#tristat system

[kingkat12]

long legs (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: mentions of sex, foul language, roman is an ass as always

summary: you should've known better before you started dating the CEO of Godfrey Industries-- obviously.

word count: 3,335 PART 2: here!

Have you ever felt like you're stuck in an eternal revolving door, and then suddenly you're standing still? That was my life right now; I was standing still with Roman. We had only gone out on a few dates, sure— but I couldn't help but feel that something was different this time. This was a guy I felt like I could finally settle with. Four hour long conversations could feel like fifteen minutes, and the fact that he was the CEO of his own company also added on as a bonus; my life with him would be a life of comfort. Amazing sex and comfort.

I let out a satisfied sigh as my friends and I finally got up from our dinner table; dinner was good, life was good, my relationship was good. What was there not to like? We continued exchanging jokes at the expense of some girl we suddenly remembered from high school, reminiscing, and I had to take a step back; I couldn't believe how amazing my life was at the moment.

As I felt one of my friends nudge me, I blushed, letting out a nervous laugh as I realized I had disconnected from the previous conversation. "Sorry, girls, I've just been so swept up with Roman—"

"Yeah, we know," One of my girlfriends grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around so that I was facing the other end of the restaurant. "But isn't that him?"

They were right; at the other end of the restaurant, sat Roman. With a woman with legs for days. Laughing. I froze, not knowing what to say or do— he hadn't noticed me yet and was probably not going to, by the rate he was checking out the woman in front of him. 

"Come on, let's go," said another friend, taking my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He's not worth it, really."

I hated the pity in her voice. I hated everything about this. But me being me, I knew I had to either let it slide or retaliate— and obviously, I'd choose the latter.

I got out of my friend's grip, making my way over to his table with confident strides, shaking off the shock in my system. I watched as Roman's green, charming eyes suddenly found me, rounding out. It was clear that he was trying to save face as he suddenly broke out into a slight chuckle, looking rather intrigued as I approached.

I smiled politely, now standing in front of him. "Roman, what a surprise!" I did my best to sound as casual possible and not like my heart was being kicked and spat at. 

"Surprise indeed!" he said, smiling right back up at me with no shame. "This is Cynthia, by the way." 

Had we not been in public, I would've hit his head with my purse. Instead, being the calm and collected woman I masked myself to be for now, I turned to Cynthia, shaking her hand as we got introduced. I wanted nothing more than to run away and wash my hands. 

With a cool demeanour, I turned to Roman; "Could we talk?"

He cleared his throat, clearly not too happy about the interruption. "Sure," he mumbled, sending Cynthia a charming smile as he got up, following me a few steps away from the table.

"What's this?" I said, letting my smile fall just a smidge. "A date?"

Roman cocked his head to the side, scanning me. "Sure is,"

"... You said you had a business thing,"

"A dinner thing,"

"Oh, is that right?" I took a proper look at him; suited up, hair styled back, smelling like his usual date-cologne. Had this been any other instance, I would've jumped him already. However, there was nothing I wanted more than to smack him and run away crying. "So how many women are you dating, exactly?"

Roman shrugged; "In the tristate area?"

My jaw fell, shocked. I knew we weren't exclusive and I tried to remind myself of that, but I had my pride to protect. If I would date anyone else right now, it would feel like stuffing an already packed luggage— I didn't want to, nor could I. So how could he?

Roman sighed, glancing back at his date before turning back to me, putting a patronizing hand on my shoulder; "Look, I'm a little busy, but I'll give you a call. Alright?"

Angered, I smacked his hand off of me. I refused to be treated this way. "Call all you want, but don't expect an answer. Good night, Roman," I took a sharp turn on my heel, my eye twitching as I held back the urge to burst into tears. 

As I reached my friends again, I was immediately embraced as we left the restaurant together. 

"He looked shellshocked, my God!" one of them said. "What did you tell him?"

I sniffled; "Not to call me anymore. I'm not going to deal with this bullshit,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

My phone had rung about seventeen times and I was itching to answer. I laid in my bed that same night, a small tear rolling down my cheek; why did I always do this to myself? Why did I get so swept up in every man I met? I tried to make myself feel better by concluding I wasn't like this with every man— Roman was an exception. Roman was different.

But Roman was also an ass.

I groaned, watching another call come in. I had enough of this. Deciding to take action, I finally answered his eighteenth call; "Roman, I am only answering to tell you to stop calling!—"

"Just hear me out!" he said. "Just... Just hear me out, okay? Could you do that for me?" 

Groaning, I buried my face in my pillow, going quiet as I put my phone on speaker next to me. 

My silence told him everything he needed. "Look, I didn't know you thought we were exclusive. I should've gotten that cleared up, perhaps—"

"I thought that was obvious," I grumbled into my pillow.

A sigh; "Maybe it was. And maybe I'm just about the biggest jerk in Pennsylvania. Anyway, I'm calling to say sorry. I really thought you were dating other people as well,"

I lifted my head up from the pillow. "And that wouldn't bother you?" I pondered out loud. "If I went out with someone else?"

This is where Roman went quiet. "Well, it's not the most pleasant thought... I suppose I've dulled it down by seeing other people,"

Somehow, I didn't buy it. "Did you sleep with them?"

"Who?"

"All the women with stupidly long legs in the tristate area,"

I heard a loud sigh on the other end; "I thought you were sleeping with others too,"

"Yeah, right," I sat up in my bed, taking the phone off speaker mode and pressing it up against my ear. "This is not how I roll, Roman, and you know this. If you need loose girls to sleep with, have your pick at anyone else, I don't care. I was dead serious about you, about us, and you just... Yeah, screw you. Have a nice life."

I heard him protest as I finally ended the call, burying my face back into my pillow, muffling a scream. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next night, I had decided to go out and bury my mind in whatever cheap alcohol I could find. I stepped away from my friends at the party, making my way back to the bar for the third time tonight, not dull enough for my liking yet. 

Sighing, I sat down at the bar, ordering the usual. I hoped that the next drink would drown out all thoughts of Roman Godfrey, his green eyes, the image of him between my legs, and the image of Cynthia and her legs. I should've listened to my friends when they said he only dated models— why had he even looked at me in the first place, bothered me by entering my life and just existed in my vicinity? 

Asshole.

As I finally got my drink, bringing it up to my lips, the man next to me spoke up; "I don't think you should have another one of those,"

Turning to face him, I wondered where I had seen him before. "... Peter?"

I remembered Peter from the time we interned at the law firm together. He quit a while ago, but not before he had managed to kiss the life out of me in the elevator that one evening. A bright smile spread across my face as I put my drink down, embracing him. "Oh, Peter, it's so nice to see you!"

Peter, dressed in black as usual, beamed right back at me, his hand resting on my back. "I've been wondering if it was you all night," he said, pulling away from the hug with a chuckle. "You look good."

I did a little twirl, giggling— maybe the alcohol was finally getting to me, after all. "You think?"

Amused, Peter nodded; "As always,"

I sat down on my chair with a satisfied sigh. "I can't believe you're back in Pennsylvania," I said, taking a sip of my drink. "What brings you back?"

"Nothing special, really," Peter gave me a look, but didn't say anything about the fact that I was continuing to drink. "Just nice to take a trip back home. To see a familiar face in the crowd. You'll get it once you get out of here, yourself." 

I shook my head; "I'm not moving,"

"Why not?"

"I don't know," I used to have a good reason before I caught Roman with Ms. Long Legs. "I'm doing good at the firm. And guys here are prettier than in any other state I've been in."

Peter chuckled, rolling his eyes; "I see you're still single,"

His words made my heart sink. "It seems I am," I took a rather big sip of my drink, hating that I was right back to square one again. "I thought I'd be in a different place by now, I suppose. I don't get what I'm doing wrong."

Peter moved closer, giving me a sigh of empathy. "You always go for the bad guys," he mumbled. "The unavailable ones. Am I right, or was this only when you were an intern?"

Embarrassed, I nodded; "I guess," 

Peter watched as I took another sip of my drink, finally getting enough of it; he put his hand over mine, gently forcing the drink back down on the table, his hand lingering on top of mine. "I'm a nice guy,"

My eyes widened, finally meeting his gaze. Was this going the way I thought this was going? I watched his pupils expand, the brown in his eyes shimmering with hope. "Give me a chance," Peter said. "Us. The chance we should've had all those years ago."

I held my breath-- I wanted to give in, relent.

"Come to my place tonight," he continued, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "Let me treat you right, for once."

I was so close to giving in, saying yes and settling for something good for my soul. However, my heart was screaming— I couldn't do this while I was still crazy about Roman fucking Godfrey, the biggest asshole on the planet. The asshole who got me flowers before every date, brought me coffee to my work when he was free, gave me the best orgasm I had ever had in my life in the back of a cab, and bought me a fucking Birkin when he went to Venice. 

"I—" I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. This was Peter; I didn't want to hurt the sweetest guy I had ever known. Before I could give him an answer, I needed an answer for myself; "Hold that thought, Peter, I'll be right back."

I got up, making my way to the outskirts of the party with hurried steps. Finally drunk enough for this stunt, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialling the guy I had sworn to myself I would never call again; "Roman?"

I didn't have to see him to know he was smirking. "Hey you,"

Beaming at the sound of his voice, I felt the hurt in my soul being mended by the second. I had craved this all day, every minute, every second. However, I knew I had to pull myself together. "I'm just calling to let you know I'm going home with someone else tonight,"

"... Are you drunk?"

I huffed, offended despite the correct guess. "Am not!" 

"So this loud music is just something you play in your room at three in the morning?"

I had to do everything in my power to not hit myself. "I'm calling to say that you screwed up,"

A sigh; "Where are you?"

Grimacing, I wondered why he wanted that information. There was no way in hell I'd give it to him, anyways. "His name is Peter. He's super sweet, we used to work together, and he doesn't need me to have long, model legs,"

"... I like your legs,"

I rolled my eyes; of course he'd say that. 

"Quite frankly, I miss your legs... dearly,"

Doing my best to not become a puddle of mush on the floor, I had to shake my head to come to my senses. "Well, good luck missing them, because they'll never be anywhere near you again!"

Roman got silent at the end of the phone, clearly moving around wherever he was at the moment. "I'm coming. Where are you?"

I glanced back at the party, scanning my surrounding. To be frank, I wasn't so sure. "Somewhere near Clifford Park," My eyes widened-- had I just blurted that out?

"Clifford Park," he echoed. I heard the jangling of keys and the shuffling of what I could only deduct were jackets. "Meet me at the front gate."

"No, I'm leaving with Peter," I said, sticking to my plan despite how hard my heart was beating at the thought of Roman racing to meet me.

"Yeah, sure you are," I heard a door close on the other end. "Fifteen minutes. Be there."

Realizing he had ended the call, I did a small jump of glee before pulling myself together. It suddenly dawned on me what I had roped myself into.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It hit me that I was in Clifford Park at half past four in the morning. Having waited nearly half an hour, leaving the party behind, I started feeling more and more like a fool. Why had I agreed to this? Peter was definitely right; I always went for the wrong guys.

I was about to leave and get a cab until I saw a familiar silhouette in a long, dark coat nearing me. 

"This is not the front gate," Roman said, walking towards me like he didn't have a care in the world, hands tucked into his pockets. His voice had a hint of frustration, which only made me further upset.

"It is!" I said, wrapping myself further up in my jacket. "This is the front gate!"

"No, this is the back,"

"It isn't!" I let out a big huff, my eyes narrowing as he finally caught up to me, his face illuminated by the lamp we were standing under. The hues of orange and black complimented him, the green in his eyes practically sparkling. 

Despite being breathless by the sight of him, my angered pride simmered in my chest; "I have been waiting for you for half an hour,"

Roman let out a groan, clearly frustrated as well; "I came about fifteen minutes ago, spent ten minutes waiting for you at the front gate, and then finally came all the way around here after having an unexpected jog in hopes of not finding you killed on the curb,"

Taken aback, I shut down the upcoming trail of curses. He had... worried about me? "Why are you here?" I finally asked. "Why did you come?"

Roman ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed. I was pleasantly surprised to see him like this— hair not styled, dressed in casual wear, lips parted as he tried to find the right words. "There's been a big misunderstanding,"

"Clearly,"

Roman nodded to himself, his gaze falling down to his feet. "I thought this was casual,"

This was not what I wanted to hear. Still a little drunk, I started to turn around, ready to walk away from him. I didn't have the energy to waste any more time on him than I already had. 

However, Roman simply followed; "And where do you think you're going in those heels?"

"Anywhere," I mumbled. "I don't want to hear this again."

"You're not even going to hear me out?" he said, a hint of a whine in his voice. "After I came to see you at half past four in the morning in a random park? How often do you think I do this, huh?"

I stopped, feeling my feet ache from the heels. He had a point. I turned around with a hardened gaze, meeting his, my heart beating hard in my chest. 

Roman took my silence as a means for him to speak; "Look, I'll come clean. I've been going out with others, sleeping with others, and I've been doing it to dull down the ache I get when I think of you doing the same,"

I blinked twice. "That doesn't make any sense,"

"Yeah... maybe it doesn't," Roman sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I'm just used to the girls I'm dating still... dating others, I suppose. I couldn't even bring myself to think you'd be different about it, I just thought that this was how the world worked. Like, imagine I ask for exclusivity and you just... run?"

"I wouldn't run," I took in his every word, not meeting his eyes anymore. I couldn't look at him when he looked so pretty. "I thought I was clear that you were the only one for me.”

There was a twinge of hurt on display in Roman's eyes; "I thought that was just something you told everyone..."

Sighing, I couldn't believe the conversation we were having. How was it possible for such a successful man to be so unsuccessful in his deductions? "And the flowers? Is that also something you give everyone?"

"No,"

"Who else did you bring coffee to while they were at work?"

"No one,"

I finally looked back up at him, my pulse rising as a sliver of hope returned to my body. Why should I believe him? God, how I wanted to.

Roman took a step towards me; "You think my position at my company allows me to run coffee errands everywhere?"

I shrugged— I had no idea.

"You think it's easy to get a Birkin, let alone multiple?"

Embarrassed, I looked away again. I didn't need him to know how little I knew about Birkins. 

Roman sighed, running his hand through his soft, brown hair once more. "I've been driving myself crazy about you, y'know? Have you ever had the feeling that you've been... Fuck, I don't know how to properly explain, but like... have you ever felt like you're in an eternal revolving door and then suddenly you're standing still?"

My head turned to him as though I had heard a gunshot. "I have,"

Roman put his hands back in his pockets, chewing his lip. It was clear that he was anxious— I hadn't seen him like this before. Ever. "I'm so tired of running. I'm so tired of others. I just... want to stand still. With you,"

I bit down my growing smile. This was all I had ever wanted to hear. "Even when it's half past four and the standing takes place at Clifford Park?"

Roman let out a slight chuckle; "Especially when it's in Clifford Park,"

"The best place in the world," I said, feeling remnants of happy tears start to poke through my exterior. "Definitely not the third most dangerous park in the state."

"Yeah, fuck," Roman broke out into a smile, his laugh being pure music to my ears. "Let's stand still somewhere else. What do you say about standing still outside the coffee shop until it opens?"

Suddenly, I didn't feel so doomed anymore. I didn't need to start from square one again-- this was it. We both knew it now. "Sounds good,"

Roman hummed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we started our stride. He leaned down to press a kiss against the top of my head; "I missed you. I don't ever want to miss you again,"

link to part two here<3

[centrally-unplanned]

Obviously NJ, NYC, and Pennsylvania should be merged into a singular state, and New England should be the same (a true thing for most US states, we should have ~10 if we are going to use this system at all). The real question though is what do you do with Connecticut? Continuity of borders leans towards it being fully part of New England, but big swaths of West Connecticut are just suburbs of NYC, and a partition might be better. I think a New Haven/Danbury annexation into the Tristate Confederation makes the most sense but I am open to arguments.

[dwellordream]

Jackie 'Jack the Giant' Cervini used to be the young protégé of one of the most famed crimefighters in the tristate area, bolstered by the superpowers that let him double his size at will.

Six years later, teenage sidekicks are rapidly falling out fashion, his attempt to rebrand himself as a hardened vigilante has landed him with a court-mandated psychiatrist, and he's employed at a group home for adolescents with powers that leave them cut off from the mainstream foster-care system.

While Jackie does his best to embrace an often disappointing reality, a young woman named Frances Knight is hunting both him and his former mentor, intent on settling a score. Frances is determined to claim an alter-ego of her own: Giantslayer.

[dr-heinz-doofenshmirtz]

You see perry the platypus, in drusslestein they had one therapist for everyone and SHE cost nothing near what they charge here in danville. Yet they had the gall to ask me for my backstory? Me? As if i would be a cheap enough evil scientist to pay THEM to listen to my backstory. Now, as part of my latest evil scheme i will engage in a battle of wits with my new therapist until i have therapized HIM, thus creating a loophole in the system and collapsing the mental health care field in the WHOLE TRISTATE AREA!

On another note, perry the platypus, have you ever heard of this a-d-h-d theyre talking about?

[docnomore]

I was not academically inclined. Growing up in Michigan in the 1960’s and 1970’s, if you weren’t moving into higher education, you were moving to work on the farm or in the factory. PBB in the feed killed the farmers, and the unions shut down Detroit - everything in the tristate area is premised on Detroit. I graduated high school to nothing but less than minimum wage jobs - if a restaurant makes less than a minimum established profit, they can legally pay less than minimum wage. I graduated at the bottom of my class. I floundered a few years and ended up in the military. I became a Navy Hospital Corpsman and in that, specialized in combat medicine so I served with the Marine Corps. I attended the Naval School of Health Sciences and became an Independent Duty Corpsman. It was a four year medical school program condensed to 56 weeks - accredited by George Washington U. School of Medicine. That program was designed to be a real pressure cooker and had an attrition rate of nearly 30%. Midway through that program, the folks in DC decided to not pay to continue the accreditation. In my class of 27 starters, we had Maurine set the all time high in the history of the school with a perfect score, having never gotten a wrong answer on an exam. We also had Clint who had up to the bitter end, tied Maurine but then got one wrong answer. Me? I graduated dead last in that class with a GPA of 90.63.

Maurine was relieved for cause within three months of graduation. She cracked under pressure. Clint was relieved a little over a year after graduation, hooked on pain killers. During our school year, due to failures in exams and also due to cheating, we were whittled down to 14 and boosted up again to 25. At the end of the first three years of duty, only 5 of us remained as IDC’s.

My final tour had me in line to head up the clinic at Camp David. I refused the orders and was then informed that I’d been asked for by name by the President. Again, I turned down those orders and retired out of Camp Pendleton, where I worked out of three different clinics and was responsible for all of 3d Marine Air Wing.

With the exception of performing surgery and doing the paperwork shuffle, I truly enjoyed practicing medicine without benefit of an actual doctor staring over my shoulder. I did 20 years and then retired. I was delusional in believing that I would be welcomed with open arms at the university where I could take my 146 credit hours mostly in upper level sciences and could step into a civilian program. I was not and instead had to take a basic first aid course where we all learned that I was more qualified than the “doctor” instructing that course. Frustrated by the greed and stupidity, I graduated with a degree in History.

A worthless degree, absolutely no one would hire me. Not the county school system, not the air museum, not a local construction firm. Not any of the big box hardware stores and certainly not any of the four major hospitals or even a company doing insurance physicals. With a wife, 3 children and a mortgage for a 4 bedroom house on 10 acres, I was fast running out of money.

When no one else would hire me, I hired myself. We opened a dog grooming business. We started that business with less than $5,000 in the bank. I was accustom to working 16-18 hour days and that’s about what it took. We busted our butts, my wife and I, and after the 1st 5 years, we were able to be competitive. We shut down every other groomer in the north end of the county and found ourselves under cutting the big box pet stores that also offer grooming at premium prices. Literally, I went from being an elite (less than 1,000 in the entire Navy and Marine Corps) healthcare provider to petting dogs for a living.

With a whole lot of sweat equity, we were able to build our business into a 6 figure income and had to hire outside help to keep pace with the demand. We hire unskilled, untrained labor and we start at $14 an hour. We train, starting with the basic life skill of negotiation. I blame public “education” for the mess this country is in. At best, they teach you to sign your name on the bottom line. They do very little to prepare any of us for the world. They certainly do nothing to prepare us for making responsible, informed decisions of consent.

I own the business meaning, I own outright, the means of production. As an employee, you agree to do a specified job for a given amount of money. These things, you, the employee, agreed to. Now, the beautiful thing about the free labor market as opposed to the left’s slave labor market, is that if at any time you are dissatisfied with the terms of your employment, you have options. You can either step up your game and try to negotiate a better position for yourself. Or, you can serve notice of intent to terminate and then seek your fortune elsewhere.

Personally, given my history with experience in both public and military education, I recommend being a forward thinker. Start by studying fact based history and learn to exercise critical thinking skills. Learn politically who you can rely on as a “friend” and who is in it purely for themselves at your expense - it’s not whom you were told all of your life. Vote accordingly and work to change the education system. At present even those sho graduate at the highest levels of the upper stratosphere, slave for someone above them. Read the last 128 pages of de Tocqueville’s Democracy In America”. Understand that he published this in 1833 when race based slavery was still legal.

[authorityontransportation]

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[mobileautomechanicsli]

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[tristarelectrical]

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[jutsei]

I really hope that storm system my tristate area is getting on Tuesday will be one of the worst duds we've ever seen.

Like I did NOT do well today bc of the rain lmao

[simpleaseauto]

Top Benefits of Purchasing Certified Pre-Owned Cars

When considering purchasing a used car, many buyers find themselves torn between the allure of significant savings and the peace of mind that comes with a brand-new vehicle. However, there is a middle ground that offers the best of both worlds - Certified Pre-Owned (CPO) cars. These vehicles have been meticulously inspected, refurbished, and certified by the manufacturer or a reputable dealer, making them a popular choice among smart car shoppers.

In this article, we will explore the top benefits of buying certified pre-owned cars, shedding light on why they have become an increasingly attractive option for buyers seeking quality, reliability, and value. Additionally, we'll mention Simplease Auto - a trusted name in the New Jersey Tristate area for those looking to purchase certified pre-owned cars.

Rigorous Inspection and Certification Process:

One of the primary advantages of opting for a certified pre-owned car is the rigorous inspection and certification process these vehicles undergo. Certified technicians thoroughly inspect and refurbish the cars to ensure they meet stringent manufacturer standards. This meticulous assessment covers mechanical components, electrical systems, exterior and interior condition, and more. As a result, buyers can be confident that they are getting a well-maintained and road-ready vehicle.

Extended Warranty Coverage:

Unlike regular used cars, certified pre-owned cars often come with extended warranty coverage. This additional protection provides buyers with added peace of mind, knowing that they won't be burdened with costly repairs for an extended period. The warranty coverage can vary depending on the manufacturer or dealer, making it essential to understand the terms before making a purchase.

Low Mileage and Recent Model Years:

Certified pre-owned cars are typically relatively new models with low mileage. As part of the certification requirements, these vehicles often need to be within a certain age range and have limited miles on the odometer. This ensures that buyers get access to modern features and technology without paying the premium price of a brand-new car.

Vehicle History Reports:

Transparency is key when purchasing a pre-owned vehicle. Certified pre-owned cars usually come with detailed vehicle history reports, allowing buyers to access information about past accidents, service records, and ownership history. This data empowers buyers to make informed decisions and further instills confidence in their purchase.

Competitive Financing Options:

Buying a certified pre-owned car can be financially advantageous. In addition to the reduced initial cost compared to a new car, many manufacturers and dealers offer competitive financing options for CPO vehicles. This can make the purchase more affordable, especially for buyers who prefer to finance their purchase.

Peace of Mind and Customer Satisfaction:

Certified pre-owned cars offer peace of mind to buyers who may have reservations about purchasing a traditional used vehicle. With a reputable certification and warranty backing their purchase, buyers can enjoy a reliable and enjoyable driving experience without worrying about unexpected mechanical issues.

Simplease Auto - Your Trusted Source for Certified Pre-Owned Cars in the NJ Tristate Area:

For car buyers in the New Jersey Tristate area seeking top-notch certified pre-owned vehicles, Simplease Auto is a name you can trust. With a reputation for quality, transparency, and excellent customer service, Simplease Auto offers a wide selection of certified pre-owned cars from various manufacturers. Their team of experts ensures each vehicle undergoes a thorough inspection and certification process, making them a reliable choice for discerning buyers.

Conclusion:

Purchasing a certified pre-owned car offers numerous benefits that combine the value of a used vehicle with the peace of mind of a new one. From rigorous inspections and extended warranty coverage to low mileage and transparency through vehicle history reports, CPO cars provide an appealing option for buyers. For those in the New Jersey Tristate area, Simplease Auto stands as a reliable source for high-quality certified pre-owned cars, making the car buying journey a hassle-free and satisfying experience.

[rvrepairnewyork]

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[jasmiiine]

🐣🐨🦔🐢🐄🐸🐧🦭

DID YOU LIKE MY COUNTDOWN!? That was fun! I had fun. That was actually more fun than I thought it would be! There were too many good posts to name. It was very fun reading all your comments and theories.  Though side note: animal anon has no problem with people joining her BUT it must be animals and it must not mess with my countdown. No statues! Animal anon does animals, not statues. Side side note: can someone settle the debate of if that emoji is a hedgehog or a porcupine? Because I have no idea. Side note side note side note: sorry if you got multiple asks in a day...my system isn't perfected yet so sometimes I send two (or three) because I forgot I sent one and didn't want to accidently miss anyone (also sorry if i did miss you, still perfecting the system, no one has been animal anon blacklisted, i promise!)

Anyway, GUESS WHAT TODAY IS!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 It's been one year since I started animal anon! How exciting is that?! Phew, what a year we've had together! I mean what better way to start this second year than some chaos since that's how animal anon started to begin with! I will admit, it was slightly stressful coming up with something to meet the occasion of this event. I hope the countdown and this post live up to it. No, I'm not going to reveal myself just yet.. maybe that will be for year 2...😏😏. BUT I will give you some fun facts about me! So let's see; first, I'm from the Midwest (so not Canadian, but close so I do have a slight accent), but I currently live in the TriState area. Second, I am a MASSIVE theater nerd. No, seriously I have been to 21 shows since Broadway reopened in September and I'm actually going to my 22nd tonight. I don't know if this makes that fact better or worse, but I've really only been to about 12 different show because out of those 22, 10 of those are one specific show. Third, I am fluent in German and English. Though, I suck at writing in German, I never learned how to, so don't ask me to do that please. Fourth, my favorite color is red, so you can guess my favorite Taylor album (and coincidently also the show I've been to see 10 times on Broadway...). Fifth, I love to talk A LOT if you couldn't tell by the essays I send yall. And lastly, I can also confirm I am not Taylor...but I will say that I do share something very important with her... tell me your guesses down below as to what very important thing you think Taylor and I have in common, and I'll send some extra animals to whomever I see gets it right first!

So contuining on with my dissertation here, this week I have been trying to figure out a prompt to live up to this occasion. As I already mentioned, my system isn't perfect! And I've been thinking a lot about community lately and how that's been lacking for so many because of Covid. So what I want yall to do is if you get this dissertation of mine, please send a message, post, anon, whatever you want to at least 1 other blog (though you can do more), telling them something you like about them and giving them an animal emoji! That way we can keep spreading the love all day long to as many as possible! 🥰

As always, you are all brilliant, kind, worthy, beautiful and as this past week has shown, hilarious and unique human beings. No seriously, some of your posts had me kneeling over in laughter. If you would so like, you can tag #animalanon so I and everyone can read all your lovely posts! IM STARTING EARLY TODAY SO WE CAN PARTY ALL DAY LONG BECAUSE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH 🎊 🦥🦁🐯

amazing

[wifihunters]

IM FREE!! no more food service!!!

[dwellordream]

Jackie 'Jack the Giant' Cervini used to be the young protégé of one of the most famed crimefighters in the tristate area, bolstered by the superpowers that let him double his size at will.

Six years later, teenage sidekicks are going through a revival, his attempt to rebrand himself as a hardened vigilante has landed him with a court-mandated psychiatrist, and he's employed at a group home for adolescents with powers that leave them cut off from the mainstream foster-care system.

While Jackie does his best to embrace an often disappointing reality, a young woman named Frances Knight is hunting both him and his former mentor, intent on settling a score. Frances is determined to claim an alter-ego of her own: Giantslayer.

[machine-vision-systems]

Qualitas Technologies meets Tristates in USA

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: BUCKY BARNES IS BACK AND HAS A CONFIRMED PERSONALITY 

also omg everyone who’s been sending me ideas- ur the lomls. 

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Your place or mine? ;)

He stares at the text.

The right answer is mine. See you at the lair.

“Y’all are dating now?” Clint peeks over his shoulder. 

“Fuck no,” Bucky says indignantly. “God forbid.”

“Okay, man,” he retracts, giving Bucky space to turn around and face him. “What do you want to call your mini dates then?”

“Missions,” Bucky corrects him.

“No one wants to go on a mission. You volunteered to go back there.” 

“It’s for the good of the tristate area.” 

“I bet.” The snort he lets out contradicts his words. “Whole world is depending on you, Barnes. Go save them from the treachery of your crush.”

“Enemy.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Mortal nemesis.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Go further, I dare you.”

“What are you gonna do? Choke me? Punch me with your metal arm?” Clint cranes his neck. “Bring it, big boy. I’m not scared of some kinky shit.”

He hates living here. 

The door is left open for him. 

This time, even though the lair is still illuminated by the green light out in the front, there’s a minor change. Sunlight streams in through a skylight in the roof. 

There’s a ladder there, leaning against the rim. It gives him an entrance to the roof, which, judging by the lack of any other presence in the lab, is where he’s supposed to go.

As he gets closer he notices there’s a note on one of the rungs.

‘Evil’ with an arrow pointing upwards.

He rolls his eyes, discarding it on the floor before swiftly scaling the steps.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” he hears your voice call out even before his head pops up above the surface. “We’ve been expecting you.” 

He pauses, looking around. “Who’s with you?”

Because other than the gigantic machine pointed up towards the sky, there’s only you with a visor and sunglasses. The  best way he can describe its design was that it was shaped like a pine cone, had a large antenna pointed towards the sky, two handlebars near its base to manoeuvre it with a large button in between them. 

“Just imagine I have my henchmen with me,” you urge. “I’m on a budget, man, I can’t afford them yet. Maybe when my cloning machine finally works-”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s a James Bond reference,” you add when he doesn’t show any signs of answering. 

“Haven’t watched it yet.” Bucky shrugs. “We’re doing Star Trek right now.”

“You’re done with Star Wars?” you, receiving a nod in confirmation. “Nice. You’d find the spy shit ridiculous anyway, it’s way below your level.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He makes a mental note to add the Bond movies to the list. 

“Speaking of stars,” you begin, gesturing to the machine. “I’m going to harness the power of the sun.”

“For what?” He doesn’t bother asking how, he already knows you’ve figured out something. 

“There’s a science exhibition and my team’s stupid solar car experiment isn’t working and I need it for them to win.” 

“So build a better one.” 

“No, ours is the best and if Jeff and his stupid baking soda volcano beat us then we’re going to have a murder on our hands.”

“Your hands,” he emphasises. He has nothing to do with this.

“I said what I said, boy.” You glare at him. “This is our problem now.”

“How much power are you taking?” If it’s insignificant enough, it wouldn’t matter much. He thinks. 

“The whole thing.”

He laughs. He stops when you don’t.

“You’re taking all the energy of the sun to power your shitty science model.”

“Your face is a shitty science model,” you mimic him in a higher pitched voice. “I will do anything to win.”

He wonders which grade kid you stole that insult from was in. There’s no way they were anything older than 13. He could use it on Steve, maybe.

“Everyone on Earth will die.” He feels the need to remind you, even though there was no way it was actually going to take place. Eat shit, Clint. This superseded the tristate area.

“Not for eight minutes.” You look at your watch. “And, if Jeff dies then I win by default.”

“You’ll die too,” he points out. 

“I’ll die a winner.” You nod seriously as if that makes it better. 

He’s not that worried. Experience tells him that you’re not a mass murderer willingly. 

“You’ll die an idiot.” 

“Only if you don’t stop me.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And how will you when I do this?”

You yank the machine to point towards him and slam the button. His hand reflectively pulls in front of him to defend himself. Something hits him with enough force to send him skidding backwards slightly. 

He removes his hand carefully from in front of him, looking at you. 

Something feels off.

“You just-”

The knives strapped to his thighs suddenly feel heavier.

“Took your powers?” you finish his thought. “Yeah.”

He feels his body tip towards his left. He’s suddenly very aware of the weight of the arm. Had it been this heavy all this while? 

“You’ve barely changed,” you noted, “You’re just regular Bucky but like, 20% less beef.”

After all, he was a boxer when he was a teen. One of the best men the Howling Commandos had even before the serum.

His shoulder feels heavier though. And somehow he thinks he’s sensing things a little less. He can’t really hear the faint buzzing of the generator downstairs anymore.

“Yep, that’s real muscle.” He turns when you poke at his shoulder. He doesn’t know when you got there. “You’re like a modern day Schwarzenegger. Grade A beefcake.”

He can’t see the construction site near the horizon as clearly as he used to. 

Something about this situation makes him feel like he’s going to have a midlife crisis, even though he’s overshot the age by a huge number. No one has a midlife crisis at 106. 

“Now that we’ve established that this works,” you say, back near the machine again. When did you walk there? “Let’s show this bitch that I’m the brightest star allowed in this solar system.” 

He shakes his head to jolt himself awake, shoves aside his mental dysfunction and breaks out into a sprint when you pull the device down to aim it at the sky. 

He latches onto the side, using his left hand to pull himself up, straddling the machine.

“Excuse me,” you exclaim like it’s a minor inconvenience and he feels the machine sway wildly under him. “You’re weighing it down, get off my inator.”  

You’re shooting recklessly, trying to shake him off. It’s not dissimilar to the mechanical bull Natasha made him ride during a mission down south so she could win money off placing bets on him. They had lobster that night.

He reaches down to its side, hoping to feel maybe a panel he can rip off. He finds nothing.  

He hopes none of the rays are actually hitting anything. It’s a little harder to stay on than he’d imagined it would be, and he thinks that maybe this wasn’t the best plan. 

He changes his mind in a split second, swinging himself over so that he can climb the underside of the machine like a monkey bar. He feels like a fucking insect. How was Peter not mortally embarrassed? 

He factors in the fact that his hands are getting clammier and his grip is slipping faster than usual. Also, he can taste his lunch at the back of his throat.

“Motherfucker,” Bucky curses when his hand slips, leaving him to hold on only by his metal arm. 

“You okay?” you call out, not giving him a second to recover unless he really needed it.

He lets out a grunt, swinging his arm up and catching hold of the antenna, yanking it down and towards the machine itself. He pulls himself up so that he’s straddling the machine again. 

One more shot and-

“Very smart, Barnes,” you say dryly, letting go of the handles. 

He sends you a sly grin before sliding down the barrel, kicking the large button with his heel right before he jumps off. 

The beam shoots out, instantly meeting with metal. The device automatically gives a mechanical groan before powering down, turning off altogether. 

“I hate you,” you huff, before noting his paleness. “D’you want some water? An IV maybe?”

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, inhaling heavily to catch his breath.

He’s tired, more so than he would have been under any normal circumstance. He feels a little dizzy, a little disoriented. 

“Don’t worry, your magic powers will be back in a few minutes or so.” You examine the bent antenna, pressing the button and sighing when it stands there lifelessly. “Once Jeff wins, I’ll send the dry cleaning receipt to you. You can pay to get the tear stains out of the kids’ outfits.”

“Your tears or theirs?” He’s relieved about the powers returning, he thinks.

“Both, bitch.” Your eyebrow quirks at his retort. Clearly, he had more energy in him than people realised; his brain seemed to be working fine. He was stronger than you thought. Good for him. 

“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” He lets out a final exhale before standing up a little straighter. 

“Thanks. It’d be better if you asked your billionaire tech genius to send us something, but okay.”

“It’s a middle school science exhibition. Make a potato battery or something.”

You tsk-tsk. “No points for creativity, Mr. Barnes.”

It creeps into his mind without warning. He wonders if he actually wanted the powers back. Wonders what his life could be if he maybe retired, settled down. For the brief time he feels like his pre-war self, he starts to think like his pre-war self.

“I’m not the one who’s about to lose to a baking soda volcano,” he finds time to respond, however. 

“Your face is a baking soda volcano.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I will not lose.”

“You’re running out of time. Chop chop.”

But the thought hits him. Who is Bucky without his super soldier serum? If he doesn’t have his powers then he can’t think of what use he is to the Avengers.

Who the hell is Bucky if he can’t provide a service to others? How else does he make up for being himself?

His, what he’s now deemed, afterlife crisis is starting to look more apparent.

He compartmentalises and stores it away in a box. He’ll bring it up with his therapist later. 

“I’m going to win and then you’ll be sorry you weren’t a part of it because you didn’t let me steal the sun.” 

“If you win, I’ll still be glad I didn’t let you.” He climbs back down the ladder, feeling the ache in his muscles reduce with every passing minute. 

True to your word, his powers do return a while later. 

And while he’s watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with Peter in the living room two days later, his phone beeps with a text. 

It’s a picture of a blue first place ribbon next to a toy car that looks like it’s powered by a potato battery. Beside it is an out of focus middle finger that is aimed at him. 

Congratulations, he texts back. Told you potato batteries always win.

Your face always wins, he receives in return. He can’t tell if you’re insulting or flirting with him. 

He just shuts his phone off and goes back to watching the show. 

Next part