Dr Abbot Keeping In Shape 💪💪

Welcome to my Masterlist 💌

hi, i'm murphy. my requests are always open - feel free to send any ideas or thoughts you have - i'll always read them all.

note - all of my fics are reader insert. no use of y/n. i don't write for real people, only characters <3

Last Updated - December 14th

❁ - over 1k notes

✯ - a series

Characters I Write For.

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist. 3k Celebration Masterlist. Valentines Masterlist. 5k Celebration Masterlist.

Moodboard Masterlist. My Ao3.

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Top Gun: Maverick

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

The Orange. ❁

You and Jake share an orange. He's in love with you.

For Eternity. (Part 2 of The Orange.)

You and Jake share an orange. He's never loved you more.

North Star. ❁

It's New Year's Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

I Know Places.

Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Why Choose?

A drunken game of spin the bottle gets a little heated. Why choose, when you can have both?

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Dr Cupid.

Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.

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Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Lessons in Love. ❁

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Honey Girl. ✯❁

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Trick or Treat.

You love Halloween. Bucky loves you.

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

Stucky

Letters to the Moon.

Steve is gone. The love you and Bucky have for him isn't.

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Frank Castle

There's Always Tomorrow.

Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.

Multi Talented. ❁

Frank shows you exactly what you deserve.

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Criminal Minds

Luke Alvez

Wherever You Are. That's Where Home Is.

Luke might be a mind reader. Only with you, though.

Vice. ❁

Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Spencer Reid

Web of Lies. ✯

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep one from you.

Cowboy!Spencer ✯

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Narcos

Javier Peña

Self Control. ❁

Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.

Yes, Mr President.

There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.

Western Nights. ✯

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Jealousy, Jealousy. ❁

Javier Peña doesn't share.

Two Murphy's and a Peña.

Javier knows Steve's sister is off limits. He's never been one to follow the rules.

After Hours.

You and Javier are stuck in the office in the middle of a heatwave. You're hot in more ways than one.

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Triple Frontier

Time. ❁

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will each have their own ways of helping you heal.

Tethered. ❁

The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.

Tranquility.

You're not good at keeping secrets from the boys. Turns out, Will isn't either.

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to the four boys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the guys told you they loved you.

Will Miller

Champagne Fuelled Confessions.

You come home drunk, and have something burning you need to tell Will.

Best Friend's Brother.

You've known Benny for years. You've had a crush on his brother Will for years, too.

Frankie Morales

Find You.

A bad date brings Frankie Morales to your door at the perfect time.

Rain Soaked Romantic.

Frankie will run across town in the rain if it means finally telling you how he feels.

Santiago Garcia

This Is The Way It Always Goes.

Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.

Precious Girl.

A chance meeting with your Dad's best friend at 2am.

Benny Miller

Adrenaline.

Ben needs a way to work off his post match energy. You.

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The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Pretty When You Cry. ❁

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

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Succession

Stewy Hosseini

Clandestine. ✯

You and Stewy know it's wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?

Fully Clothed.

Being Stewy's assistant has its perks.

Consequence.

Stewy's actions have unexpected consequences.

Needy.

You've been waiting all day for Stewy to get home. He loves it.

Play Pretend.

The classic fake dating trope, with a twist.

The Place Where It All Began.

You reunite with Stewy at your high school reunion. Turns out, he's been waiting for you, all this time.

Risky.

The thrill of being caught makes it all the more exciting.

Kendall Roy

Me and You.

You quit as Kendall's assistant. He's been waiting for this day.

Illicit Affair.

You're Matssons wife. You're also in love with Kendall Roy.

Forced Proximity.

The classic only one bed trope, this time with your emotionally unavailable boss.

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The Bear

Carmen Berzatto

The Roommate Collection. ✯❁

A collection of fics based on being roommates with Carmen.

Vienna.✯

Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

Carmen. ❁

Carmen. Your Carmen.

Denial. ❁

Carmy can’t keep pretending.

Mechanic!Carmen.

Inspired by that picture of JAW in a crop top.

Perfectionist. ❁

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks. Especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

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9-1-1

Evan Buckley

Lightning Strike. ❁

The two of you deal with the aftermath of Bucks trauma.

Fire Hazard. ❁

The story of your firehouse nickname - and Buck unable to handle you in a sundress.

That Old Cliche. ❁

You swore you’d never give in to the best man and maid of honour cliche. And then you met Evan Buckley.

Eddie Diaz

Best Seat in the House.

Blame it on the moustache.

Evan Buckley & Eddie Diaz

The Look of Love. ❁

You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.

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Sons of Anarchy

Jax Teller

Heatwave. ❁

You cut Jax's hair. He can't keep his hands to himself.

Sundress Season. ❁

It’s sundress season. Jax can’t keep his hands to himself (again).

Filip 'Chibs' Telford

Teach Me How to Ride. ❁

Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).

Handled.

You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.

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Challengers

Two Can Play That Game.

You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.

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Steve Harrington

Cherry. ✯❁

The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue.

An engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. What could go wrong?

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Rivals

Declan O’Hara

Forbidden Fruit. ❁

That’s the thing about Declan - he always gets what he wants. It might be wrong… but it feels so right.

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

Man of The Hour.

The sexiest thing about a man is his moustache morals.

Rupert Campbell Black

February Sky.

The highs are so high, but the lows are so low.

Golden Girl.

After years of keeping your private life private, everybody’s suddenly talking about your new boyfriend. When it rains, it pours.

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my man is so thoughtful

— Anthony Mackie reacts to Captain America action figure and thanks his teachers

i got my hair retightened today and it always feels like i got scalped. now i won't get home till 5am tomorrow and i don't have any ibuprofen 😭

love the final architecture series but i refuse to acknowledge the ending. solace and idris go on to live happily ever after and idris becomes a sleepy princess like me to make up for all the sleep he missed out on in the past

psa clint isn’t joel miller and if you’re flattening him into a joel archetype we need to talk about race again

i’m aware they both wear plaid, have a daughter, battle with grief, and are hot covered in blood and enacting violence

this isn’t a callout i just don’t remember where i saw these specific posts about the red handkerchief and clint as a ‘blue collar’ man. but i know i’ve seen plenty of clint = joel posts floating around. 

AND i wasn’t going to say anything bc i thought i was just being gatekeepy bc i didn’t wanna see clint get the dbf treatment which would be my personal problem and i can happily write about him on my own blog how i want etc etc and i know i don’t have to read anyone else’s takes BUT then i thought about it and once again…it’s always about race… re: the post i saw somewhere about someone having a head canon about clint having a red handkerchief as a snot rag - sorry i forgot where i saw it and this isn’t an attack on whoever wrote that, but an fyi to anyone thinking about him the same way… if you’re writing a latino man in 1987 oakland—especially someone working street-level jobs or tied to criminal economies—and you think a red bandana is just a ‘snot rag,’ you’re missing major context

fyi, in 1987, color politics were not optional if you were a man of color in california. even though bloods (red) and crips (blue) originated in LA, their color codes and the larger gang culture around them were already known across the state. in northern california specifically, norteños (tied to the nuestra familia prison gang) wore red. their rivals, sureños (tied to the mexican mafia), wore blue. 

who cares? well, even though oakland wasn’t dominated by bloods and crips the way LA was (in part due to the black panthers), it had its own street crews, plus a heavy norteño/sureño influence by the mid-80s. even outside organized gangs, the association between red and gang affiliation was strong enough that wearing a red bandana could get you profiled, targeted, or attacked—by cops, by other crews, or by random people trying to read your allegiance.

if you were a latino man in oakland in the 80s—like clint—you wouldn’t carry a red bandana by accident. it would be flagging. even if you weren’t affiliated. as a street smart guy, survival would mean being hyper-aware of how you present yourself, especially in neighborhoods policed by gang dynamics and racial profiling. cops would use color displays like a bandana as probable cause for harassment searches or worse during the height of the ‘war on drugs’ and the crack epidemic. 

characters like clint—latino, working-class, street-adjacent—would have understood the consequences of being read wrong. this doesn’t mean no one ever had cloths, handkerchiefs, or functional rags. it means the color and the way you carried it mattered: what pocket, what visibility, how deliberate it looked.

throwing a red bandana in your pocket wasn’t neutral. it wasn’t folksy. it wasn’t just blue-collar roughness. it was a risk, and survival was about reading the street, not walking through it like color codes didn’t apply to you.

clint wouldn’t casually rock a red bandana like a cowboy. latino men have never had the privilege of being casual about how they're read in public, especially not in a city like oakland, especially not in the 1980s.

re: clint as a ‘blue collar’ character there’s a difference between being ‘blue collar’ and being trapped in criminalized labor. wearing a plaid shirt and working with your hands doesn’t automatically make someone a blue-collar worker in the traditional sense. 

blue collar historically refers to wage labor—construction, manufacturing, trade work—where the worker is paid (poorly) but still operating within the boundaries of legal employment. union jobs. often unionized labor, tied to systems that, at least in theory, protected workers through collective bargaining, benefits, and job security. those protections were never equally available, especially to workers of color, but they existed as part of the larger working-class structure. 

clint’s labor isn’t protected. it isn’t recognized. it’s criminalized. he’s not just a man doing rough work for low pay—he’s disposable labor, surviving in a system that sees him as expendable from the start. calling him ‘blue collar’ erases the fact that he’s not inside the working class safety net. he’s on the outside, paying off debt with violence he didn’t choose.

it carries a specific context of class exploitation, yes, but it’s still different from the kind of criminal coercion characters like clint are caught in.

clint is not a proud working man making an honest living. his entire arc in freaky tales is about being forced into violent labor to pay off inherited debt he had no choice in. he is not rough and gritty because he chose a rugged life. 

he is rough because he was born into a system designed to keep him indebted, desperate, and expendable. he’s not working a blue collar job—he’s surviving in a criminal economy that feeds off people like him, using violence he doesn’t even want to enact just to stay afloat.

flattening clint into a vague ‘marlboro man’ archetype (joel coded)—rough clothes, kind heart, good intentions—it strips away everything sharp and painful about his actual story. it whitewashes the complexity of being a latino man criminalized by birth and survival, not by choice. it reframes his struggle as a generic americana fantasy about working-class virtue, when what’s actually at stake is how structural violence forces people into roles they never asked for.

especially when it’s a latino character, this flattening isn’t neutral. it erases the realities of racialized labor, racialized criminalization, and survival. clint’s tragedy isn’t that he’s a gruff tough guy with a soft interior. his tragedy is that he was forced to become violent in order to pay off a life he was never allowed to own, and he carries that weight without any guarantee of getting free.

you can’t understand clint if you don’t understand that. and if you’re not willing to sit with that discomfort, what you’re writing isn’t really him—it’s just a projection of a character he was never allowed to be.

clint and joel might overlap in aesthetics, being single girl dads, and physical strength—but reducing clint to a copy of joel misses everything that actually defines who he is, and why his story matters.

joel miller is a texas man—a man shaped by frontier mythology, southern survivalism, deep mistrust, and violent individualism. he is, by his own admission, a man whose grief and guilt hollowed him out so badly that even his brother was scared of him. he’s not just traumatized; he’s actively dangerous, closed off, and isolated. his story is about losing his humanity and clawing parts of it back, maybe too late.

clint is not that. clint is an oakland man—east bay, west coast, working-class and criminalized, not because he chose violence but because he was born into debt he could never pay off. he’s an underdog, not an antihero. 

he’s soft with his woman, he lights up under her attention. he’s goofy in the video store with the clerk. he’s not some hardened loner who scares everyone around him. he’s just a man trying to survive a system that was designed to use him up.

when you flatten clint into joel, you’re misreading two characters with different emotional cores and fetishizing the aesthetics of pain and ruggedness while ignoring race, class, place, and survival context.

clint isn't a texas cowboy. he’s not steeped in frontier violence or manifest destiny myths. he’s a west coast underdog who knows every step he takes could get him crushed, and he still tries to protect the people he loves without letting it rot him from the inside out.

the tragedy of joel is that the world took everything from him and he let it turn him into something colder, crueler.

the tragedy of clint is that the world gave him no choice- he says he was born into breaking bones to pay off his father’s debt, and he still tries to hold onto his softness anyway.

if you can’t tell the difference, you’re not seeing clint, you’re just projecting a fetishized joel trope onto another character… 

I'm not friends with you because you serve a purpose to me, I'm friends with you because I just like you. That is to say, there is no one who can do what you do for me because what you do for me is just be you

cute

Shameless Enjoyment

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Image found on Pinterest by @ellethespaceunicorn who thought of Bucky bonding with his new kitty 😻 so OBVIOUSLY I had to run with it...

No warnings, just floofy fluff! Enjoy 😘 WC 625

It's because he has nightmares that he suddenly pops up to burn off unprovoked, fight-or-flight energy. Shirtless, metal arm whirring in strain, covered in sickly sweat, Bucky just goes and goes.

Hundreds of sit ups. Hundreds of pull ups. Hundreds of push ups until his muscles finally fail, and he can (maybe) go back to sleep.

You've watched with your own breed of fear and sadness a few times before, but not tonight. You need him to not feel alone, to notice there's someone (or something) here to help. You need to ease his pain in some small, tiny, probably insignificant way, but you have to try.

So you prop yourself up on his knees during the sit ups, you jump for his rising, crossed ankles during the pull ups, and you shimmy across the floor by the sleek hairs of you back, positioning yourself beneath his head during the push ups.

His eyes are glassy, unseeing of you, his face bobbing closer then farther on and on.

His dog tags clink on the floorboards only an inch away, but Bucky still notices absolutely nothing.

Well, you know how it goes, right? Hear a tink, tink, tink enough times (dozens and dozens so far), and we're all like to be driven a bit bonkers.

You attack them, pinching the flat steel between your paws and bunny-kicking the swinging string, deeply annoyed that you have no thumbs to grab them properly and rip them right off his neck.

Ok. Maybe you're tired and he did wake you from a proper sleep this time.

You bite at the tags, intent on making your own mark on the stamped metal.

Bucky stops, but you only notice when his body remains lowered to yours for longer than the regular beat.

You, in turn, stop mid-thrash.

"Pretty girl..." he growls playfully, though you are anything but 'pretty' with your fangs hammering an unyielding surface, your wide eyes angry and lopsided, and your body twisted to gain the leverage of one-twentieth Bucky's own size.

You pause then growl in kind.

"Are you mad at me? Did I disturb you?"

A back leg whacks at the chain again in defiance.

He chuckles, the harsh lines above his serious brow relaxing as he pushes up, dragging the necklace almost out of your reach.

The smooth plates slip from your paws, and it makes you furious, batting wildly to regain your hold of them.

Bucky seems very pleased with that reaction.

"There ya go, doll. Almost got it--" he lowers again "--yay! What about--" he pushes as far as his elbows will straighten "--now?"

A wet huff escapes your throat when the string goes entirely beyond the extension of your own fury limbs.

"Uh oh! Little higher, Alpine. You can do it," he coos.

Your screech is from genuine irritation, but it amuses Bucky to the point you wriggle some more...just for show.

"Okay, okay, here ya go." Bucky lowers the tags carefully to your chest, delighted by the feral display of savagery he sometimes wishes to impart on the symbols, too. You're sure he doesn't realize he says these things out loud, but you take his confessions as seriously as a priest.

You'll take on his burdens like a golem if that's what helps him sleep through the night.

A few hundred secrets. Let him push them out. And then let him dream of better things. Fluffier, pure white, happy things. If he lets you, you'll fight all the demons and fly from room to room scaring all the ghosts of his past away.

He can do this routine without shame. He's simply playing with his cat. Bucky's just enjoying his time with you...at any and all hours of the day.

[Next Part: 'Babygirl']

[Main Masterlist; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

A/N: yes, Lexi's got zero chill. What of it? You all knew that!

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @yenzys-lucky-charm @bitchy-bi-trash @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

omg this is excellent

From Each According to Their Ability

Jackson!Joel x gn!reader

Masterlists being updating under the new renovation. I went from romanarose to cosmickid-inmotion!!! I have to fix everything up before I add masterlists etc

Summary: You're fully deaf, and you're begining to feel frustrated with not being seen as a productive human with your own capabilities.

Warnings: Covert ablism. Nothing extreme but just to be fair. Reader lost their hearing in a explosion. Mention of meth. That's it i think, lmk if I missed anything!

Disability Visability event OPEN THROUGH THE END OF MAY!

A note on disability and employment after the fic.

Based on an ask I got by @goodbyetothenight! Back in October I said i was done writing Joel due to constant abuse from the fandom. However, in the spirit of an inclusive enviorment for people of all kinds I decided to write this piece. I took a intro to disability class where one of my big projects was on disability and employment, and i have a good friend who used to do dead/HOH advocacy so I feel pretty comfortable with this subject. As many of you know, for a long time i suffered hearing loss due to what i know know was a mass in my ear. I got it removed and hear much better now, but it was bad enough it caused problems for me. Still, if I said anything offensive please let me know!!

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

1.7k words

(I changed it to gn reader so if theres accidentally anything indicating gender other than the 50s housewife joke which i think works either way, lmk!!)

To each according to their need, from each according to their ability.

That was the communist manifesto, wasn’t it? Honestly you don't remember anymore, college was so long ago, and you’d have enough brain trauma. Of course your memory wasn’t what it once was. 

What you did remember was Maria saying, “Everyone has their place”

The accident was how they’d found you; how Joel had found you, actually. No, you weren’t making meth in Wyoming after the world had gone to shit, but you might have been known to… do some trade running is all. Imagine your surprise when you came to a supplier, were having a chat, when his entire lab blew up… and all the explosives he’d stored in the next room. 

You laid there in the rubble, making peace with your ending when and angel appeared in flannel.

You didn’t hear a word he’d said, the ringing in your ears far too loud, but after he’d taken the parts of the house that’d fallen on you and shortly before passing out, you were certain you could read his lips.

I got you.

You had lost all your hearing. This made you hesitant to join the community Joel had brought you too, but what choice did you have now? Maria, in conversing through writing, had assured you that there would be work for you and you’d be provided for in return.

“Not everyone does patrol.”

But you couldn’t do a whole lot you used to do either. Anything that involved needing to be very aware of surroundings was a no. No construction, for obvious reasons. None of the farm work: if there was a clicker or a siren went off, what if you were too far out and no one got you? No teaching, the kids, no large animals, not even cooking because you couldn’t hear when someone said ‘behind!’ or ‘sharp knife!’ or ‘oven open!’

Yeah, you did work. You did a lot of sewing, mostly. Sometimes you could watch the young children in the nursery, just not alone. You did what you could but sometimes you felt useless. It’d been a year now, and you struggled to feel yourself all the time. The world kinda being over meant not much for options like hearing aids, but your deafness was so profound you weren’t sure anything could have fixed it.

Sign language wasn’t happening. You’d learned some things because some people in Jackson knew a little but there was no one really an expert. Besides, at this point it was hard to learn something new. You counted your blessings. You could read lips pretty well, and you could talk, so most communication face to face was fine… unless people were weird.

Maria and her husband, Tommy, were nice and acted normal. They invited you over quite a bit and always spoke clearly, so you could read. Not that thing a lot of people did where they spoke slowly or over-enunciated. That didn’t help anything. The over enunciating was almost worse than the mumbling, but often the mumbling was mixed with people who wouldn’t even look at you.

Ellie was awkward sometimes but honestly, that was just Ellie. Jesse spoke like a boy scout and was overly formal, but you were pretty sure he was just like that too. He enunciated.

But then there was Joel. Your Joel, as he came to be over the months you’d been here in Jackson. Joel took such care to speak clearly, but also let his personality shine, that smile you loved to see. The teeth so close to perfect, you’d known before you ever explored his mouth he had to have a wire retainer on the back of his teeth. The night it all exploded and he closed the gap between you, you’d slipped your tongue behind the bone and felt the wiring yourself. 

It wasn’t long before you’d moved into Joel’s house, opting to free up a new house for the people kept fleeing to Jackson and finding comfort in the safety of him. You weren’t scared of existing in a house, no, not at all. But there were times you worried you wouldn’t hear a siren or a warning call. Now, even though you would be home alone for hours you knew that there were people that would come for you. Joel would know where you were. Joel would find you.

He always made sure to come from the side or the front where you could see him. Since you couldn’t hear when he came home, sometimes he caught you off guard, but after a few jumpscares living together Joel learned how to enter your vision without giving you damn near a heart attack. Ellie hadn’t quite learned the skill, but she was trying.

Joel’s deep green flannel peaked the corner of your eye as you sewed, and when you looked up, he came into vision. When you can clearly see his face, Joel grins at you. Maria said she’s never seen Joel this happy.

“Hey darl’n,” Joel always tried to stifle the accent to make things easier to lip-read, but it came out in certain words. “How was the day?”

You put down the sewing in a huff, pouting up at him. “I’m tired of this. I want to be useful.”

Concern seeped into his aging face, those two deep lines between his brows coming out to say hello. “What do you mean?” Joel came to sit on the couch with you, and you two turned to face each other.

“I mean, I’m useless, Joel. It’s frustrating! I used to be feared, did you know that? No Tony Soprano or anything, but my god people knew my name some places. I was taken seriously. And now?” You hold up what you were working on. “I’m fixing Eugene’s jeans. His You-jeans, if you will.”

Joel was clearly trying to stifle his smile at your joke, unsure of what tone you needed. “Baby,” He gets out through a laugh. “I promise, you’re valued here. Everyone has a role to play.”

“And mine is nothing better than a 50’s housewife. And I don’t even get to be high and balls on valium while I do it.”

Joel sighed, thinking. “If I could get you valium, I would.”

“I know.”

“Used to be able to. I ever tell you I ran drugs?”

Your ears perk up at that. “Before?”

His eyes go wide. “No, no not… not while I had Sarah. That was Tommy’s scene, if I’m being honest. I mean in Boston. I was a big tough guy, running underground trades. Anyone that crossed me got fucked up. People feared me too.”

It was hard to imagine your sweet old man a fear drug runner… but everyone had a second life before Jackson. “I didn’t know that.”

“Used to be a fist of fury. Now it’s just a hand.” he spread his fingers and grinned. Joel was happy in his new life, you understood. He liked this domesticity.

You give him a smile, but you don’t feel better. “It’s not the same, Joel. You get to use your skills. I’m not even that good at sewing!”

Something in Joel’s expression shifted, he could pick up that this was actually bothering you, not just a mild inconvenience.

You continued, softer. “I wouldn’t have an issue if all I was good for is sewing. I understand everyone has their place, everyone is important. But I feel like I’m not being used to my fullest. I’m not a child just because I’m disabled.”

He looked you, those two lines thick with thought before he sighed again. “When I… when I lost some of my hearing, it was confusing. I mean, it was a confusing time in general but navigating everything while dealing with the fact I was never going to hear the same wasn’t easy. I thought, how can I protect Tommy like this? Sarah was dead, all I had left was Tommy. I thought okay, you only have one fucking job left and it’s keeping him safe. It was like we were teenagers again.” That flicker of sadness across his face, the look of a man who was nearing 60 but still shivered at the thought of his father. He shakes the thoughts away. “I had to figure it out, but I would be damned if I let Tommy help me. I hated that shit; I still do.”

You nod a little. “I get that.”

“I know, and darl’n,” His eyes flittered away, and his lips didn’t move enough. “I feel protective of you-”

“What’s that? You’re mumbling.”

Joel snaps back to look at you, eyes apologetic. “Shit, Sorry,” He was clear now. “I just mean, i feel protective of you, but maybe instead of protecting, I should be advocating.”

Your heart clenches, feeling nothing but love for you sweet, still-fresh boyfriend. “I love that you like protecting me. I love when you got your arm wrapped around me when we talk in the tipsy bison… We met because you were protective, even of a complete stranger.” You give Joel a peck on the lips. “But could we talk to Maria about figuring something else out? I can work with my hands Joel, I can be productive for more than Sewing. AND I’LL SEW!” You raise your hands in defense, and Joel chuckles. “I’ll sew too, don’t get me wrong, just… please. I need more.”

He nods. “Yeah baby. I know we can figure something out.”

And you trusted him.

Later that day, you and Joel sat down with Tommy and Maria and explained how you felt. Maria emphasized safety, including yours. You knew she meant well, but I felt frustrated. Joel stepped in. 

It wasn’t long before you joined the construction crew. Not on the field, not climbing around where constant spatial awareness and knowing where everyone was was necessary, no. But a corner of the shop was set up just for you, a space people could only enter with express verbal permission from you, a space you could work with your hands and saw and cut and nail and wire. 

And yeah, sometimes you still sewed, but you don't mind it as much now. Not when you finally felt fulfilled.

Disability and employement.

For a long time, disabled people were often given menial labour jobs, like putting caps on pens, for pennies. Many people thought all disabled people could do was barely contribute to society. This seems to be RFK's thought process to.

LET ME BE CLEAR. You do not need to work to be valuable. Some poeple can't work, and they contribute in other ways. Some people simple cannot work. Everyones life is important and disabled people deserved dignity no matter what. You don't need to be paying taxes to be worth something. Human value is innate.

BUT, just because one is disabled does not mean they cannot work. Many, like myself, WANT to work, meaningful work we feel proud in. I'm lucky to have a job that works well with my disabilities. In this story, we briefly explore the reasonable accommodation. In the past, my emplyers have not had to give an accomidation but I've had costumers be extremely rude with my hearing loss.

Maria is not mean to be the bad guy here. She cares for reader, wants reader to be happy and safe and keep those around them safe, but she wasn't thinking outside the box. Joel gave reader the chance to speak, then helped advocate for them like a good partner.

I want to leave you with this fact I learned from my disability and employment project.

Did you know? Disabled people hired very rarely need much accomidation, and the accomidation is usually pretty cheap if anything. In return, disabled people have much lower turnover rates, which saves the company money. This is a purely capitalist arguement, but unfortunetly we live in a capitalist society. Next time someone wants to say something negative about the ADA or requiring accomidations at work, remember that disabled people are very valuable in a job.

Thanks guys!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @copperhalfcent @miraclesabound @quiet-night-sky-writers-blog @missdictatorme

ill get a proper tag list going i swear sorry if yall arent interested

Anyone have a happy fix-it fic with Kylo Ren but Han and Luke and Leia didn't die and the family gets back together and bonus points if Hux is there too

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

WHO IS USING THIS

AN APP??? THEY HAVE A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

THE LAST FUNCTIONING WEBSITE