#i am proud of how NYC turned out

[sariphantom]

@skelenova turns out I was your Secret Santa in the #Riseathon Discord's Gift Exchange, and like always, I have the tendency to give you more than one gift instead of just sticking to just one. You've mentioned that you would like to see hurt/comfort, taking care of plants, baking together, just chilling out/vibing, and you've also mentioned that you wanted your gift to revolve around Rise Donnie.

Third gift is Leo and Donnie chilling out on the rooftops of New York City while arguing about pizza.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Boy from Stevenage - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none, tooth rooting fluff, Lewis being vulnerable

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Felt like fluff was due, so totally self-indulgent nonsense I wrote after hearing bits of his speach for his GQ Awards.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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You leaned against the doorway as Lewis moved restlessly across the room, his brow furrowed with concentration. A braid kept falling into his face, and he kept tucking it behind his ear. He muttered to the reflection in the mirror, his expression serious as he practiced his speech for the GQ Awards ceremony, rehearsing it with the same intensity he would study race tracks.

A smile tugged at your lips. It was endearing, this nervous energy that usually only manifested before a race, and that so few got to see, filling the master bathroom of his NYC apartment. Tonight, however, the only race was against his stubborn desire to perfectly deliver his message.

When he finally sighed in frustration, you decided to fully enter the room. He caught your reflection in the mirror, and his face softened, the tension momentarily lessened.

"Hey," you tilted your head, offering a small smile.

He straightened, taking a deep breath. "Hi. How long have you been there?"

You shrugged, reaching for the fingers that gripped the marble. "A minute or two. Just… watching the master at work."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "More like a nervous wreck."

He gestured vaguely to the crumpled paper clutched in his hand. "Do you think it's alright? I don't want to sound… pompous."

You reached out for him, turning his face to look him in the eye, your fingers smoothing the worry lines on his brow with your thumb. "Lewis," you started, your voice soft. "Nobody's going to think you're pompous. They're going to be captivated."

His eyes, the warm brown that stole your breath every time, met yours with a glint of nervousness. "You really think so?"

A soft smile and chuckle spread through your features. It was a challenge, putting your admiration for him into words. You weren’t one for grand gestures or over-the-top declarations. It was in the quiet moments, the shared understanding, the unspoken language that existed only between the two of you that you showed him how much he meant to you.

"They'll all be in love with you," you finally said, a loving spark in your eyes. "Just like I am."

He chuckled, a hint of relief washing over him. "Smooth, (Y/N)."

You took his hand, gently pulling him away from the mirror. "Come on," you said, urging him towards the plush armchair in the bedroom nestled by the window. "Let's forget about speeches for a while."

He followed willingly, sinking into the chair with a sigh as he dragged you down with him. You settled on his lap, pulling your legs comfortably on top of his on the stool. The city lights became a shimmering backdrop to your comfortable silence.

"I’m really proud of you," your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers danced on his chest and he looked out the window.

His hand automatically sought yours. You squeezed gently. "More than you can imagine," you admitted.

"Sometimes it all feels a bit overwhelming," he confessed, his voice raw. "The platform, the attention, the expectation to be a voice for everything."

"You don't have to be a voice for everything, though," you countered, your voice firm as he locked his gaze on your intertwined fingers. "But what you do choose to speak up about… that's what makes me so proud."

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face. "Even the stuff that makes some people uncomfortable?"

You let out a proud smile and a knowing giggle. "Especially those. You use your platform to speak when others won’t."

He squeezed your hand, gratitude evident in his tone and his eyes. "Maybe you should be writing the speeches after all."

You laughed, a soft sound that filled the room. "You just need to be reminded that you're Lewis Hamilton, not a nervous rookie on his first podium."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, his arms embracing you as he turned his head, placing a soft kiss on your temple. "Thank you, love. But we really need to get going," he whispered, just before he picked you up and put you back down on the armchair, heading back to the bathroom.

As Lewis got in the shower, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the crumpled speech in his hand. You knew he wasn't one to brag about his achievements, but a part of you yearned to understand the weight of the words he was struggling with.

Carefully, you reached out and picked up the paper. It was filled with Lewis's handwriting, edits scrawled across some lines. You scanned the opening, your heart swelling. It wasn't about self-praise or glorifying his victories. It was a heartfelt dedication to the countless individuals who had supported him on his journey, from his early days karting in Stevenage until now.

He spoke of his family, the unwavering pillar behind him, their sacrifices paving the way for his dreams. He mentioned his mentors and heroes, those who had nurtured his talent and those who had inspired him to push to be his best. He even acknowledged his rivals, the competitors that had honed his skills and fueled his relentless pursuit of excellence.

But then, there was a section that was heavily underlined, a paragraph riddled with question marks and crossed-out phrases. It was about the kids that he hoped to have inspired.

He wrote about the grounding effect they had on his own path. He spoke of how he, too, was an impressionable young boy, wishing for something greater.

You knew sometimes Lewis struggled to express his emotions openly, yet here he was, trying to articulate the depth of what it meant to him to be put on the same pedestal as his heroes.

It was the written proof of how much this award, how much this entire platform, meant to him – a chance to not just be Lewis Hamilton, the champion, but Lewis, the boy who had aimed for the stars and received the moon as a gift.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. You pictured the faces in the opulent ballroom, expecting a typical self-congratulatory speech from the motorsport legend. The surprise on their faces when Lewis poured his heart out, his voice thick with a vulnerability they wouldn't have anticipated, would be priceless.

He may be a titan on the racetrack, but here, in the quiet intimacy of the apartment, he was simply Lewis, the man who might fumble with expressing his emotions but whose actions spoke volumes.

As you two rode in the backseat towards the gala, the city lights morphing into a mesmerizing dance of colors, you snuggled closer to Lewis, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm.

"Hey," you whispered, tracing a finger across the back of his hand.

He jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes looking for yours. "Hmm?"

"You know," you began, searching for the right words, "you don't need to win over that entire room tonight. You just need to make that brave boy from Stevenage proud."

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Sweet Caroline (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Work has been super busy lately, but I got ahead of schedule this week and I listen to music at work and everything kind of fell together and I wrote this. It's not the best I mean TBH it's probably very crappy, I know that, but it's cute and sweet. I hope you enjoy! :)

Summary: The rivalry between Boston and New York is deep-seated and long-standing, but you're proud of where you come from—just smart enough to not announce it from the rooftops in Hell's Kitchen, or to your friends. Turns out, no matter what—through years of friendship, marriage, and everything that follows—there will always be the rivalry to some degree.

Suggested Listening: Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond

Warnings: Fluff, Boston vs. NYC rivalry, not proof read at all, really

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

Word Count: 1,046

Moving from Boston to New York City is a cardinal sin. It doesn’t matter that it was for law school: “You couldn’t get in to Harvard? Suffolk?” “Oh, too good for Boston, now, are ya?” The kind of comments go one and on, especially once you made the decision to stay, having met your two best friends and deciding to open up a law firm with them. You can just imagine the similar sort of comments you'd get in Manhattan if people heard that you're from Boston. Therefore, you keep that part of your background on a strictly need-to-know basis, only free to wear your Boston attire and drink your Dunks in the comfort of your own apartment. The first nice spring day in the city means that your Bostonian nature is out in full force in your home—some windows cracked, a pot of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee brewing, and your favorite hand-me-down Red Sox t-shirt you’ve had for years comfortably situated onto your body.

Your freeze when you register a knock on the door.

“Knock, knock!” you hear Foggy call through the old wood. “We’ve got pizza and case files!”

“Just a second!” you call, putting down your mug of coffee and making your way over to let them in.

“Traitor!” Foggy shouts almost immediately.

“What?” Matt asks, his face scrunched in utter confusion. 

“Oh, Fog, c’mon,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am being no such thing!” Foggy defends. “This is a proportionate reaction for the situation!”

“I think you’re both forgetting that one party in attendance is blind,” Matt chimes. “Can someone please fill in the details?”

“(Y/N)—if that’s even her real name—is wearing a Boston Red Sox shirt.”

“I will not accept Bostonian slander in my apartment, so if you boys—.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Matt rushes, putting a hand on your closing door. “You’re from Boston?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you never mention it?”

“Never came up.”

“Lie,” Foggy interjects. “The day we met, we asked where you were from.”

“You said the city,” Matt adds. “We understood that as New York City.”

“That was a misinterpretation on your part. Boston is a city, and I did grow up there,” you clarify. “Hence, I’m from the city. You are at fault for not inquiring further.”

“It feels like I don’t even know you,” Foggy sighs.

“Okay, goodbye, drama kings,” you say, trying to close the door once more, only for both of your friends to slip in.

“Seriously, why’d you never just tell us?” Matt asks.

“You act like I told you I had a secret family or I was Daredevil or something!” Foggy has to help steady Matt—Matt's clumsiness is starting to get more concerning. “I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d react as through and through New Yorkers. I’ve heard everything in the book about Boston while I’ve been here. I didn’t want to hear it from my friends, too.”

“(Y/N),” Matt says, the tips of his ears bright pink. “We don’t mean it like that.”

“Then how do you mean it? How else and I supposed to take it?”

“You blend so will with New York,” Foggy says.

“Now I’m insulted.”

“No—it’s just that you’re a natural, really. That’s why we’re shocked. That, and you don’t speak like—.”

“—like I want to park the car in Harvard Yard?” you question with an exaggerated accent, making them both laugh, albeit nervously.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” You pick up your mug of coffee from the counter, taking a sip. “What case files did you bring?”

“Sweetheart, she smells so good,” Matt hums in delight as you both rest with your newborn in the hospital room.

“I know, Matty,” you smile. "Or are you forgetting that pregnancy made me have super senses, too?”

“Yeah, but that’s nature at work.”

“Mm,” you hum, taking another sniff of her head. “She smells so new.”

“Is it weird we’re this enamored with sniffing our newborn?”

“No. We made her. We have the right to sniff.”

As you continue to fawn over your daughter, you hear a gentle knock on the door. You notice Foggy and Karen peeking their heads through the crevice, gifts and balloons in hand. 

“Is now a good time?” Karen asks.

“Well, you are interrupting our baby-sniffing time, but I guess an exception can be made  for you two,” you say.

“I’m gonna ignore the baby-sniffing comment because I’m too excited to meet my niece,” Foggy beams as they enter the room and get closer. “Oh, wow. That’s a cute baby. I mean, of course she is, look at the gene pool she got to swim in.”

“She’s precious,” Karen whispers in awe. “Great job, guys. More so to you, (Y/N).”

“Thanks,” you breathe, resting your head against Matt’s.

“Does she have a name yet? Or is she still Baby Girl Murdock for now?”

“Well, Matt had a suggestion,” you start.

“Caroline,” he finishes, smiling sweetly at your daughter.

“Aww. Caroline Murdock. It’s so pretty,” Karen hums. “She looks like a Caroline.”

“Caroline?” Foggy asks. “Like . . . Sweet Caroline?”

“Foggy, how long has it been since you found out that I’m from Boston and you’re still on this?” you chuckle. 

“No, it’s not that! It’s nice. It’s a real show of love for a New Yorker to name their kid after the anthem of the enemy city.”

You look down at your daughter, the picture of relaxation as she rests in your arms.

“Sweet Caroline, bum, bum bum,” you begin to sing. “Good times never seemed so good—.”

“So good! So good! So good!” Matt adds on.

“Traitor,” Foggy smirks.

“You’re gonna be my little cute Boston fan, aren’t you?” you say softly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Matt tries. 

“You don’t even like sports!”

“It’s the principle of the thing! And you don’t like sports, either.”

“It’s the principe of the thing,” you mock.

“Yeah, but I love her.”

“I do, too.”

“So, Caroline? Is it official?” Karen asks.

“How about Caroline Josie Murdock?” you offer. “She does need a middle name, after all.”

“It’s perfect,” Matt hums, kissing your temple.

“A perfect marriage of Boston and New York,” Foggy smiles. “Just like her parents.”

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[ashleywool]

"I LOVED THAT SHOW"

I wore my How to Dance in Ohio hoodie to church today. It's Palm Sunday and we did our customary palm procession from Duffy Square into the building, which is nice and all except winter decided to come back and bite my skin off again...so that sweatshirt seemed like the best choice as warm enough for the weather + can fit under my choir robe + won't get swelteringly uncomfortable once we're inside at the service. It did the job. Truly the ultimate transition piece. Get yours today while supplies last.

At fellowship afterwards, someone from the congregation that I didn't know--she's only in NYC part of the year--pointed out my sweatshirt and said "I LOVED THAT SHOW!"

It took her a moment to recognize me (she initially confused me for Madison, which, yeah that happens, I'll never be mad about it), and we had a lovely chat about the show. And what I noticed after walking away was...the subject of autism, or me being autistic, didn't come up at all.

I love and cherish the advocacy aspect of my work on HTDIO. I love and cherish the opportunity it gave me to be the autistic representation I wished I'd had growing up. But I have to say, it was SO nice to have someone, a total stranger, talking about the show and loving the show independent of The Autism Part.

It was wonderful being part of discussions about diverse representation, and I will never turn down opportunities to eagerly participate in those conversations. But I really wanted us to stick around long enough that the "novelty" aspect of "autistic characters played by autistic actors" (or even "canonically nonbinary/genderqueer characters") would wear off sufficiently for more people, so they could focus on the story and the characters and the music and all the other things that make our show great irrespective of the Representation aspect.

I've had a ROUGH few weeks, y'all. Truthfully, I've been going through one of the worst depressive episodes of my life. Aside from the obvious grief factor and logistical stressors, it turns out that post-operative depression is absolutely a thing. While I'd like to think I'm cognitively and emotionally mature enough to handle this level of change, especially considering how lucky I am to have robust support systems in family, friends, and healthcare practitioners, my very autistic nervous system has had a difficult time letting the sympathetic part cooperate with the parasympathetic part. So I've been a ball of tension, exhaustion, and worst of all, that soul-sucking apathy where nothing seems enjoyable or interesting, but maybe it would be if I had the energy to be interested.

It's helped to find a great physical therapy clinic that is giving me comprehensive, multi-pronged care and NOT charging me copays (because apparently my insurance pays them excellently--thank you, Equity-League and Cigna). It's helped that I got back in touch with a therapist I had seen years ago on BetterHelp (she's since left the platform and honestly, GOOD FOR HER). It's helped that I have parents with the means to help me out financially--and, crucially, the means to keep me accountable without resorting to pressure and guilt-tripping. It's helped to still live in a city where financial assistance isn't excruciatingly hard to come by if all else fails (at least compared to other states). It's helped to have agents submitting me for tons of exciting projects, and having several cabarets and readings to look forward to in this time of transition. It's helped to have a really chill, supportive church community keeping me spiritually grounded without buying into the yt American evangelical toxicity. It's helped to have my cats.

But sometimes, what makes me the happiest of all, is hearing "I LOVED THAT SHOW!"

I'll never not be proud to be known for How to Dance in Ohio and everything we stood for. I'm proud that the love was real, and the quality of the material reflected and reverberated that love. I'm proud of the representation aspect, and I'm proud that it wasn't just about that. And people who saw it, saw all of that.

It's so comforting to know that we shared this show with enough people that it's going to continue to matter.

People aren't going to forget.

I love that for us.

By the way, it was too cold to really show it off, but this is the shirt I wore underneath the sweatshirt. :)

[lolahasmoxie]

Jailbird (Part 1) - E.M

I was inspired by this post.

WARNINGS: naughty talk, allusions to sex. Eddie should be his warning because the boy has no filter or impulse control. There's also some fluffy stuff because Eddie, by nature, is boyfriend coded.

WORD: 953

PAIRING: Eddie Munson x reader

The sequel to this will be out when I get back from NYC. (July 6th)

LINK TO PART 2

"Hi, I'm here for Edward Munson."

"Hopper, the girlfriend's here." The officer at the reception desk didn't make eye contact with you as you heard the sound of Jim Hopper's heavy work boots approach.

"Hey, y/n. How are your folks doing?"

"Good Jim," you answered, trying to pretend that it wasn't 2:45am and that you weren't wearing Eddie's pajama pants and a faded hoodie. "They're still adjusting to Indianapolis, but like being closer to their grandkids and the city."

"Sorry I had to call you down," he said as he motioned for you to follow him. "Got a call from the Hideout about some nonsense that happened towards closing."

"Yeah, Wayne's out of town with his fishing buddies this weekend."

"Hence, why I called you," Jim replied as he stopped outside the cells.

"Is he in a lot of trouble?"

"Nah, I talked the other guy out of pressing charges."

"Charges!" you interjected louder than you had planned. Hopper pinched his eyes as your voice echoed down the hallway.

"Some out-of-towners were in the club, and one was harassing a waitress. Eddie told him to knock it off, but the guy didn't listen, and when he groped the waitress, Eddie interjected with his fist."

"Fuuuuuuuuck," You muttered, running your hand over your face.

"Relax, there were enough witnesses to vouch for your boy; he was never gonna be in trouble, and I let the other asshole know that upfront. Still had to bring him in to appease him though."

"Thank you, Jim," you responded as you walked to the cells. They were mostly empty, with only a couple of drunks sleeping it off for the night while they waited for morning and their wives. Jim stopped in front of a cell at the end and tapped on the bar.

"Alright, son, pickups here."

"Oh, thank God." you hear him mutter as you stand in front of his cell. He looks mostly alright, although he's gonna have a hell of a black eye in the morning. "Hey, Sweetheart," he calls to you, his voice buttery sweet, step one when he needs forgiveness.

"Hey, handsome. Heard someone had a fun night."

"An absolute riot," he says dryly. "Hop, am I free to go?"

"Just a minute, son. We need to have a conversation first."

"I know, no more settling disagreements with my fists. Solemn vow, never again," Eddie interjects, making an x over his heart as he looks at Hopper with big brown puppy eyes.

"Not that dingus," Jim says shortly. "We need to talk about what you said to me when I read you your rights."

"What did he say, what did you say, Eddie?” you ask cautiously. Eddie hangs his head low and avoids your gaze

"I said the usual, "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Your man replied with, and I quote, "real hairy pussy."

You glance over at Eddie, who had quickly recovered from his shyness just a moment ago. On his face was the biggest grin you had ever seen.

"Someone's really proud of himself."

"What? It was HILARIOUS."

"EDDIE!" He jumps when both you and Hopper yell his name. He looks a little scared for the first time that night as he clears his throat.

"Sheriff Hopper," he begins, "I promise, scout's honor."

"Didn't you get kicked out of the scouts?" Eddie's head swiveled as a look of betrayal took over his face. He glared at you before turning to Hopper, who was chuckling.

"Alright, that's enough. Go home, and don't let me catch the words 'bar fight' and 'your name' in a sentence together. Understand?" Eddie nodded before following you down the hallway.

He could see you were mad. He had spent enough nights mapping out your body to see your anger as you walked before him. You walked past the receptionist and to your car, not once saying a word to the man following you. When you were both in the car, buckled and safe, you sat staring straight ahead with your hands on the wheel.

"Babe," Eddie started quietly. "Baby, I am so sorry about tonight. I know I should have been the bigger man, but they had been giving Annie shit all night, and I just..."

The sound of your laughter filled the car, and for a minute, Eddie wondered if you had finally snapped and lost your mind. You were laughing hysterically. At one point, you weren't even making a sound. Eddie could see the tears forming in your eyes as you tried to gain your composure.

"Uh, y/n,"

"I can't believe you," you started as you continued to fight the giggles. "Hopper has you in cuffs, reads your Miranda rights, and you respond with REAL HAIRY PUSSY."

Eddie finally joins in your laughter, chuckling to himself.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" He bats his pretty cow eyes at you, and you can't help but grin at your stupid adorable boyfriend.

"It's almost 3am, Eddie; you are absolutely not," you said as you wiped your eyes. "However, you were standing up for someone else, and for that, I think we should stop by Benny's so I can treat my boy to some cheesy fries and a milkshake. Sound good?"

"Oh my god, that sounds AMAZING. I'm freaking starving," he says as he rubs his belly.

"Good, and tomorrow you can start making this up to me."

"Can it involve that thing I do with my tongue?" You glance over at him, and he has a devious grin as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You quickly lean over and kiss him before starting your car.

"Absolutely, slugger. In fact, start with that first."

[sineala]

is there any fic of yours that you hold dear and that went under the radar a bit? ❤️

Ooh! Interesting question! (Also I have a bunch of your fic bookmarked and have not yet read it; I am looking forward to getting around to it but also my brain has decided that it hasn't wanted to read or write much of anything since early 2020 and I am very slowly regaining the willpower to read and write fiction but apparently reading is taking longer than writing. So I apologize to you and anyone else has who has written fic since then. It's not you; it's me?)

Anyway! I am sorting my fic by reverse kudos order. It looks like my least popular work either has sad endings, is super short, or just hasn't had as much time to accumulate kudos as something I wrote a decade ago, which is fair. Like, I feel like at some point people will come read Tabula Rasa because eventually they will be unable to resist the lure of 40,000 words of fluff about one guy who used to be in an iceberg and another guy who used to be a sad brain in a jar, but it's only been a year. And I think people will come read Cold Front after I eventually finish writing the series and can deliver on a happy ending, though this is clearly going to take me years. I have so many depressing books about some combination of being gay, the 80s, and NYC to read as research. Also actual canon, lol.

So once you exclude that kind of thing, I think the stuff I am proud of that didn't get as much traction tends to be stuff like remixes. And I also get why people skip remixes, but I have several that I have done that I think hold up on their own, which possibly means I don't understand how to write remixes, but whatever:

Armistice (The Nothing Else Matters Remix) is a DreamVision/Inception fusion of what was originally a MCU story. I moved it to Noir/616. Noir Tony has to get inside Steve's mind to wake him up, except... this guy isn't the Steve he knows. A 616 Civil War fix-it.

Breaking Point (The Abort, Retry, Fail Remix) is actually super fucking sad because it's a remix of a story of Kiyaar's where Steve murders Tony during Avengers #29. At least, he thinks he does. Tony ends up in a coma and then with amnesia. The original was Tony's POV but I kept wondering what the hell was going through Steve's head this entire time so I wrote this. I got out a lot of words about my feelings about Steve's characterization in Hickmanvengers, though.

Hour of Greatest Need (The Left to His Own Devices Remix) is another POV swap remix of a Steve POV story about that What If where Doom strands Tony in Camelot. I wrote the Tony POV; it was fun to write a character who has presumably read a bunch of science fiction and is trying to game out time travel.

If You Want to Live (The Historical Present Remix) is a time-travel 616 Civil War fix-it (yeah, we all have favorite genres) that was originally a MCU story where Bucky attempts to time-travel and murder Tony. This was not what I turned it into.

See You at the Bitter End (The Rest of the Rainbow Remix) is a 616 Civil War fix-it that I swear has a happy ending but also I think I killed Steve four times first.

Wonders of the World (The Keep Me Safe from Harm Remix) is an early v4 PWP which I read Secret Avengers and Fraction IM in order to write, which was when I discovered that Steve really hates black-ops, which was not something fandom had expressed to me. So it's a PWP about how much Commander Rogers hates his job. Weirdly, this is not the only story I have that I would describe as this.

I have more remixes than this, but I think these are the ones that probably hold up on their own.

Thank you for the question, though! This was fun.

[jerzwriter]

High Seas (1 / 2)

I am so catching up on fic requests this week! lol This one is for my bestie, sister from another mister, and soon-to-be NYC jail cell partner (lol nah, we'll be good!) @icecoffee90 based on this ask. I decided to make it a 2-parter. I hope you're OK with that. I hope you enjoy this!

Book: Open Heart (Post Series)

Characters: Tobias Carrick x F!MC, Ethan Ramsey

Category: Fun Fluff?

Words: 1,200

Summary: Casey and Tobias have been looking forward to their vacation plans, a cruise on the high seas with some old Hopkin's friends as well. But when work gets in the way, Casey has a suggestion. Can she sell it?

A/N: Part two will be up tomorrow - This is just some light-hearted fun and I hope you enjoy it. Participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge - I could make it stargazing or sunglasses? It's definitely a summer vacation - does that work Dani? lol? Thank you!

Casey walked into Tobias’s office sheepishly, without saying a word. She turned around and leaned against the locked door. Knowing what that typically meant, he broke into a lascivious grin, but Casey’s scrunched-up face and worried demeanor left him perplexed.   

“Babe...” she grimaced.

“Yes....” he simpered with a raised brow.

“No,” she corrected with a nervous giggle. “It’s not that... not this time, at least. I’m afraid I have some... news.”

His shoulders dropped as his eyes widened. “Oh, shit... you’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What? No!” she shot back incredulously. “Tobias, that happened once, and now every time I have news, you assume that’s it? Besides, I thought you wanted ten kids or something.”

“More like five, but Sammy is barely six months old. Sweetheart,” he smiled as he rose to embrace her, his lips meeting hers in a tender, delightful kiss to seal his wordless apology. “For the record, I would be delighted... but we said we wanted to space the Carrick Pack out a little more, that’s all.”

“Well,” she attempted to worm out of his embrace with a bashful smile that was the very opposite of his devious grin. This man was entirely too proud of the effect he had on her. “Once you hear my news, you’ll probably wish it was Carrick Bambino 2.0.”

His face grew serious as he leaned against his desk, and his wife collapsed into his visitor’s chair.

“Case... you’re OK, right? You’re not sick or something?”

“No, no...” she assured. “Nothing like that. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But remember that proposal I submitted to the governor’s office?”

“The one about expanding free healthcare to children in the state’s poorest communities? Sure, how could I forget? You put your heart and soul into that project – pregnant and all.”

“Well, it paid off... I got a call from the Lieutenant Governor, and well... they loved the proposal and asked if Naveen and I could put a presentation together for them. They’d like to make it happen.”

“Hon! That’s incredible!” He gasped, face glowing with pride. “What are you doing, scaring me like that? This is wonderful news... the best! Why would I be unhappy?”

“It’s... the timing,” she sighed. “The Governor and her healthcare committee only had two days available to meet with us.... both during the week we were supposed to be on our cruise.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, baby. I know how much we’ve been looking forward to it... but this project is so important and,” she stopped when she saw his face fall. “... and I supposed I can bring someone else up to speed and let them take the meeting. It’s just...”

“Oh, No!” he interrupted, taking her hand. “Baby girl, you worked your ass off on that proposal, and I’m so proud of you! No way are you handing all your hard work over to someone else at this stage. Besides, no one believes in it as much as you – and it’s too important. You have to be there. We’ll go on a cruise another time.”

Casey glanced at him with a playful smirk. “Did you put cancellation insurance on the trip like I told you to?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes answered her before he did. “Have I told you how proud I am of you? And how absolutely beautiful you look today?”

“So, that’s a no on the insurance,” Casey laughed.

“I don’t care. We’ll lose the money. Or I’ll see if we can transfer the trip to someone else.”

“But it’s with your old Hopkins friends! I don’t want you to miss out, so I have the perfect solution. Ethan only declined so we could go together. But, if I can’t go, I can hold down the Diagnostic Team with Harper and Baz, and Ethan can go with you.”

“Uhm, no.”

“Uhm, yes. I already called the cruise line. They said we could transfer the ticket to his name. Plus, it would be nice for you to see your old friends together without your old ball and chain there.”

His lips pursed and he gave her with a reprimanding stare. “When have I ever referred to you as my ball and chain!”

“I’m teasing,” she reassured. “But come on, tell me it wouldn’t be fun for you and Ethan to go on a trip with your old med school friends? As much as I’ll miss you, it’s not such a terrible outcome.”

“It’s not terrible,” he groaned. “But I wanted a little romantic getaway with my wife, too. Ethan is no use to me there.”

“True. But you can cancel the romantic suite with the jacuzzi and change to a standard room, but go! Sammy and I will be fine, you get some friend time and will be back before you know it. All we need to do is get Ethan to agree. What do you say?”

“One condition. I get to Zoom in for your presentation. No way I’m going to miss watching my wife kicking ass.”

“Oh, but Hon,” she grinned, slipping into his arms and playfully toying with the lapels on his lab coat. “But then you’ll be all turned on and so far away... is that a good idea?”

“Sure is. Imagine how worked up we’ll be for the reunion when I get back,” he winked.

“So, then it’s a deal?”

“As long as Ethan’s on board, it’s a deal.”

~~~~~

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Ethan scowled.

Tobias turned to Casey. “See, what did I tell you?”

“Ethan, you can stop pretending you don’t like Tobias. You were our best man. You’re Sammy’s godfather. You practically live at our house on your days off....”

“That’s just to see Samantha,” he interrupted.

“You’re so full of shit!” Casey joked. “I know being curmudgeonly is your brand, but shut up and go! Are you afraid I’ll destroy the DT while you’re gone?”

“No,” Ethan insisted. “It’s not like I’m leaving Carrick in charge, for God’s sake.”

“Well, technically, you are,” Tobias teased. “She is Casey Carrick now, remember?”

“Yeah, the poor thing,” Ethan scowled. “But you know what I meant!”

“Come on,” Tobias cajoled. “It’s been a long time since you and I spent with the old crew. As much as I’d rather be with Casey than you, and, frankly, as much as they’d rather be with Casey than you... it’ll still be fun.”

Ethan’s expression softened as he stared into the distance. “We did have some fun times together in the past.”

“Sure as hell did,” Tobias agreed.

“And you don’t mind?” Ethan asked Casey.

“It was my idea! I’d love to be there, but this presentation is too important to me. Vivian promised she’ll help me with Sammy, and I’d be happy to know you two clowns are off having fun.”

“Sounds like you have it all worked out,” Ethan replied.

Tobias reached over and poked his friend in the arm. “So, is that a yes?”

“I may live to regret this, but fine. I’ll go.”

“Yey!!!” Casey clapped.

“See that,” Ethan smirked. “She’s already happy to get rid of you.”

“Shit!” Tobias laughed, “I’m shocked it took this long for that to happen.”

“Oh, God,” Casey rolled her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t push each other overboard.”

“No promises, babe. If he’s gone, one of us is up for a promotion.”

“Now, that’s premeditated.”

Casey shook her head. “I have a feeling I may live to regret this.”

Part 2

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Other tags in Reblog

[invisibleraven]

and maybe telling each other how proud they are of them for Julie & or / Flynn? 🙏

Flynn, as a rule, usually slept in until she absolutely had to get up. Meaning Julie had adjusted what time she swung by the Taylor's house to pick her up before school. Even if Flynn still usually took another few minutes before coming out.

This day, however, was different. As she pulled up in front of the sensible two story, Flynn was already waiting at the mailbox, clutching a large envelope so hard she was going to crease it. She hopped into the car, and buckled up.

"Drive."

"Well good morning to you too," Julie muttered as she pulled out of the driveway, heading towards the school.

Only seniors were allowed to use the parking lot, and her dad had been very uneasy about handing over the keys to her mom's old wagon, but now it was hers. Flynn had yet to pass her driver's test, despite multiple tries, and Julie wasn't about to make her best friend ride the bus.

"So what's with the envelope you've got a death grip on?" Julie ask when they were less than a nile from school.

"College acceptance letters," Flynn replied tersely. "My whole future is in my hands and I'm too scared to open them."

Julie pulled into her assigned spot in a flash and turned to Flynn. "You want my help?" Flynn nodded, and oh so slowly handed Julie an envelope that was half the size of the one she was still not letting go of.

"Let's see...NYU? Fancy. But you didn't get in babe, I'm sorry."

Flynn shrugged, she knew NYU was a long shot, and she hadn't set her heart on it. The one she wanted was still in her hands. Julie laid one her own hands over it.

"You got this okay?"

Flynn nodded and blew out a breath before ripping open the envelope and thrusting it at Julie. "You read it."

JUlie gingerly loosened Flynn's hold on it and pulled the first sheet out. "Dear Miss Taylor we are pleased to offer you a spot at the Fashion Institute of Technology!"

Flynn shrieked, bouncing in her seat, Julie joining right along with her.

"Oh my goodness babe I am so proud of you!" Julie exclaimed after they had gotten their screaming out.

"Thanks," Flynn said, scanning over the rest of the letter. She was really doing it, becoming a real fashion designer, from one of the best schools in the country! But when she looked at Julie, she was swiping a tear away. "What's wrong boo?"

"I'm just going to miss you so much," she confessed, offering a watery smile.

Flynn sniffled at that. Julie wasn't headed to college-a major label had picked up The Phantoms and were going to sign them after graduation. They would be working on an album and touring the country while Flynn sat through classes.

"Well we can chat all the time, and I will buy every ticket for when you're touring NYC."

Julie laughed at that, pulling Flynn in for a hug. "But what if we fail?"

"You won't," Flynn assured her. "You are Julie fucking Molina, you have more talent in your pinkie toe than half the hacks on the radio. You're gonna be a superstar boo, and I am so proud that I get to watch you rise."

They hugged tighter, Julie resting their foreheads together, while Flynn hooked their pinkies together. "We're gonna do great," Flynn whispered. "Take the world by storm. I'm gonna design you a killer Grammys dress and if the himbos drive you bonkers, you can come camp out in my dorm."

Julie giggled at that. "Deal."

Flynn smiled, then swiped at her eyes to make sure her look was still preserved-no real damage. "Now come on, we have three more months before we can kiss this place goodbye, so we better get 'em over with."

JUlie grinned, grabbed her bookbag and linked arms with Flynn getting inside and to homeroom just before the tardy bell rang. Flynn tossed her a wink, and Julie knew that even though the future was scary, and would be hard at times, they would through this-they always did.

[longeyelashedtragedy]

how did u fall into lamps

O gather round children, it's a longer story than some may think

the date was july 16, 2022, the place baltimore maryland, the event arsenal vs everton. i went with my friend nina, and while we were waiting for granit and the gang to come and warm up, i messaged our group chat with our mutual friend who was like, a hardcore liverperson from the gerlonso days, to tell her where we were, and when hearing we were seeing everton she said something along the lines of "oh, Fat Frank the Tory!" i was like oh...there's definitely some backstory and some lore here that i have no knowledge about and now i'm amused and intrigued/

right before the game started, the coaches came out, and i was struck stupid by mikel in his all black shortsleeves hairy armed top energy off the charts charisma passionate glory. we weren't sitting that close to the pitch, but it was still so easy to pick up on his vibe. it was clearly not "just a friendly" to him.

i was then kind of just as struck by the contrast in the two uh gentlemen who'd just come out. mikel in the sleek black, lamps chonky in the weirdly overly casual everton summeroutfit. the contrast was immediately appealing and so were the aesthetics. (i'm so consistent--we all know as far as looks go everton franko is my favorite franko lol) exhibit a:

we beat everton 2-0 and the whole time mikel was passionately charging around as he does and lamps was just sitting on the bench looking so annoyed and so defeated and i was like who is this chonky sadboy...i'm Fascinated and Pleased. like honestly, being the football toddler that i am, i knew very little about him. HOWEVER that didn't stop me from bringing him up frequently enough in conversation to nina that she was like FYI you talk about this man a lot!

but let's fastforward to one of the most distressing months of my life AKA may 2023. granit transfer rumors were ripping brutally through my life and they really seemed real and as we all know i was crying about it literally every day! i think by some point my brain was just in desperate need of something else to think about, and conveniently, i saw the god amongst fic authors @protect-daniel-james 's fic "Just," and not gonna lie, just the summary alone got me, but the fic finished what the summary started and i read it like 7584930 times, plus a couple others that had popped up in the tag after that (shoutout to @new-berry 's "Proud of heart (pride of London)" which was a fantastic twist on their relationship and ends with a BIBLE VERSE). then i read the NYCFC-related interview with him where he mentioned that one of his favorite NYC restaurants was this one that's like a 5 minute walk from me, and the very crude foundation of what turned into Digestif started forming in my mind. my summer vacation started just a couple weeks later, during which i did the world's fastest speedrun of a Person, and the Lampardverse began to gather strength.

the rest is Long Eyelashed History!

[brynnterpretations]

hello!! saw ships were open for the boys so wanted to ask for one, please :)

i'm a bi & ace jewish brazilian girl, currently in college majoring in theatre & minoring in translation (i want to be a musical theatre actress). fluent in portuguese & english, currently learning french, and i have a life objective to become a polyglot (4+ languages!!). in love with theatre, literary analysis, linguistics, music, writing, and art in general — will absolutely ramble about anything i am interested in, and also might have strong opinions on stuff that maybe i didn't need to have a strong opinion on 💀 i can get a bit combative about that at times... i definitely take as my biggest skill, besides singing and acting which are quite literally my intended job, eloquence and just my way with words (toxic trait is believing i'd talk my way out of a murder fr fr). friends that know me more recently would even say i'm an extrovert because of that, but honestly i am a pile of nerves of an introvert with social anxiety that simply loves yapping and putting on a show. most notable quirk/habit might be how precise i always am with finding the right words because i simply cannot leave an opening for misinterpretation (and that's on anxiety and a suspicion of undiagnosed adhd oops); that might lead me to be a bit picky (for the lack of a better word), specific, and/or literal with the words other people use as well. i'm also pretty proud of my music taste — from alt rock to 20s-40s music, love curating the vibes and i'm a bit of a playlist freak. also i would 100% show brazilian music to whoever i'm paired with 💥🇧🇷

hope this is good, thank you so much :)

Thank you so much for the request, you sound so cool and this was super fun to write! I hope you like it. ☻

I ship you with...

Annie January ♡

Girlfriend

GIF Source: @vcugifs ★ (link)

You and Annie meet at a small coffee shop while you're both grabbing coffee. The university you go to in The Boys' universe is twenty minutes away from Vought Tower (it's notorious for feeding non-supes to Vought for corporate work, NGL) and though the coffee shop itself is a bit out of the way, Annie enjoys not having the big swarms at Vought's Jitter Bean.

It's a very, very sappy meet-cute: you drop a textbook for one of your gen eds, Annie picks it up, and as you stutter out an apology — you just dropped your textbook in front of Annie "Starlight" January! — she's enamored.

What can I say? She lives for anxious energy.

It starts out slow. You meet right when she becomes part of the Seven, and as we know, things are rough starting out. Still, she finds herself going to that same coffee shop not just to avoid the crowd, but in hopes of seeing you, Cute Textbook Girl, again.

She starts bringing in some of her more secretarial/paperwork-y tasks in to the café, and, eventually, politely asking for a seat next to you turns into genuine conversations, which then turns into her walking you home when you both ended up staying there too late (thank God for 24/7 coffee shops in NYC). After a good month of pining after you, Starlight finally gets the courage to ask you out, probably a few days or so before the Believe Expo. She'd been terrified to due to Vought essentially marketing her as an All-American Christian Girl-Next-Door!!! Barbie doll, but as she continues to uncover the corruption of Vought, the most important thing to her is being true to herself and to the rest of the world.

And to you, the cute girl.

This... kind of... works out in both of your favor? While Vought is pissed at first — Ashley would definitely rant about how "we already have a lesbian!" in reference to our bisexual queen Maeve — they use y'all as the Token Gays™ (as well as showing that Supe and Non-Supe relationships are great, never question the power!) and parade you around pride festivals. When June comes, pictures of you two are on every billboard in NYC.

Enough about Vought, though: Annie adores you. She is endlessly impressed by your linguistic abilities and especially your work in college. Due to her Supe upbringing, college had been pretty out of the question for her, but even if it wasn't, she'd have a hard time figuring out what she wanted to do besides something in public-service. You being so passionate about theatre is admirable to her, especially since it's artistic. In the world of "The Boys", there's not a lot of genuine creativity, and you're a very rare gem to her because of that.

Because of that, expect tons, tons, tons of kisses and back rubs while you're stressing over assignments.

Also, any and all performances you have always are attended by Annie, complete with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and dessert afterward. She gets deep into whatever you are performing, even if she knows the plot of it.

She also loves how well-spoken you are. While well-spoken, Annie is one of those people who forgets words that she wants to use constantly, particularly when she's stressed or ill, and you are a beacon of light for her during those times.

For example, while Annie's trying to work on a case report on thirty minutes of sleep: "Honey, what's the word for that thing that hospitals roll people in on?" ... "A stretcher?" ... "Oh my God, thank you!"

And on that note, some pet names she has for you: honey, baby, and sweetie. She's a born-and-raised Midwesterner.

Annie's the kind of person who has a good music taste, but gets stuck on listening to the same music constantly — she's a creature of habit — so she loves the music you listen to. It's not something she's heard a lot, especially the Brazilian music, so she listens to your music religiously and loves creating Spotify Blends for the two of you.

Expect to share your wardrobe with each other.

Outside of knowing very basic sign language, Annie is monolingual, so she loves hearing you speak other languages. After stressful days, all she wants is to lay in bed with you while you read out something in Portuguese or French. She loves your voice.

Annie is pretty busy a great chunk of the time, but she always finds ways to incorporate you in her life, whether it's just having you by her side while she rifles through paperwork or she's secretly talking to you through an earpiece about Love Island (mark my words, Annie loves trashy reality TV) on patrols.

Because of that, too, she tries her best to surprise you whenever she finds some time off, some of these including reservations at your favorite restaurant, impromptu road trips, or even tickets to one of your favorite artists' concerts.

While Annie prefers that you don't get extremely involved in the work she does due to how dangerous it is (while Hughie was one thing since he was already involved by the time of their canonical relationship, you started as an outsider) she knows you are extremely smart and capable, so she always tells the truth to you. If you wanted to get involved, she'd take a bit of convincing, but would ultimately trust your judgment and competency (which you have a lot of!) and introduce you to The Boys.

And that brings us to...

The Boys ☻

Friends

GIF Source: @5ummit ★ (link)

Hands down, Frenchie and Kimiko are your best friends in The Boys. They're friendly to you from the get-go, but once they figure out that you can A) fluently speak Portuguese and English, B) are learning French), and C) have the goal of learning four languages, they are set. They greatly value people who find ways to communicate with others, even with language barriers, so they saddle up to you very quickly.

You catch onto sign language pretty quickly, meaning you all talk massive shit, particularly when Butcher is going onto one of his tirades towards Hughie.

Whenever you all have free time, you, Kimiko, and Frenchie all have movie nights that end in super deep conversations half of the time.

Also... they insist on you performing monologues for them in French/Sign Language, particularly extremely crude ones. Believe it or not, the two have an immature sense of humor sometimes. I mean, how else do you get through the days in The Boys universe?

Butcher likes you — don't get me wrong — but because of your rambling and readiness to defend the member of the team he disagrees with the most (Annie), he can be pretty harsh on you. He also teases you and Annie constantly, which isn't the best, either.

For example, when you and Annie were having a very personal, sweet conversation: "oi, you two done scissoring yet?" (queue Annie's sunbeam eyes).

He also caught on to how firmly you stand by your passions quickly, and when he's bored or trying to prove a point, will rile you up. He's a bit of a dick. Sorry.

M.M. really, really likes you. Though he doesn't get to talk to you too much due to being the backbone of the coup, he thinks you're a sweetheart, and always makes a point to greet you and make some small talk when you stop by, even if he's pretty visibly and audible stressed.

However, while your interactions with him aren't as plentiful as they could be, you two end up in the office together quite a lot, and you get our boy hooked on Brazilian music. Mark my words, that man wordlessly shows up in merch of an artist you showed him every other week.

Hughie is a very good friend to you. While you two don't have a lot of overlapping interests, what you do have is an ability to explain your passions and get others invested in them, so you two are forces to be reckoned with (particularly for Butcher, the cranky geezer). It is Yap Central™ when you two are in a room together, and your similar energies pair really well together, making you two quite the comedic duo.

(Also, because of you, whenever Hughie's freaking out on a mission, he recites musical theatre facts he'd heard from you to call himself down).

So, even with Butcher's assholery, trust me: you've got a very good group of people by your side, and they love you.

[inkedobsidian]

~ I hope P.T2 - P.P ~

summary: After that night peter decides to see who he could be and how he could help people without the mask and just as Peter Parker

pairing: College!Peter Parker x College!Reader

warnings: angst, graveyards

word count: 1,096

a/n: Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas!

Master-List - Prompts

About a week had passed since Y/N had walked out of Peter's life and it was a weird adjustment, you spend so much time with someone and with a certain future in mind, and when that all stops all you have is yourself. Y/N had realized that growing up and becoming an adult with Peter had led her to form her life around him instead of fitting him into her life. The whole week she stayed in her apartment, much to the argument of MJ, and decided what she wanted from her future. It was refreshing. Then after a week of protest and argument from MJ, Y/N decided to finally take a walk through Times Square.

The sun shone directly onto the ground of Times Square, tourists walk around with their heads faced upwards on a swivel to see everything and Y/N just tried to walk around with her head down. Y/N understood why MJ wanted her to go outside but considering who Peter's alter-ego was Y/N was just afraid of running into him accidentally. That's when Y/N noticed the abundance of kids dressed up as Spider-Man. At first, she was proud, Peter did some amazing things she was glad people loved him, then after a second, it left a burning feeling in her heart. Then she noticed that red and blue appeared more and more around times square. As Y/N walked towards the middle of Times Square she decided to look around her and there it was on the biggest billboard on Times Square. 'We miss you Spider-Man'

Turns out Peter had taken what Y/N had said to heart, he had to see who he was without the mask so that's exactly what he did. He gave Aunt May his suit and said he was taking a break. Aunt May knew why, of course, she did she always does. So for the full week, Peter had been working with Dr. Banner in his lab at the compound. Bruce didn't want to ask why he had taken a break but he knew how endless being a hero could seem. Y/N's words rung in Peter's head every day 'You were Peter Parker before you were Spider-Man.' She was right, as always. Peter needed to see who he could be without the mask, how he could help people and Bruce was showing him how.

After every day with Bruce, Peter would go to the same place. The walk was always quiet and somber, even after all this time it never got easier. So here Peter was again for the 7th day in a row, say in front of Tony's grave. Peter realized that he's mourned Tony for longer than he knew he knew him personally, everyone grew up with Iron Man, but Peter got to know him as a person, as a father figure. Then he lost him. Tony did a lot for Peter but not just with the suit but with being an adult and growing into the man he was now. However, today was the first day that Peter had actually spoken to Tony's grave.

"It's me again, Peter… Parker. Today is the 7th day of working with Dr. Banner and also the 7th day of not being Spider-Man anymore. A long time ago you told me that if I was nothing without the suit then I shouldn't have it and I'd like to think I proved you right at the time. However recently Y/N said something similar, that she wondered if I was Spider-Man before I was Peter Parker. The line between being Peter and being Spider-Man seems to blur too much, how am I supposed to plan a future as Peter when someone is always going to need Spider-Man. NYC will always need a hero but I need Y/N, and she deserves someone that will be there when she needs it. I want to be that person."

Peter poured his heart out to the gravestone in front of him so much that he didn't notice the other person in the graveyard walking towards him, it was Y/N. She hadn't heard him talking but she knew exactly where he'd be when Bruce said that he went out for the afternoon. Y/N didn't really know how to tell Peter she was there, she left without letting him say anything so she didn't know if he hated her. When she finally coughed to let Peter know she was there he spun around with lightning speed. No one wanted to say the first word because they didn't really know what to say.

"Y/N… I-"

"I saw the billboards. I-"

"I did what you said, I wanna figure out how to be Peter, how to be the Peter you need."

They both just kept cutting each other off, they didn't properly know how to talk. It was clear both of them wanted the same thing, each other, but could they come to find a way where they could be happy. They knew what they wanted but neither knew how to achieve it, they were both still very young in that regard. Their future was still a while away so it's not like everything had to be decided now but they did need to decide how to work it out so they weren't getting hurt on the way.

"I don't want you to stop being Spider-Man, it's a part of you and it always will be. I just want you to be Peter Parker first, Spider-Man second. I can't say I know how to fix this because I don't, we need to figure it out and we can only do that together. If this week has taught me anything it's that I don't know how I fit in this world without you, and that's not how it should be. You should fit in my life, my life shouldn't fit around you. We both need to figure out who we are as people before we can be a real couple."

They both sat there in front of Tony's grave and discussed their future, neither of them knew exactly how they were going to work it out but they were both willing to try. This was the start of their future and they both needed to be on the same page if this was going to work with the lives they led. Peter would still work with Bruce and would start slowly taking the Spider-Man mantle back and Y/N would go back to university and choose a specialization after a year. They were willing to make this work, but it'll takes work.

[im-95-not-dead]

@noxnthea tagged me in this fic writers showcase game, so thank you!!

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason. 💛

First fic: Gone But Not Forgotten (canon Steve/Tony) -- if anyone knows the artwork i'm talking about in the notes of this fic, please let me know!

Last fic: posted ch. 2/? of With Friends Like These (Bucky & Clint & Nat & Frank Castle, normal au) about 20mins ago

Only once: A Strange Encounter is my only Loki/Strange fic that I've written

Fav fic in the most popular fandom or ship: hands down has to be The Way You Look (Steve/Tony 1940s NYC mafia au) which I co-wrote with redhead_robin on AO3. I recently re-read it and still love it

I wish more people would read: The Fall (teenage runaways Bruce/Clint) partly bc it's a small ship but also bc this fic was inspired by personal experiences, songs near & dear to my heart, & the impact Just Listen by Sarah Dessen had on me as a teen and still does.

I agonized over: All Or Nothing At All (Clint/Bucky 1940s NYC mafia au) I have such a fear of getting called out for being anachronistic that I was watching documentaries, read loads of Wiki pages, biography excerpts & everything else to get 1948-50 NYC as accurate as I could as well as the mafia experience and yeah, there are still some things that are lacking bc I didn't wanna overwhelm the fic with unnecessary details but damn, this one really took a toll on me & I originally intended it to be a >10k oneshot and that did not happen 😃

Showed up fully formed: Punks & Poets (Bucky/Clint) was inspired by a tiktok and I knew exactly how the fic would go by the second play of the tiktok

I'm proud of: This Is Why I Don't Write Romance by R.B. Banner (Bruce/Clint) im proud of this one bc 1) it's a less-supported ship and a lot of people expressed their appreciation for it 2) it turned a lot of people on to the idea of this ship according to my comments 3) i just genuinely really love the world I created and how everyone fits into it. It could also be an agonized over fic with all the complete trashes and re-writes it went thru but for the most part i am just so damn proud of it

No presssure tagging: @carcrash429 @daemonbreath @ladyladylady1 @buckyismybicycle and anyone else who wants to do it, feel free to tag me !

[ghostwithflesh]

A little over a week ago, I spent a whole day making cookies to support the student encampment at CCNY. I've never been so proud to be an alumni from my school than to see these brave students letting the world know that Palestine needed to be free, to be safe, that innocent people shouldn't be subjugated to such cruel and violent oppression, and that genocide is fundamentally wrong.

I live in NYC and it's been a very crazy time here as far as I've seen. I say that because, unfortunately, I haven't spent as much time on the ground working to support these calls to action as much as I would have liked to. Most things I'm seeing from friends online (amazing) and on social media.

But this was my school participating in such a historical movement, and though I've not been stable or strong enough to face, well, the horrors - I still wanted to show my support. So I planned and spent a whole day making these cookies from a recipe that was very special to me, if anything just to boost morale. I also had some supplies that were on NYCDSA's list that I was going to bring along with me.

It's just crazy because here I am, running around for 8 hours making cookies, occasionally watching the escalation happen right on my feed. Police had filled the area. There were scenes of students pushing back the armored and shielded officers who were trying to force them off the campus. And in the moment I'm just thinking, "I need to make more cookies, I'm not sure if I'll have enough".

I finish late with a box full of cookies. I didn't keep count but there were well over 150 cookies in there. At least it was something, right? But I live far from the campus now, and it was practically night at that point. I ask my partner if they can drive me the next day.

Next day comes, and I message NYCDSA to ask how the encampment is doing, and if they still need supplies. They don't get back to me. And I see why, because it turns out that the police did end up clearing up the school. Fuck cops. They're violent upholders of our oppressive systems. The same oppressive systems who fund the mass murder of innocents.

Cut to, now I have this box full of cookies. There were other protests going on, I could send them there maybe. But ultimately, from what I'm seeing everywhere, there were just so many people, all around my city, all calling for a ceasefire in Gaza. People loudly, proudly, calling out our government and our institutions who fail to do the right thing, who use our dollars in ways far against our values.

I cried, because I definitely did not have enough cookies for all the wonderful people doing such a great thing. But also how beautiful because that just meant that there really were just that many wonderful people who cared so much about humanity and justice.

I felt really silly, and also really guilty, because now I had to take care of this box of cookies. I cried, again, and hoped that, idk, even though I couldn't show my support the way that I wanted, that somehow the energy of my intentions could at the very least be a good vibe to send.

I hoped that, well, if me and my loved ones had to enjoy these cookies, then please, universe, send the people something to smile about.

#PrayForGaza #FightForGaza

[ofhouseadama]

mothers of the groom. are queer, will travel to be your mom when your assigned mom at birth sucks. sample speech below:

I never intended to acquire a son at the age of 24, let alone a teenage son who lived halfway across the continental US. But I've striven to be worthy of the honor of being called mom by this incredible young man in front of me ever since the first time he gave me the title.

If we've never met, my name is Emily, and I've had the pleasure of being the half feral wolverine who has spent the past half decade raising Grey by hand. I taught him about the important things in life -- the epic highs and lows of professional wrestling, how to edit a history essay, how to both get into and out of trouble. I even, albeit a little accidentally, gave Grey his name.

But he's given me something much more important than a name, or a title, or any of the other things I facetiously listed before. When Grey came into my life, I was, like I said, 24. I had been disowned by my own family for being gay, working and living in NYC and fighting every day to keep myself alive. To find a reason to keep fighting every day.

Grey, you were my light in the darkness. Watching you grow up and find yourself, watching you turn into this smart, kind, tenacious young man has been the greatest honor and pleasure of my life. Thank you for allowing me to accompany you on your journey, for giving me the opportunity to show up for you, to give you advice (even if sometimes you ignore it out of hand), to be proud of you, to comfort you when you're sad and remind you that no matter what happens, I am there right behind you. Thank you for allowing me to walk with you in this newest phase of your life alongside you as your mom. Having earned this place in your life is the thing I am most proud of, and I hope to keep earning my place as you and Tay move into this exciting new season of life--marriage.

My wife Leah and I have been married for three years, after which I have learned two things. One--that no two marriages and two people are alike, and therefore trying to say pretty aphorisms and sage advice as if they're universal truths is a waste of time. Two--before starting a fight, eat a potato. Any form of potato. Hashbrown, mashed, tater tot, French fry. If I've learned anything in three years, it's that a lot of problems can be solved by going through the McDonalds drive thru. Especially when you go together.

But truly--this is an exciting time for you both, ripe with new beginnings and adventures and challenges. Your victories will be made sweeter, your defeats made softer, because you will do them together. From this day to your last day, you will be a team, working together to accomplish goals and weather difficulties that will seem impossible to fathom alone. The whole of two people, sealed together in marriage, is greater than the sum of their parts. Your future together is infinite.

Thank you for including me, including all of us, in this moment and allowing us the honor and opportunity to show up for you with love. I believe I am not alone in raising my glass, and wishing you both a long and happy life.

[freeworldallahexecutivembaclass]

End Hunger starvation and HIV Aids in Africa congratulations on sending the cure for Aids in Africa we did good real good thank you I kept the job of helping out because I know it was people out there that needed me .

I hope correction I hope I get a job soon and enjoy my work . It's good to be alive and see my work I'm shaping the world and the way it is going on in the world so I could start my music career and enjoy sone of my list of accomplishments everybody else and shout out to the Carter's family and definitely shout out to my sister Wanda thats work for the mass transit authority in NYC and yes shout out to Houston Beyonce my cousin sister aunt mom Nicki Minaj my sister best cousin auntie and my girlfriend just joking love ya though I know you good you a sister of mines though royalty my sister is the Queen 👑 and I'm her brother just her brother for all my single ladies out there in the world and she is a best friend of mines now a family member of mines true story you like an aunt cousin sister and my best friend of mines now and thank you for all you have done for me and Meagan what's up how you doing and shout out to LA LA Anthony and Angie Martinez of course . I can't stop achieving y'all and yes we did it finally the cure for Aids breathing heavy my chest puffed out and tears from my eyes just starts crying by itself then I sit down in the audience by myself like darn I did it I'm bigger than all my mistakes and every sorrow and pain I been through every thing that I am now is bigger than what I been through in my life , thank you so much .

The US helped prevent AIDS from being a death sentence in Africa .

Check the news on CNN on ending HIV Aids in Africa with the cure and new medicine Cabenuva HIV medicine that cures HIV Aids like the common cold and any other kind of communicable diseases

We did it congratulations on the cure for Aids in Africa .

The US helped prevent AIDS from being a death Sentence in Africa .

The nurse suggests that he goes on a porridge diet for a week or two. Thank you 50 Cent I'm you and you me thanks from a friend , Love your brother , Allen yeah yeah Free World whatever a leader in the Free World that is what it means . I asked people to get off of me with that voodoo curse the industry the movie industry the media freedom of press don't mean freely do want you want to me and I asked FDNY EMT and NYPD and get out of my living space . And yeah my only conversation with the hood was me helping them see my list of accomplishments other than that nah between us it is a dangerous environment and people like to exploit that fact and it turned personal when they try to murder me on numerous occasions you got my help but not me you didn't lose you just lost me , no thank you I'm not a street guy no more my politics is but not me no thank you , goodbye and good luck to me I stand back from people now it's a trust issue you could help them and they will still set you up to harm you I keep my distance for my own safety .

Congratulations

End Hunger starvation and HIV Aids in Africa and I'm proud to announce me and 50 Cent part ways we did good on the cure for HIV Aids in Africa me and 50 Cent we did real good but we moved from each other I moved from drama with gangs I had with the gang the bloods I don't need the drama I respect them but we moved on from each other they got their own thing going on I wish them good luck and me and the media part ways Vado from Harlem and his program is over they moved on from me Jae Millz moved on from me I wish them good luck in their music career and rappers in the hood we moved on from each other like the hood we moved on from each other I said no thank you to being spied on and watched like they got permission to do that I said no and that is not what I want with my life no to radio personalities and even the hood the streets these local communities and neighborhoods and other institutions being plugged in my room I said no even to celebrities I said no to city workers and their game I play my own game in life goodbye and good luck .

I'm not posting no more the pandemic is over and I didn't take on any attachments on me so no TV show about me or recording me or any program with other people other than myself I said no thank you , Again congratulations on the cure for HIV Aids and ending hunger starvation in Africa . Thank you for my time on social media I did good and made my good outweigh my bad but I'm gone good luck to everybody in their career and pursuits .

Cabenuva the new HIV Medicine is the cure for HIV Aids it knocks out HIV Aids like the common cold please send it to Africa to help heal the people .