Speak Up. Raise Awareness. People Are Dying.

Pumpkin Carving

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader Rating: G Word count: 3,212 Warnings: Food mention, alcohol mention, drug/addiction mention, unashamed and unabashed fluff. Pining. So much pining. No beta reader. 

Summary: Frankie invites you out with his daughter to collect pumpkins for carving before going back to his place to carve them and watch a movie. 

A/N: @chicken-ona-stick​ has the SOFTEST IDEAS OK AND I LOVE THEM. Have some Domestic!Frankie

Masterlist | Ao3

You’ve known Francisco Morales for so many years. You sent letters to him while he was deployed, you stood on his side of the altar along with his team members for his wedding, you helped coordinate his baby shower, you held him in your arms as he mourned his crumbling marriage, and you stood by him as he got back to his feet to act the part of the single father he now was. Always smiling for him along the sidelines with him none the wiser to your true feelings. You love him, truly and deeply, but always silently. Pope and Benny both knew, and had consistently been on you about telling him, but you just… can’t bring yourself to. Not anymore.

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This is why it’s so important for parents to support their trans kids.

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

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Too little too late (6/?)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x reader, (ex)Steve Rogers x reader

Plot: Steve has a tough conversation with Bucky.

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Sunshine

Pairing: Jack Whiskey Daniels x gn!reader

Rating: PG-13 for character death

Warnings: character death, angst, pain (I know it’s all the same but you need to be super warned)

Word Count: 516

Author’s Notes: This just happened one day. I was sad and welp here it is. Enjoy and feedback is always welcomed. Gif credit to @pascalisthepunkest​ Also to my tag list I hope it is okay I tagged you all in this. If you want to opt out on future angst of this level let me know and if you want to be tagged in any future fics please let me know!

  Jack heard the familiar melody being hummed through the cracked door of his home office. He smiled slightly to himself at the sound the song you constantly picked to hum or sing when you did things around the house. If any other song failed you it was always there to fill your mind and the shared home. Jack slowly got up and quietly stepped to see you in the kitchen your hums now words as you worked on dinner. He was stealthy as he came up behind you and let his voice join yours as he wrapped his arms around you. The two of you swayed around the kitchen singing the song to one another before ending it with a kiss.

  All too many times this had happened. Jack bought you things with the lyrics engraved or printed across it. It has more or less became your song. The one the two of you seemed to now share. Your mother had sang it to you, you now shared it to him and one day he prayed he would get to sing it to your children. Life sometimes doesn’t work that way.

    The pain was all too much for Jack too bare but he had to hang on for you. He had to look into your eyes one last time and see your beautiful face. The thought of leaving you alone in the world made him fight all the more harder ever though he already knew.

Your phone had dropped to the floor, you had never rushed around so fast and drove so fast with absolutely no care. You ran as quick as you could, shaking and on the verge of sickness. This wasn’t happening. No. He couldn’t be ripped away from you not yet. Not when you had your whole lives ahead of you. You were just getting started.

Eyes full of sorrow watched you as you slowly walked into the room. There he was and you knew the second you saw him. The tears bubbled up and spilled down your cheeks. You let yourself let out a few sobs at his still form. His chest still rose and feel but just barley. The heart monitor at a slow beep. The rest of the room was excused to give the two of you your last moments together. You climbed onto the bed without hesitation and you pulled Jack into your arms. You were careful not to hurt him. His head feel to your chest and his eyes fluttered open. You held him and he reached up to grasp at you. You started to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You’ll never know dear how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

As you sang the last line the heart monitor went into a long beep and he slipped away from you. You sat there and sobbed as you held him. You kept try to sing to him like it would bring him back but it never would. Your sunshine had been taken away.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedros-main​ @scribbledghost​ @on-the-razor-crest​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @spookyold-saintjm​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @prettyboyskywalker​ @all-hallows-evie​ @the-mandalorian-clone-lover

Too little too late (1/?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Marcus Moreno x reader

Plot: Steve and the reader were dating when he decided to go back in time and stay with Peggy. When things don’t work out with Peggy Steve decides to go back to the future to be with the reader. Unfortunately for him, the reader doesn’t want anything to do with him because she was pregnant when he left. Things get even more complicated when Steve finds out the reader moved on with a widowed father and fellow superhero named Marcus Moreno.

A/n I don’t know how many parts this is going to have but I hope you guys will like it. I’m sorry but there is no Marcus in this chapter. Since I split this part in half, part two will be up by Sunday.

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Midnight Snack

Pairing: If I do more of this? Din Djarin x Earthling fem!reader Warnings: CRACK FIC, 2000s/2010s fanfic tropes, some language, some heavily implied threats of harm (but no one is hurt), not canon compliant but that is the point Words: 1.4k wtf XD Tags: Humor, chaos, reader likes cheese and midnight snacks, unexplained “magic”, Heather is worried about the last episode and has lost it XD

Summary: The night before your favorite show airs its finale for the second season you find yourself transported under stranger circumstances into a galaxy far, far away. Where everything and everyone is similar, yet different from what you were expecting.

Beta: @princessbatears who is the BOMB and edited this even though I wasnt going to post it and just being so encouraging about this!!! Also a huge thank you to @maybege @aerynwrites @magsgotswags @anxiety-riddled-mando @thecautiousengineer for encouraging me to post this and maybe write more?? X’’’D

It had been a long week, and month, and well really the fucking year had been long, to be honest. 2020 had not been kind in many respects, but one thing was certain. If you needed to get a snack at 1 AM? You went and got it.

Yes, perhaps you should have been asleep, but some nights were just like this. So you didn’t beat yourself up too much as you went to the kitchen to look through what was on offer. There were a couple of things you noticed needing restocking from the shops, you made a mental note to make an actual note in the morning. Would you remember in the morning? Possibly not, but at 1 AM you didn’t really care at the moment.

You made a happy sound at finding cheese in the fridge, there had to be crackers in the pantry right?

Holding the block of your favorite cheese you turned towards the pantry right as you felt a tingling in your nose. Turning your face sharply into your elbow you let out a huge sneeze that almost made you feel lightheaded. Man, that had been a bad one, random too, it wasn’t like your kitchen was super dusty.

Blinking your eyes in the bright kitchen light, you saw that… it wasn’t your kitchen light that was bright, you weren’t even in your kitchen.

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Dance

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Warnings: unabashed fluff, Din being an awkward turtle, Reader being just as awkward, the baby being his cute self (this is just further proof that I am better at writing angst or angsty fluff) Word Count: 1.6k 

Summary: You know you love the Mandalorian despite never seeing his face but you don’t know if the feeling is mutual. So in order to not ruin what you have, you’ll just keep it to yourself. At least you planned to, until you went to a planet having a festival. 

Being on the same ship with the Mandalorian was both a blessing and a curse. You loved everything about being on the Razor Crest, except when the water heater gave out midway through a shower, but there was one other thing that was making it hard to act like everything was okay. See despite your best efforts, it seemed like you had fallen in love with the Mandalorian and you didn’t even know when it had happened. 

Was it when you saw how he treated the Child like his own son or when he looked you over for wounds when another bounty hunter got too close to taking the Child and you protected him? You weren’t sure. You just knew that you had fallen and you had idea if he felt the same way. 

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Transatlantic (Steve Rogers One Shot)

Written for the Cap 2 Challenge by @justsomebucky and @imhereforbvcky

Prompt: ‘Be safe, if you can be’

Summary: After Peggy rejects Steve, he finds company in you, a British Brigadier who is more than meets the eye.

Pairing: Steve x Female Reader (with surname. First name is your own)

Warnings: Angst (Possible proof reading errors)

_______

Striking out with Peggy was the worst thing that had happened to Steve.

One stupid misunderstanding and she’d frozen him out. He was just staring at the map on the wall with a sense of melancholy, not even fully appreciating that he’d got Bucky back.

“That’s a sour face,” came a female voice from his right. “Chewing on a wasp?”

He turned around to see you, in a different kind of uniform, wearing pants and a Brigadier’s sash. Had you got those on by mistake or were all girls adept at kicking ass like Peggy over in Britain?

“Sorry?”

“You look a little glum,” you smile kindly. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, no I’m good. Thank you,” he blinks in bewilderment. “Uh…sorry if this is rude but…umm….”

“It’s the threads, isn’t it?” you look down and laugh. “Confused more than my fair share of Yanks lately with it. I was in the women’s auxiliary engineering corps but there was a bit of an accident you see.”

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RIP CURLS