chin. “Go on then. Give me your sob story.”

Your jaw clenched as you heard him insult your situation. You hadn’t intended to get into a fight. In fact, you hadn’t even thrown a punch; your words were enough to send the other recruit climbing over the cafeteria table at you. If someone hadn’t pulled him off of you, you were sure you’d be in a bag right now, with a letter being sent to your parents with the date for your funeral service. The way he’d grabbed your neck, there was no way he wasn’t trying to kill you.

“You read the reports, sir. You tell me what happened.” You were half curious about what the recruit said. Had he lied? Probably. Were they going to believe him? Probably. As the words left your mouth, you heard Price chuckle a few times. He wasn’t interested in scolding you; no, that wasn’t his style. 

“Tell me what bloody happened.” His words were a bit colder this time. “Explain to me why this report said you hit first when that boy doesn’t have a single mark on him, yet you were moments from a ticket to the medical wing. Tell the truth, rookie.” It almost sounded like he was concerned about you. It was in the way his eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if scanning your expression for any involuntary changes in reaction to his words. He leaned forward for effect, his head tilting to the side, waiting for your input. 

In your time here, you’d learned that this captain wasn’t like the others you’d encountered. He genuinely cared for justice and didn’t much care for people who wanted to kiss his ass. Either you told him how it was or he wanted nothing to do with you. 

“I provoked him.” You muttered, fully intending to take the entire blame for the beating. You recalled your exact words, though; you didn’t think it was appropriate to recite them, not to Price. Instead, you opted to summarize. “Something to the effect of how his parents should get a refund for the money they paid for his training.” 

You watched how Price chuckled again at your words, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. What about this situation was remotely funny? You moved your eyes down to his name plate on his desk, avoiding eye contact when he eventually leveled his gaze back at you. 

“And you didn’t fight back? Why’s that?” He inquired, intrigued by your answer. You were an enigma to him, always doing something unexpected. “Or were you restrained?” His voice dipped an octave lower in a way that made your heart flutter. You could hear the danger and power in his tone. In your hesitation to respond, he got his answer.

He sat back in his chair, tucking the papers back into the manilla folder before handing them to you. You hesitated before taking the folder from him, clearly confused. “Sir-?”

“Shred those on the way to medical.” He muttered, reaching for his pack of cigars in his top left desk drawer. “I’ll see to it that this issue is wiped from your record and that recruit is sent home.” As you stood there, unsure if he was serious, he continued. “I’ll have you transfer to my team. It seems you can’t coexist with everyone else; why not run with the big boys, yeah?” There was clear authority in his tone, leaving no room for your own opinion. But then again, you didn’t really mind the change of pace. “You’re dismissed.”

— — — —

By the end of the day, you had your things packed from your old bunker and were hauling your bag over to the other side of the base to stay with Price and his group. When you got there, you were greeted by blank, unamused stares. 

“And who the hell’re you?” The man with the skull mask asked, his British accent heavy as he walked over, his frame towering over you. “Can’t you fuckin’ read, eh? Sign says, Taskforce 141, fuckin’ muppet.”

“Easy, Ghost.” Price emerged from behind you, a hand resting on your shoulder. “They’re our new transfer.” You watched as Ghost looked between you and Price before muttering curses under his breath and taking a step back, retreating to his bunk. As you gathered yourself again, Price moved to your front, offering you a onesided smile. “That’s Ghost, a bit of a grumpy one. Don’t expect an apology from him. You’ll never get one. Follow me; I’ll show you your bed.” He made a motion with his arm before walking deeper into the tent. 

Your bed was above his. You were going to be sleeping above your captain. He muttered a quiet apology as he cleared the top bunk from some of his things, shoving them under his bed awkwardly. 

“Go on, settle in.” He offered a smile, placing a hand on the ladder, assuring you it would stay in place.

You didn’t get much sleep that night. Not because of your injuries from being someone’s punching bag, but rather because of how fast things had changed. Mere hours before, you were sitting in Price’s office, certain you were going to be dishonorably discharged, and now you shared a bunk with him.

— — — —

In the morning, you woke to a friendly banter between your teammates. There was some Scottish man who had been throwing articles of clothing at Ghost, giggling when a shirt stayed on Ghost’s head even as he tried to yank it off.

“MacTavish, you’re on thin ice.” The Brit grumbled through the cloth of the shirt. With a final tug, it came off. In a swift movement, he balled the shirt up before launching it at the other man, chuckling lightly to himself when it hit him square in the chest.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you continued to watch, a small smile growing on the edges of your lips. You heard a smothered laughter coming from below you and peaking down. You saw Price sitting up, his elbows propped on his knees, as he too watched the two men mess around. He didn’t mind letting them get a little rowdy; he knew moments like this were essential for their morale. 

Stepping down the ladder, you offered a soft ‘hello’ to Price, who simply nodded back at you, his attention on his teammates. Just as you were about to start your morning routine, Price stopped you.

“Let’s introduce you to everyone, yeah?” He offered, standing up from his bed and stretching slightly, rocking back and forth on his feet as he did so. Leaning down to your level, he put an arm around your shoulder as he pointed to everyone in the tent, naming them and calling out to them so they’d wave. “Everyone, this is our newest member, Crow. Treat them like you would treat me, or they get your provisions for a week.” He warned them. It wasn’t necessary; he knew he ran with good men, but after reading your reports, he knew the safety net would put your mind at ease.

— — — —

As you rushed over to the meeting room, your hair still wet from your shower and your uniform hastily thrown on, you were met with annoyed looks from nearly everyone sitting around the table. A woman, you recognized as Laswell, stood by a large TV, clearing her throat before motioning for you to sit. Doing so, you sat between Price and Gaz, muttering a soft apology to your captain who nudged your shoulder. You gave him a small smile in return, grateful that he wasn’t upset. 

As the meeting went on, you were briefed about an upcoming mission. You didn’t expect to be assigned as Laswell went over the mission, but your eyes widened when you heard your callsign among the names of the 141. Price noticed how your head snapped up, confusion clear in your features and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

“You’re ready.” He mouthed with a knowing smile. The way his hand squeezed your shoulder slightly before retracting it and placing it back in his lap made your stomach flip. 

After the meeting, you stood around with your team, your hands nervously fiddling with a strap on your vest. Millions of thoughts raced through your head. Were you ready? What if Price was wrong? What if you were a liability? What if-

Price’s hand clapped you on the back, jolting you out of your frantic mind. Seeing him, you instincutally straightened up, a sign of respect. 

“At ease, Crow.” He murmured, though your shoulders stayed taught with tension. He stepped in front of you to make eye contact. “You’ll do fine. I selected you myself. Your delinquency reports weren’t the only ones I read about you.” He chucked. “You’re a valuable asset, one my team needs. Try not to stress too much.” 

“Are you sure?” Was all you could manage to say. You couldn’t fathom why he’d had such a change of heart about you. 

“More than sure, love.” His voice held a note of parental authority that you couldn’t quite understand. “You’ve got a few hours before we deploy. Get something to eat, fuel up.”

— — — —

“..come in! Crow, what’s your status? God dammit..!” Your radio jolted you back to the present as you blinked your eyes open. Immediately you felt the pain from the explosion that had caused you to go unconscious in the first place. Of-fucking-course the helicopter transporting you and your team had to get shot down by an RPG. You didn’t even want to know how far you fell.

The world around you was littered in debris and fire. Forcing yourself to sit up, you grunted with the effort, trying to scoot away from the wreckage. You could see the pilot’s burning body in the cockpit and your stomach churned. He was gone. 

“Crow, come in!” Price’s voice harped through the radio again, a hint of desperation in his tone. Groaning, you reached over to turn on your communications line. Taking a swift breath, you responded.

“Crow to Price, I hear you.” You strained, taking a few breaths before you spoke again. “I’m by the crash site. Pilot’s down. Everything bloody hurts.” You reported in, trying to hide the pain from your voice.

“You broken?” Price asked. You could hear him running in the background of his radio, seemingly toward you. “Christ, I see you. Stay where you are.”

In moments, you heard his footfalls getting louder as he approached your location. He knelt down beside you, his blue eyes assessing your condition. You hadn’t had the time to look for yourself, but you could tell something on your thigh made him freeze. You could see how he hesitated, how he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

Hearing more footsteps, you saw the rest of 141 jog over. They surrounded you, their eyes looking down at you like you were a lost cause. 

“Fuckin’ hell..” Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. Taking a step back, he angled his head down to his radio, muttering. “We need medevac, helo’s down.” Your stomach dropped when you heard him, knowing he purposely tried to be quiet about it so you wouldn’t hear. Not quiet enough.

“The hell you mean? I’m fine-” Looking down at your body, your words caught in your throat. A piece of the helicopter’s propeller was lodged deep into your right thigh. “Oh fuck.” Your voice came out as a shaky whisper, your panic rising. 

“Don’t look- dammit, Crow. Relax. Don’t move.” Price urged, waving Soap and Gaz over. “Keep them still.” He ordered to them as they kneeled around you, their hands free and ready. Redirecting his attention to you he asked, “How much can you feel?”

You took a moment to respond, the hesitation from the dread in realizing your entire right leg seemed to not register in your mind. Worst case scenarios rushed through your head. Looking down at your body again, you felt your pulse roaring in your ears. In the split second before Soap pressed your shoulders back to the ground, you could see the propeller plate had cut through bone, something you’d overlooked before. You saw the way it had almost entirely ripped your leg off, how the blood spurted out of the gap it created.

“Oh my god.. Oh my fucking god..” Your breathing was erratic and Price muttered a curse under his breath.

“Hey, none of that. You need to slow your breathing.” His tone was more urgent this time, one of his gloved hands reaching up to your cheek, holding your head in place. “Look at me. Shh, look. You’re going to be okay. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth. He didn’t like doing it, but he knew calming you held priority. 

“No.. no, no..” Your sobs came out like desperate pleas. “I don’t wanna die. Oh my god..” Price’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked over to Gaz, signaling for him to search the wreckage for any usable medical supplies. As he left, Price looked back down to your thigh, wincing as he looked at it again.

“You’re not gonna die, you’re gonna be fine. Just.. dammit, stay with me, Crow.” Price’s hold on your face stiffenened as he saw your eyes unfocus and your expression beginning to relax. “No, no. Stay with me, dammit.” He tapped your face with his fingers, keeping you present. “You stay awake, you hear me? Fight through it, love.” He’d hoped with the fact that the plate was still in your leg that it would stem the bloodflow, but apparently he was wrong. 

Gaz jogged back, a slightly burnt medical bag in his arms. He hurridly set it next to Price, opening it for him, sifting through it’s contents. Their dread grew when there was nothing that could soothe your pain. Nothing that could fix you. Gaz’s actions became more tense, his hands roughly digging through the bag, pushing the useless supplies around. 

“Ghost, what’s the eta on that damn medevac?” Price barked at his teammate, needing some form of good news. Despite his desperate tone, his hand held firm on your cheek, providing a steady sense of his presence. 

“They’re on their way. Five minutes out.” Ghost replied, his mask giving nothing away from his expression. Price’s heart dropped. Five minutes was too long.

“Crow?” Soap spoke in the pause, his voice nervous. At the mention of your callsign, Price’s eyes darted back down at you. Your eyes were closed, and your expression was relaxed. If he didn’t know any better, he could have thought you were asleep.

“No, no! Wake up!” Price shook you, his hands on both of your shoulders. Your body didn’t respond, not as he shook you, not as he called your name, nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice broke in his desperation. At the same time Gaz reached for your wrist, placing his fingers to it, praying he’d feel a pulse. 

“They’re alive.” Gaz breathed. Your pulse was weak, but there. “Not for long, we need that chopper here. Now. Keep trying to wake them.” He urged, taking out a roll of bandages from the bag. 

It was then that they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. On edge, Ghost’s hands tightened around his gun, aiming it at the sky. His radio buzzed in, confirming they were friendlies.

The next few minutes were controlled chaos, with the medical team coordinatingly lifting you onto a gurney before rushing back to the helicopter. Price and his team followed right behind them, giving them the space they needed to work on you. Before the doors could even close, Price was ordering that they take off, shouting at the pilot.

Returning to your side as they took off, he rested his hand on your forehead, turning your head toward him.

“Pull through, dammit..”

— — — —

The hours dragged on. You’d been visited by doctor after doctor, each time, checking on your vitals. The beeping of your heart on the monitor seemed to mock Price as he sat beside your bed, his hand resting over yours. The surgery was done hours ago, and yet you hadn’t woken up yet. 

He’d watched as they reconnected your leg, tying the tendons, muscles, and skin back together. You wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, at least while your body healed, but it was better than amputation, right?

“How are they?” Gaz asked as he stepped into your quiet hospital room, worried like hell for you. Sure, you two had just met yesterday, but he still cared about you. He’d have to have zero empathy to not. 

“Still out. Haven’t woken up yet.” Price sighed, lines of worry mixed with his own exhaustion. “Vitals are steady; it’s only a matter of time.” 

The guilt ate at Price. If he hadn’t recruited you to his team, if he hadn’t recommended you for the mission, this entire thing wouldn’t have happened. With his other hand, he rubbed his tired eyes, feeling like he’d let you down.  Maybe he did. — — — — Note: I will not be continuing this unless requested. I hate hospital scenes/tropes. You're lucky I didn't kill Crow outright.

[notifymd-medicalansweringservice]

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[tiredmetalenthusiast]

Emotions and promotions (Price x reader)

On a roll with @glitterypirateduck Price challenge! Scenarios used 31. ‘A confrontation takes place’ and 48. ‘A character tries to hide that they are crying or upset’:

Warnings: Cursing, yelling, crying, verbal and physical assault, threats of harm, writer is not very knowledgable on the inner workings of the military.

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

You had entered Price’s office after knocking and receiving the go ahead. He gives you a confused look as you set the folios and papers down on his desk, “Why isn’t the doctor on site bringing me the paperwork? She’s here isn’t she? Could swear I saw her an hour ago.” You tense up as he leans forward, hands folded as he stares at you expecting an answer.

“She was busy with patients. No need to worry Captain.” Not wanting to unload your woes on your captain but judging by his unwavering gaze he isn’t buying it. You shuffle the papers into place nervously and began at the top of the pile, explaining that the soldier in question was injured too badly during his last mission and will require a fair bit of rest. He nods and reads over the paper.

“You know you can talk to me, sergeant.” “Yes I know sir. There’s nothing to talk about.” He signs the paper and places it off to the side face down. “Clearly there is. It’s showing on your face. A couple of recruits have mentioned you and Dr.Alice having a few choice words.” You place another paper in front of him and reads it over, waiting for you to explain. “Just a…misunderstanding, Captain. That’s all.” “A misunderstanding that lead to you mumbling about wanting to put laxatives in her coffee? Interesting.”

”Did she call and make a complaint about me, sir?” He signs off the paper and you hand him another. “No she didn’t, but Soap and Gaz have both mentioned some tension. So tell me about it.” You sighed, eyes welling up a bit and you quickly wipe at them. You go on to explain how she acts, showing off her assets, flirting with the men that come in instead of doing her job, forcing all of her paperwork onto you and making you deliver it. You often have to stay after hours filling out HER reports and have lost sleep, which Ghost had noticed and brought to Price’s attention.

He nods and makes a quick phone call. You briefly hear Ghost’s voice over the line as Price tells him to meet up at the medical ward, explaining the situation. He hangs up after getting a confirmation. He turns back to you and you straighten up, “How qualified are you as a nurse?” “I was a doctor before I joined the service, sir.” “Great, you’re about to get a promotion. Follow me.”

You follow him out the door and within minutes you’re waving to Ghost who waits at the door to the medical ward. He opens the door for Price and you three enter to find Dr.Alice sitting at her desk asleep. Price nods to Ghost who proceeds to yell in his lieutenant voice, thoroughly spooking the woman awake. “O-oh Captain Price! Lieutenant Ghost! H-How can I help you both?”

”You’re being removed from your job. Effective immediately.” Silence hangs in the now charged air. “Excuse me? I’m being what?” Ghost steps in front of Price, “You’re fired. Pack up your shit. You have an hour to get off this base before you are escorted off. Captain’s orders.” “ON WHAT GROUNDS?!” She turns on you, trying your hardest to look small and invisible before she lunges.

”WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM YOU LITTLE BITCH?! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS YOUR JOB NOT GO OFF AND FUCKING COMPLAIN TO THE CAPTAIN!” Ghost catches her, holding her back from tearing your face off as Price moves you behind himself. “It’s come to our attention that you are, in fact, not doing your job. Making the nurses pull your weight, flirting with the men instead of tending wounds, abusing your nursing staff, and a long list of other things.”

She screams and thrashes against Ghost’s hold before running out of steam. “You have an hour. Ghost make sure she cleans up and leaves.” “Rog.” Price turns to you and holds out his hand, “Congratulations. You’re now the new doctor on base. I expect great things from you sergeant.” You shake his hand, thanking him profusely but before you could follow him out Alice lunges again, taking hold of your hair and pulling you to the ground. 

“SO WHAT YOU WENT AND FUCKED THE CAPTAIN FOR A PROMOTION?! I’LL FUCKIN KILL YOU!” You yell as you struggle to get away from her, her fist making contact with your cheek. “ENOUGH! Ghost, apprehend her!” He grabs Alice, getting an elbow to the gut in the process but manages to remove her from your shaking form, Price helps you up and looks at the bruise forming on your skin. “Now you have assaulting a fellow officer added to your list of reasons. Take her to processing, she’s on the out.” Ghosts nods and leads Alice out the door.

”You broken?” “No, my face just hurts a lot now. Thank you Captain.” Price nods, “Let’s go. You’ve got more than just medical paperwork to do now.” You attempt a laugh but stop at the sting in your cheek, following Price back to his office.

[jessicamessicavillageofspillage]

Apparently transpeople will also die from the inaccurate recording of Sex within statistics

The collection of data on a person’s sex – that is, whether they are male or female – has become controversial in recent years, and a number of public bodies have moved away from collecting data on sex as a result. For example, Scotland’s chief statistician recently issued guidance stating that data on sex should only be collected in exceptional circumstances. This move has been greeted with alarm by quantitative social scientists who believe that data on sex is vitally important and that data on both gender identity and sex is needed.

The Office for National Statistics (ONS) was also embroiled in controversy when it proposed to guide respondents to the 2021 England and Wales census that they may answer the sex question in terms of their subjective gender identity, rather than their sex. This was despite the fact that the 2021 census also included a new separate question on gender identity. The ONS was forced to change its proposed guidance on the sex question by a judicial review and went on to advise that people should answer the first question to reflect their legal sex. The Scottish census authorities have been criticised for disregarding the implications of that judgment.

Statistics on employment, health, crime and education have all been affected by this trend.

The Government Equalities Office has issued guidance to employers who are legally bound to report on their gender pay gap to provide data on their employees’ gender identity, not their sex, and to exclude employees who “do not identify as ‘men’ or ‘women’” from the data. This makes it impossible to assess whether natal males who identify as trans or non-binary may have different labour-market experiences from natal females who identify as trans or non-binary. Yet non-binary or transgender identification may not protect females from discrimination, for example, on the basis of pregnancy or maternity or the perceived risk of becoming pregnant.

The NHS decides who to call for routine medical screenings based on the gender marker a person has recorded with their GP rather than their sex as recorded as birth. The NHS’s failure to record biological sex on patient records has led to trans patients not being called in for screening for conditions that may affect them due to their sex, such as ovarian cancer or prostate cancer. If trans patients are not screened for such conditions, the consequences are potentially fatal. The use of gender identity rather than sex has also led to confusion for some trans patients attempting to use sexual health services.

Freedom of information requests have revealed that multiple police forces in England now record crimes by male suspects as committed by women if the perpetrator requests to be recorded as such. Even small numbers of cases misclassified in this way can lead to substantial bias in crime statistics.

Differences between the sexes are an important factor for analysis in most, if not all, of the areas that social and health scientists address. Sex, alongside age, is a fundamental demographic variable, vital for projections regarding fertility and life expectancy. Sex has systematic effects on physical health and is also linked to mental health. And the importance of sex extends to all aspects of social life, including employment, education and crime.

We know that many differences between the sexes have changed dramatically over time – education and labour market participation are two examples. Without consistent data on sex, social scientists would not be able to track this change over time or to understand whether efforts to improve the representation of women and girls in domains where they are underrepresented have been effective.

We have been losing data on sex, as public sector bodies have switched to collecting data on gender identity instead. But the tide may have turned. The UK Statistics Authority has recently published guidance that recommends that “sex, age and ethnic group should be routinely collected and reported in all administrative data and in-service process data, including statistics collected within health and care settings and by police, courts and prisons”. It also says data producers should clearly distinguish between concepts such as sex, gender and gender identity.

Both people’s material circumstances and their identities are important to their lives. We know that sex matters, and we have much to learn about the ways in which gender identity matters, too. Rather than removing data on sex, we should collect data on both sex and gender identity, in order to develop a better understanding of the influence of both of these factors and the intersection between them.

Original article in The Conversation

Professor Alice Sullivan’s academic profile

UCL Social Research Institute

[sjsmith56]

Customer Service

Summary: Bucky’s former girlfriend helps him buy a new suit, but he’s there for other reasons. First part of a two part series.

Length: 3.6 K

Characters: Unnamed OFC, named minor OFC, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson.

Warnings: Bucky showing up unannounced at her workplace, OFC remembering the not so good times, anxiety.

Author notes: Once upon a time I worked retail. An ex-spouse or lover showing up unannounced was always problematic. I’m not terribly knowledgeable about what men’s suits go with an athletic build, although my research did lean to a preference for the Hugo Boss and Calvin Klein labels.

🥾 👔 💔

“There’s a customer here that wants to speak to a manager,” said Lynette, the clerk at the customer service desk, sticking her head in the door of the office. She had a big smirk on her face. “I’m just warning you to be careful.”

I pulled my glasses off to glare at her as I really didn’t have time to deal with a grumpy customer. She shrugged.

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”

I followed her out and turned the corner where the most beautiful man I had ever seen leaned on the counter, someone I knew well and hadn’t expected to ever see again. Tall, broad-shouldered, with soft dark brown hair, rugged good looks, and a pair of blue eyes that pierced me as sharp as a knife. He had a smirk on his face as if he knew exactly the effect he had on me.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I said, trying to modulate my voice so that I didn’t give away that I knew him. “How can I be of assistance?”

He looked at me in surprise. I was going to be like that was I? Well, two could play that game.

“I would like to return these work boots,” he said, in a manner that indicated he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “They fell apart the first time I used them at work.”

There was a black garbage bag on the counter that I assumed held the boots in question. Before I looked in it, I looked at him, trying to gauge if he was going to be one of those customers to me, in front of a witness. You know the type, someone who buys something to replace the worn-out ones he already has, then tries to pass the worn-out ones off as the newer model in order to get his money back. It’s a scam, and I could always pick out the type of person who would do that, which he wasn’t but it would be just like him to push the boundaries, trying to make me react to his being there. Internally I really hoped he wouldn’t go this far to punish me for ending it with him but his manner, although brusque, had none of the tells of someone who was trying to make life hard for me.

“Do you have your original receipt, sir?” I asked politely.

He nodded, pulled his wallet out of his jeans and opened it, revealing a carefully folded receipt that he handed to me, from his gloved hand. Lynette noticed the glove but stifled her reaction to it, except I could tell he noticed, as his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was a little bothered. Briefly, his eyes flickered to mine. Had I not told anyone about us?

Swallowing, I opened the bag and looked inside at a pair of boots that had definitely seen better days. Although the top portion of them and the tread looked fairly new it was obvious that whatever mission he used them for was too much for the boots to handle. In several places the top part of the boot had pulled away from the sole. The stitching had also split in several of the stress points. I could only imagine what he went through that had caused this much damage to the boots. It was one of the reasons we broke up; nights of imagining the mission, wondering if he was alright but not hearing from him, not until he walked through the door all bruised and battered, sometimes still bleeding because he didn’t want to bother the medical staff. Meaning that I had to patch him up and deal with the stoic suffering he inflicted on himself by not believing he was worth being looked after.

“May I ask what line of work you’re in?” I asked politely. “These were new but seem to have been subjected to a lot of ….” I didn’t want to say the abuse word. “Um … stress.”

“I have a stressful job,” he answered, still playing the part of the customer who was a stranger to me. As if he hadn’t ever touched me in ways that no other man had; had never told me he loved me, who hadn’t argued with me sometimes just for the sake of arguing and liked seeing me all fired up because it meant the makeup sex after would be incredible. “It sometimes involves a lot of … running, jumping, kicking, and often moving through uneven terrain of all types.”

“Okay,” I replied, taking in a breath and deciding I couldn’t do this anymore. “I’ll authorize the refund, since your receipt shows you’ve only had them a week but obviously this brand won’t stand up to the pressures of your job. I would suggest you try a specialty footwear store that can provide something sturdier for you.”

His face changed when he realized I wasn’t going to prolong this moment anymore. Mentioning he should buy elsewhere could also be taken that I didn’t want to see him come back here, to where I worked. I entered the refund in the cash register, asking him to insert his bank card to finish the procedure, then had him sign our copy of the new receipt. I looked at the signature, J.B. Barnes, then at him.

“Is there a problem?” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised; as if he was willing me to say something, anything that he could respond to.

“No, no problem.” I made the mistake of getting caught by those eyes, becoming a little lost in them. It wouldn’t have been the first time those eyes made me change my mind, but not this time. “You have nice handwriting.”

“Thank you,” he smiled sadly, making my heart flutter a little. “I appreciate the good customer service.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, then smiled my customer service smile as he turned around and walked away.

That should have been the end of it, except he turned around and looked at me one more time when he met up with Sam Wilson. He almost waved at me, but Bucky shook his head at him, and instead he just put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, in support. I heard Lynette gasp.

“That was Captain America,” she exclaimed. She grabbed the receipt that he signed. “That meant he was Bucky Barnes. He looked at you.”

“Of course, he looked at me. I was processing his refund.”

She wouldn’t stop talking about it, so I went out on the floor, wanting to get away from her incessant blathering about how I should go out with Bucky as it was obvious to her that he was sweet on me. Although I normally worked as a manager in the clothing department, I sometimes acted as customer service manager when that person had a day off. I still had a duty to walk around the store, making sure everything was working the way it should. That’s when I saw him again, Bucky, that is. He and Sam were in men’s wear, looking at shirts. By the sounds of it they were having a disagreement.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

They both turned to look at me then shared a look that can only be described as polar opposites. Sam grinned at Bucky, who scowled at him.

“He needs a dress shirt,” said Sam, playing along for the benefit of the male clerk on duty in men’s wear. “There’s a little problem in that he thinks a button cuff will be too tight. But he hasn’t worn a French cuff since the 1940s and thinks they’re old fashioned.”

“On the contrary,” I replied. “A French cuff is very fashionable. Personally, I think it offers a classy look to a man. Are you wearing a suit or a blazer?”

“Suit,” said Bucky, who seemed taller now that he wasn’t blocked by the customer service counter, taller than the last time he held me; broader than the last time I placed my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, sexier than the last time we made love.

“What colour of suit and what colour of shirt do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t even have a suit yet.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“A formal event that he doesn’t want to go to because he doesn’t have a date,” smirked Sam. Trust him to be blunt.

“Sam,” glared Bucky. He turned to me, looking a little flustered. “Sorry, I really don’t know what I want. He’s right. I haven’t bought a suit since the 1940s and the one suit I had then was what I could afford.”

He looked a little lost, not that I could blame him. Outside of his missions, his wardrobe consisted of black jeans, blue jeans, long and short sleeve T-shirts, and Henley shirts, and those plain black combat boots that he wore constantly. He never wanted to go out anywhere that required a suit; always saying that he just wanted to stay in, as I was all the entertainment he needed. It was nice until it became stifling. The male clerk was helping another customer, and I suddenly didn’t want Bucky to leave. When we were together, I offered to help him buy a suit, but he always turned me down, saying he didn’t want to be my customer. But if this was the only way I could show him that he would be more than that then I was going to take my shot.

“Would you like me to dress you?” I blurted out.

“Excuse me?” His eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry,” I smiled. “What I mean is, would you like me to help you find the right suit and shirt for this event?”

“I don’t want to take you away from your manager duties,” he answered, still looking unsure.

“Our store prides itself on its customer service,” I stated. “It would be my pleasure to help you find the right clothing for this event, Mr. Barnes.”

“She knows what she’s doing, Bucky,” said Sam, in a low voice. “I think you should listen to the lady.”

“Alright.” Bucky’s acceptance of my offer was said softly but loud enough for both me and Sam to hear.

I called up to the office to advise them I was helping a customer in men’s wear, taking measurements for a new suit so I wouldn’t be available for the next half hour. Then I pulled a card out of a drawer and wrote James Buchanan Barnes in the Customer Name portion.

“I’ll mark all of your measurements here,” I said. “That way, you won’t have to be measured again if you ever decide to buy another suit with us. It will also mark your preferences in suit style, shirt style, colours, and shoe size.”

“Shoe size?” he asked.

“You will need a pair of dress shoes,” I replied, looking down at his combat boots, all worn and scuffed. “Those won’t exactly complete the look you’re going for.”

“No, I guess not,” he agreed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, we can start with taking your height and weight measurement,” I began. “We have a scale here, unless you’re pretty sure of what you weigh.”

His eyes went soft. “6 feet even, 220 lbs., it doesn’t change.”

I wrote it down. “We need to take your body measurements; in one of the dressing rooms if you want privacy as you’ll have to take your jacket off and your Henley. We can choose a shirt first then wear that while I take the suit measurements, so the jacket fits properly.”

“Let’s do that,” he agreed, and waited for me to lead him to one of the larger dressing rooms.

He took his jacket off, then his Henley. Sam took them while he sat in a chair. I got the measuring tape and stood in front of Bucky, before wrapping it around his neck, taking the neck measurement.

“How are you?” he asked, in a low voice meant just for me.

“Managing,” I answered, getting a slight grin from him at my pun. “You?”

“Existing,” he replied, making me look up at him, and noticing how tired he seemed.

I took his arm measurement and wrote both measurements down on the card. “So, what type of shirt would you like? Classic fit, with room for your shoulders? Close fitting to display your physique? Button cuffs, French cuffs?”

“Why don’t you pick out some suitable choices, so I can see them on me?” he suggested.

Nodding, I left him and Sam there and went out to our selection, looking for some candidates. I picked white ones, thinking that if he wanted a coloured shirt, he could grab one with the same size and features. Taking them into the dressing room I was surprised to see he had his T-shirt off.

His physique never failed to impress me. His vibranium arm and shoulder had been made to match his right arm and shoulder, and the Wakandans had done a superb job of duplicating the musculature of that limb. As I removed the updated classic look shirt from its package, then removed the pins holding it together, he watched me, standing close enough so that I was aware of his scent. That mixture of citrus and sandalwood, from a cologne I gave to him on his birthday, brought back memories of burying my face into his neck during our more intimate moments, breathing in his unique essence. Fumbling with one of the pins, I stopped and took a breath, recenterring myself before handing the shirt to him. Without a word, he took it and put it on then buttoned it up. I handed him some cufflinks to go with the French cuffs. Taking the glove off of his left hand he attached that cufflink first, then the next one before standing in front of the mirror and taking in the fit.

“That’s almost perfect,” I said. “The length is enough to tuck in, without the threat of it coming out. The shoulders are snug enough to show your form but roomy enough for your muscles to move. The French cuffs give you a tailored look with enough room not to bind your wrists.”

Sam coughed and we both looked at him, at his timing. “I didn’t say anything.”

With the shirt on I began measuring Bucky for the suit jacket, starting with the chest, over arm, neck, and sleeve length. Then I continued with the shoulders, waistcoat length, jacket length, bicep, wrist and stomach. The next set of measurements were for the pants, waist, hips, thigh, knee, then the rise, running the tape from the front of waist down over the crotch and up to his back. We both glared at Sam who pointedly looked elsewhere for that measurement as well as the inseam measurement, before finishing off with the out seam.

“We can go look at the suit styles,” I said. “I think with your broad shoulders and slim waist that you should stick with Hugo Boss or a Calvin Klein suit. They’ll need minimal tailoring to be fitted properly. You can leave the dress shirt on, while you try the jacket on the sales floor.”

Both men came out and I showed them the suits, not surprised when Bucky gravitated towards the black ones. Colour was hard for him, as he always thought it made him too visible. The arm already did that, in his opinion. He tried on several jackets in his size before he found one that he liked, nodding his head as he looked at himself in the mirror on the floor. I found his waist size in the matching slacks and draped them over my arm.

“Ties?” I asked, walking towards our display. “You have your choice of plain, patterned, paisley, stripes.”

“Plain, black,” stated Bucky. “Could I try a black shirt as well?”

As much as I wanted him to experiment a little, I also knew he would look stunning in a monochrome suit ensemble of black. I found a black shirt to match the white one he wore then took them back to the dressing room. While he put them on, Sam came with me to the shoe department to find a pair of shoes. As soon as we were some distance away, he stopped and hugged me.

“How are you?” His eyes were full of concern. “This must be hard for you.”

I shrugged. “I miss him, even with all of his quirks. He can’t just show up here unannounced. Why is he really here? He wouldn’t even step foot into the store before even though I offered to help him find clothes many times.”

“I know.” He looked back towards the men’s wear department. “This formal event is mandatory for him. We’re going to the White House to receive a commendation and attend a banquet. It’s made his anxiety level go up through the roof. You always had a way to keep him level. It was my idea to come here and hopefully get your help. The work boots still had to be returned. He just bought them on impulse when he came here by himself the first time to ask for your help but couldn’t find you.”

I began walking to the shoe department; suddenly angered that Bucky was only here so I could make him feel better. Sam hurried after me.

“Seriously? You thought I could give him an emergency psychological bandage to get him through an anxiety episode? You’re better than that, Sam.”

“He needs you. He’s pretty lost without you.”

I could feel the need to cry bubbling up from my stomach and stopped at a display of men’s shoes, plain black Oxfords. Picking up a pair I held them up to Sam.

“What do you think? He’s going to look great in the suit and these will be just the thing to finish it off.”

“Yeah, he’ll like them,” replied Sam. “Size 12.”

I went in back to find the shoe, taking the moment to compose myself before coming out with the box. We began walking back to men’s wear when Sam stopped me again. With a sigh I looked at him, feeling almost at the end of my tether.

“Tell me the truth, are you happier without him?”

What an unfair question to ask. I wasn’t happy. I was miserable but I just didn’t know if I had it in me to put up with everything else. The moodiness, the lack of communication, the emotional withdrawal that happened around every anniversary of his fall, the possessiveness … the good things we had never seemed to outweigh the negative. Without even answering Sam knew what I would say, and he touched my arm, then nodded his head sadly. As we stepped into the dressing room Bucky stood there in the suit, wearing the black shirt, with the black tie, and the black pocket square poking out of the chest pocket. I took the shoes out of the box, doing up the laces, then kneeled in front of Bucky, helping him on with the shoes, before pinning the length of the trousers to fit the shoes and stepping back to look at the almost finished product.

“There you go,” I said. “You look great.”

“I feel good,” he replied. “Thank you.” His eyes flickered to Sam.

“You do look good,” said his friend. “The all-black look suits you.”

“I’ll take it,” said Bucky. “All of it, and the white shirt as well, with a tie of your choice. Just so I have two looks.”

“I’ll pick something out while you get changed,” I said. “Then I’ll meet you at the desk. The slacks can be left here for our tailor to shorten. They’ll be ready in two days.”

I found a tie, a paisley design, black with silver and gold accents, that matched the colours of his vibranium arm. There was even a pocket square to match, and I tossed that on the pile. I entered the information of the suit on the card. It would be entered into our database so that anyone could help him find what he needed in the future.

Sam came out with the suit, shirts and shoes, placing them on the desk. Bucky came out a few moments later, seeming a little more withdrawn. After entering the work order for the slacks, I handed him a claim ticket. It seemed odd that in this digital age we still used paper claim tickets, but it was what our customers liked, as part of the service. I tallied up the total, presenting the amount to Bucky, and he didn’t bat an eye as he pulled a black credit card out of his wallet. It seemed the superhero business had finally started paying off. As he entered the code on the terminal, I placed the suit jacket and shirts into a suit bag, the shoes and ties in a paper shopping bag. Then the receipt was handed over, and I looked at him, wanting to say something other than my usual customer service ramble.

“You should launder the shirts before you wear them, just so they’re softer on your skin,” I suggested. “In the shoe department are some protective sprays that will help keep them looking good in wet weather. You can also polish them with regular shoe polish.” Those blue eyes met mine, boring into me, maybe for the last time. “I hope your event goes well. You’ll look great and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you for your help,” he smiled softly, seemingly accepting that it was over.

He gathered up his bags and stood awkwardly for a moment before turning away. This time he didn’t look back.

Part 2>>

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