#3 millions different reasons.

[alexjcrowley]

The people who say that jazz artists should just "play the rights notes" are the same who thinks the curtains are just blue

[wlw-webcomic-bracket]

In my professional life offline, I work with community development programs funded by the US Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD). One of the most important of these programs is the HOME Investment Partnerships Program, or “HOME” (not an acronym for some reason). In the last couple years, my office has contributed HOME funding to construction of around 400 new apartment units reserved for low-income families, plus conversion of a former hotel to single-resident occupancy units for people exiting homelessness and security deposit assistance for renters moving into market-rate units. I have a secondary role in the HOME program (most of my work is on a different grant, although I’ve contributed to the environmental reviews for all of our current round of projects), but I am immensely proud of what our team has done with a limited resource in a horrifically expensive housing market.

In 2023, House Republicans proposed cutting HUD’s 2024 budget for the HOME program by 67%, from $1.5 billion to $500 million.

Their proposal didn’t make it into the final bill. The President and Senate (under Democratic leadership) proposed HOME budgets of $1.8 billion and $1.5 billion, respectively. The final compromise budget allocated HUD $1.25 billion for the HOME program, a 17% cut which was passed down to every local HOME jurisdiction.

I’m glad the budget cuts weren’t worse. But what this means, in practical terms, is that one out of every six people we could have helped this year gets nothing. One out of every six people who would have received rent assistance is facing eviction. One out of every six people that would have received an affordable unit priced at 30% of their income has to keep giving 50% or more of their paycheck to market-rate landlords. We’re doing what we can with local resources, but there’s only so much you can do at the local level when federal funding goes away.

House Republicans are trying to reduce HOME funding to just $500 million again in 2025. So far, the Senate has rejected this, but barring a miracle upset, Democrats are almost certain to lose control of the Senate after next week’s election. If Republicans keep control of the House, and especially if they keep the House and win the Presidency, there is nothing stopping them from gutting housing programs completely.

I understand why people are frustrated with our choices this election. I am frustrated with our choices this election. But at the end of the day, I have a duty to my community. With Democrats in office, I can keep fulfilling that duty. With Republicans in office, I will lose the best tools I have to make a material difference to the vulnerable people who live around me. The people I serve will lose their housing, or they will lose their best path out of homelessness. There is no way around it.

Please, give me the tools to keep helping. Vote for Democrats up and down ballot, and once we’ve got them in office, thank them for doing what they do well and pressure the hell out of them to do better on the issues where they suck.

Because of gerrymandering (and geographic issues in general), control of the House will probably come down to just a few dozen races. I’m not endorsing any of these candidates on a personal level - some of them are probably good, some of them definitely suck - but they are the only bulwark we have against a party that wants to dismantle everything good about this country and lean into all the most shameful parts of our history. Every election matters, but if you live in one of these House districts, your vote is particularly important:

Alaska: AK-01 Mary Pelolta

Arizona: AZ-01 Amish Shah, AZ-06 Kirsten Engel

California: CA-13 Adam Gray, CA-22 Rudy Salas, CA-27 George Whitesides, CA-41 Will Rollins, CA-45 Derek Tran, CA-47 Dave Min

Colorado: CO-03 Adam Frisch, CO-08 Yadira Caraveo

Connecticut: CT-05 Jahana Hayes

Indiana: IN-01 Frank Mrvan

Iowa: IA-01 Christina Bohannan, IA-03 Lanon Baccam

Maine: ME-02 Jared Golden

Michigan: MI-07 Curtis Hertel Jr., MI-08 Kristen McDonald Rivet, MI-10 Carl Marlinga

Minnesota: MN-02 Angie Craig

Montana: MT-01 Monica Tranel

Nebraska: NE-02 Tony Vargas

New Jersey: NJ-07 Sue Altman

New Mexico: NM-02 Gabe Vasquez

New York: NY-04 Laura Gillen, NY-17 Mondaire Jones, NY-19 Josh Riley, NY-22 John Mannion

North Carolina: NC-01 Don Davis

Ohio: OH-09 Marcy Kaptur, OH-13 Emilia Sykes

Oregon: OR-05 Janelle Bynum

Pennsylvania: PA-07 Susan Wild, PA-08 Matt Cartwright, PA-10 Janelle Stelson

Texas: TX-34 Vicente Gonzalez

Virginia: VA-02 Missy Cotter Smasal, VA-07 Eugene Vindman

Washington: WA-03 Marie Gluesenkamp Perez

Wisconsin: WI-03 Rebecca Cooke

[yahiis-resort]

I get really frustrated with how things just pop up in tags even if you don't tag it, i just wanna blab about things sometimes

that being said, think the fact that the two most popular ships for Mouthwashing is Jimcurly and Curlya is just fucking hilarious to be honest because they're just like. Opposite ships to me. Cockroach and his beautiful Golden Retriever vs Cat and Dog synergy

[vanillabat99]

Longpost Life Update!!

I got my new passport last week and I've been going over my trip with my doctor and my therapist, and I am so excited to see my Beautiful Wife next month!!! I am still very scared about the airport, but I will be so brave and it will be okay. It will be my first time ever traveling alone, and I know that after doing this my world will get so much bigger and it will be easier to travel on my own!!

Also about my Beautiful Wife, I've officially settled on a long-term life goal of creating an art gallery full of art about them!! I have no idea how to go about doing so, but it is a dream of mine that I would like to make happen. I have so many ideas and pieces planned out and my family are supportive of the idea :3

My medical situation is as confusing as ever. The waitlist for the geneticist is over 3 years, so they cancelled my referral, and I now have to ask the pain clinic if they can test me for EDS. I also have to see an allergist again and test for a bunch of food allergies because apparently grapes aren't supposed to make your mouth dry ._.

A more positive note, my doctor has done some paperwork to hopefully let me get funding for a wheelchair!! I'm waiting to hear back about it, but I'm so happy I might finally be getting somewhere!! I have a super shitty transport chair right now, and it's better than walking, but it's still super shitty.

I've been using the bathtub in my parents bathroom instead of the tub/shower that I would usually use, and y'all!! Life changing!!! Not only do I actually fit in that tub, but there's enough room in the bathroom that I can ask for help with washing my hair!! I've gone from showering maybe once a week at best, to regularly having two baths in a week!! It's still really hard washing myself, but it's significantly easier in the big tub :3

I'm still going to weekly choir rehearsals! I've been making some friends in my section and I got to talk with some new people at the dinner party last week!! I really like the group, they're all very sweet. We have some concerts and events in December that I'm excited for! I do not have my music memorised, but that's okay my director doesn't need to know that >_<

I started playing "Guild Wars 2" again recently!! I saw it was free on steam, and I fucked up my login for my old account years ago, so I figured it was a good opportunity to get back into the game! My character is an Asura (I think that's correct?) necromancer named "Yomibat"!! You can add me as a friend if you like, but I'm not a hardcore player or anything, very much a casual enjoyer!! I did make a secondary character that's one of the cat people (I forget their name) and his name is something like "Big Macaroni" and he's a chef, but I haven't felt like going through Tutorial Hell so soon after escaping it with Yomibat. Feel free to say hi if you see me in the wild :3

Another game I've been getting back into a little bit is "Mabinogi", but I'm extremely lost at all times and genuinely don't know what I'm doing in that game. I don't think I've even gotten through the beginner questline, I just punch wolves and go shopping. My character is named "Angelstar", so again, if you see me in the wild feel free to say hi!!

I think that's all I can cram into one post without things getting messy. Thanks for reading, and I hope y'all are doing okay!! Wishing you the best 💕💕💕

[bmpmp3]

i think theres still some notes that are off pitch or off timed BUT im making a lot of headway on this wip ...... and lemme tell you how happy i was when i realized that basically all the harmonies are just the same melody and octave down or up <3

[merinelsa]

.

[musical-chick-13]

hello!! for the WIP ask game — ‘lie’ 😇

HI ILYSM 💜💜💜

There is something about him that, by all reasonable standards of morality, is absolutely not okay, but he knows that isn’t what she means. So he replies (lies), “Never better” instead, desperately hoping the smile he wills onto his face looks warm and convincing, rather than strained or uncanny.

There's also this one, from a completely different WIP where I lay out my thesis of why a certain Blonde Space Show Lady has OCD.

She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but...then again, he makes her do a lot of things she doesn’t mean to. Or maybe she does. Maybe she means everything she says in some way. She doesn’t really know anymore. She lies so often that sometimes she’s not even completely sure who she is.

Send me a word, and if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in

[probablybadrpgideas]

Number of Goblins, ranked

One Goblin - That's just a goblin. He's probably just getting his groceries or something. Leave him alone, you asshole.

Ten Goblins -- That's a fairly normal amount of goblins. There's generally around ten goblins in any given situations. They're just here for aesthetic, so you know it's a fantasy world. Remember to tip them when you leave.

One Hundred Goblins -- Ok this is too many goblins, but this is a reasonable amount of too many goblins. Like, this is maybe an army of goblins or something? My point is that they're probably here for a good reason. Best not to mess with them, they're likely load-bearing in some way.

One Thousand Goblins -- This is probably a goblin town, in which case this is really more a case of One Human, which is a completely different list only available on goblintube. If not, all these goblins are lost. Return them to the goblin town. The orcs are worried.

One Million Goblins -- A million goblins? I'm not sure I've even seen a million things in my life , and now there's a million goblins? That's, like, all the goblins. Why are you at a convention of all the goblins? Are you a goblin? Actually, no, that would make sense. Yeah, that's probably what's going on here. Sorry you had to find out this way.

One Billion Goblins -- Ok, look, at this point you have clearly been sent to a future time where humanity is extinct and goblins have inherited the earth. I can think of no other explanation for a billion goblins. This sadly means that you're the weirdo, and you have to go be a cryptid now. At least you can find a phone and read the goblin creepypastas about you.

One Trillion Goblins -- How? What is happening? This is more goblins then there are birds, and they'll all in your house? How is your house this big? Wait, forget the goblins, how is your house this big? Are the goblins here to guillotine you? Probably! Move out of your stupid mansion and let the goblins have it, you weird rich bird-hoarding freak.

One Quadrillion Goblins -- One quadrillion? I'm only like 80% sure that's even a real number! Luckily, you won't have to deal with a quadrillion goblins for long, because soon they'll collapse together under their gravity, forming a far more manageable single planet-sized goblin. Picard's not gonna be happy about this one!

More Goblins -- Fuck off, you do not have more then a quadrillion goblins. Why are you lying? Are you worried I won't like you if you don't claim to have an implausible number of goblins? Don't worry. Your worth is not dependent on your goblin numbers. Go back to the actual number of goblins secure in the fact I love you, no matter how few goblins you have <3

[spxfav]

Wedding Night

Summary: After your wedding, you and Spencer head out to your suíte, expecting to have a movie-like wedding night. However, that's not exactly what happens.

Warnings: Reader referred to as a woman. Nothing much, actually, this is just very sweet.

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: This came to me as I was getting ready for bed at 7 A.M. after my graduation ball, and I kept thinking how it would be a realistic wedding night lol. Enjoy <3

Lace underwear, romantic music, candlelit room and loving whispers. Champagne and strawberries, maybe a bubble bath afterwards and falling asleep in each other’s arms. That’s how you pictured your wedding night.

The reality, however, couldn’t be more different.

Spencer’s hand rests on your lower back, huge smiles on both your faces as you stumble with the key card to get into the hotel room.

“I can do it.” You say, smiling ear to ear.

“I can see that.” He mocked, making you giggle as he leaned in, placing a loving kiss on your forehead.

You cheered, cheeks red from the alcohol when the door was finally unlocked, and he laughed and placed a finger over your lips.

“Shhh, it’s three in the morning.” His voice was a hushed whisper as you, once again, giggled against his finger and walked into the room.

It was beautiful, dimly lit with flowers everywhere and a gorgeous view to the vineyard you two got married in. As you admired the room, though, Spencer could only admire the woman in front of him. His wife. He still couldn’t believe he got to call you that.

He had this lovesick smile on his face as he approached, arms encircling your waist as he bent down to pepper your face with kisses, making you giggle as his mustache tickles your skin.

“You look so pretty.” He said when you turned around, his hand moving to rest on your face.

“You already said that. A million times.” You smile, eyes shining as you look up at him.

“I’ll say it a million times more.” He murmured, looking at you like you created the Earth itself, and kissed you. It was slow, tender. Like he had no rush at all. And he didn’t. Thankfully, you were his all night, and for the next fifteen days of your honeymoon. This was the first of many, many kisses.

"Have I ever told you how much I like this?" You ask, interrupting the kiss as your finger moves up to trace the dark hair on his upper lip.

"The stash?" He asks with a cocky smile and you laugh at the word, and the way his voice sounded whenever he tried - and failed - to use slangs.

"Yes, the stash." You say, your voice slightly mocking.

"Good thing I forgot to shave." He murmurs with a smile, bending down to capture your lips once more, his smile blending with his as your arms circle around his neck to pull him even closer.

His hand finds its way to the back of your head, tangling in your meticulously styled hair that he had been oh so careful not to ruin all day. The other palm, resting on your waist, slowly pushes you back towards the wall, his lips not leaving yours for one second.

Sliding down, you feel the heat of his hand moving from your waist to your hip, then to your backside, and involuntarily, you let out a giggle against his lips.

“What?” He asks, smiling as his mouth moves against yours.

“Naughty.” Your murmur makes him laugh, eyes twinkling with amusement as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Excuse me?”

“We haven’t been here for five minutes and you’re already trying to get freaky.” The slurring in your words, the way you said it with your brow lifted like that, simply made him laugh more. "I think it's the mustache. There's a reason why they call it a pornstache."

“Mrs. Reid… Are you drunk?” His hands were back on your waist, his thumbs caressing your skin over the dress so tenderly. You smile widely, biting your bottom lip to unsuccessfully try to contain it.

“Just a little bit, Dr. Reid” Your fingers were brought together in a pinching motion as you showed him the visual amount of your “drunkness”.

“More than a little bit.” He smiled, bringing his own fingers up to open yours and make the quantity more appropriate.

“Okay, fair enough” You laughed, but your lips were back on his half a second later, and this time, it was you guiding you both to the bed.

The dress was heavy, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh when you sat on the fluffy mattress, the blankets blending it with the white fabric.

“What?”

“You look like a cupcake.” He says, earning a scoff from you and being attacked by a random pillow that was close enough for you to reach.

“Take it back!” Your voice was as serious as you could manage it to be, but the smile on your lips was a dead giveaway that you weren’t actually upset.

“Alright, I’m sorry. You don’t look like a cupcake.” He smiled in that charming way that makes your knees give out. Good thing you were sitting.

“Thank you.” Your face was already between his hands, and the pillow falls uselessly by the bed when he guides you down onto the mattress, his body weight pushing you down as you allow yourself to drown in his touches.

His tongue explores your mouth in gentle, languid kisses, and you were comfortable in his arms, enveloped by the smell of his cologne, laying on the soft bedding…

“Darling?” You blink, your eyes meeting his and that crushing smile “Are you falling asleep on me?”

“No…” You blink again, and this time, completely against your will, a yawn escapes your lips.

“So, you’re that kind of drunk.” His fingers gently brush some of the curls away from your face.

“Sorry. No, I’m good. I’m not going to fall asleep.”

“Sure you won’t.”

“I won’t.”

“I believe you.” No, he didn’t.

Spencer knew you well enough by now. You’ve been "happy drunk" for hours at the party, but that wave had long passed. Two more minutes in this bed and you’d be completely out of it.

“Honey” He smiles, caressing your cheek when your eyes start drooping again.

“I’m awake!” His laughter is so angelical, and you smile despite it all.

“Listen, we have fifteen days. We’re both exhausted, and I’m sure you can’t be very comfortable right now, in such a tight dress and with your hair like this. We can just sleep, it’s fine.”

“But it’s our wedding night.” You pout, and the look on his face softens.

“I know, but you’ve been up since six a.m.”

“Still. I can do this. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” He chuckles incredulously and takes your face between his hands again. “My love, you’re not disappointing me, not in the slightest. I just got married to the woman of my dreams, to the love of my life. I’ll have the rest of my life to have sex with you, one night won’t kill me.”

His voice was earnest, and his heart was light. He loved you more than anything, and the last thing he wanted was you feeling like you weren’t enough because you were too tired to give him a wedding night like the ones in movies.

“Let’s get you out of all of this, and then go to bed.” Before you could protest, he was already up, your body in his arms as he carried you bridal-style to the bathroom. Fitting.

Your laugh echoed in the room as your arms moved to wrap around his neck and hold you up.

“I can walk, you know.”

“I didn’t want to take any chances of you refusing.” He left a kiss on the tip of your nose as he placed you back down on the floor.

His fingers worked with expertise as he carefully removed the bobby pins from your hair, the pile growing and growing.

“Jesus, how many do you have in here?” He murmured, and you could only giggle as you looked at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

Next, came the makeup. Well, came off the makeup.

He still remembers how, every night as you wash your face, you use two products, smiling at him and saying “I have to double cleanse.”

The pads of his fingers massaged the oil on your eyes, melting away the mascara and the layers and layers of product that had been on your face since morning, reapplied to look fresh the whole time.

“You’re so pretty.”

“I probably look exhausted. I’m sure it was better with the makeup.” You smile, and his heart absolutely melts. How he loved that smile.

“Um, no. You’re pretty either way. You could be bald and painted in blue, and you’d still be just as pretty.” You giggle, but he was dead serious. In Spencer’s eyes, you were the most gorgeous person in the universe – yes, universe, because he was sure you’d still be a thousand times prettier than whatever other life form there is out there.

The zipper moves down slowly, and soon, the giant dress is on the floor. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, his brain momentarily not working.

“See? I was prepared.” You do a little twirl, joking as you have no idea just how much the sight of the black lingerie affected him.

“I’m the luckiest man on the planet.” He murmured, almost to himself as he stepped closer, taking your face in his hands and pulling you in for another kiss, effectively shutting up whatever drunken ramble you were going on about.

This time, his lips were a little more desperate. He was a gentleman through and through, but come on, he was still a man. And with you looking like that in front of him? How could he react any other way?

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist it.” He murmurs, breathless when he finally pulls just the slightest away, the warm palms of his hands still holding your face in place.

“Don’t ever apologise for kissing me.” You murmur back, and you can feel the way the smile comes to his lips.

“Come on, darling. Let’s go to bed.” He picks you up again, and in – very pleasant – seconds, your body sinks on the mattress.

Spencer can feel the warmth of your body against his, the softness of your skin under his hands. He can feel the curve of your backside fitting perfectly against his hips, can smell your perfume and drown in the mess of your post-hairstyle curls.

“Honey?” Your voice was a soft murmur in the dark.

“Yes, darling?” His eyes were half open, his restraint holding him back from doing anything as his lips hover over the curve of your shoulder, so tantalisingly close.

“I’m not sleepy anymore.” The smile that takes over his lips is instant, his hands moving on your skin with a little more purpose once he feels your hips pushing back against his.

“Mm, that’s good.” He whispers and finally allows himself to place hot kisses on your shoulder and up your neck. “But I’ll go slow anyway.”

[celtrist]

Next thing you'll say is he doesn't have a tail

ref to this pic

EDIT: Just to keep things clear I didn't really think about bringing it up but not everyone's gonna click to see the first picture and might be confused. Alastor was stated to know only a little bit of broken French, the reasoning due to being from New Orleans. Speaking standard French is very much not a thing in New Orleans, so he would logically only know French-Creole. This is very different from the standard French language and a large misconception that people from New Orleans speak regular French. So yes, he does speak some French, just not as well as people make him nor would it, in theory, be the regular French that everyone makes him speak [but I wouldn't put it past the writers to not do that research but maybe I have too little faith in them]. I'm not from New Orleans, I visited it once so it's not like I'm an expert. But I HAVE looked into it and just bothering with one Google search will tell you it's not common and you'll even have a special term called "Louisiana French" pop up. With that all said, these were statements made on years past streams and could've been changed in the official series. However, as of right now, the official statement is that he speaks only a little broken French that should technically be French-Creole if they're going by and that he's from New Orleans to know that language. And again, I don't have a lot of faith in writers to do the research into it being Louisiana French rather than regular French, but now I'm rambling lol This is just a bit of context for this comic so people who were curious can understand it a bit more. And it's totally possible I got something wrong, so feel free to point it out when I do. I just like to dig into the nooks and crannies of information for things :3 2nd EDIT: Just for any future reblogs, I did get somethings incorrect in the above (not surprising), so here's some of the corrections I got:

@mangotangerine: "A tiny nitpick - it would likely be Louisiana Creole, which is one of the French-based Creole languages (Haitian Creole is prob the most well known as it has about 10-12 million speakers vs Louisiana Creole which has around 10,000 due to multiple factors but especially legislation in early 1920s outlawing it). Louisiana French is an umbrella term for the various French dialects/etc in the region (e.g., the dialect Cajun French)." (We actually had a whole conversation in the comments of this post and highly suggest looking down there in case you're interested in learning more!)

@alyssumflowers: "I am from New Orleans and a little bit of a language nerd. You're confusing some things here. Cajun French is a dialect of French. My great grandmother spoke it fluently, my grandfather in pieces.

Louisiana Creole is another language entirely. The word "creole" means mixed and a creole language is basically a mixture of two or more languages. Sort of, it's a linguistics thing. Anyways. Louisiana Creole has next to no speakers left and I've had a hard time trying to find somewhere or someone to learn it from because I really want to." (Always great to hear from someone who has more insider knowledge on the subject! So I wanted to give this it's share due as well, hope you can fine somewhere to learn it! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡ )

Thank you for the comments! My previous statement still stands about Al probably not speaking normal French, but I wanted these corrections still known and pointed out :3

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU Part 3

The creature's surprise surprises everyone else.

“It understands English?” Dick asks with a thoughtful tone lacing his voice.

“Or recognizes the motion of the wave as something benign,” Damian proposes, tense as a live wire as he keeps eagle eyes on Cass below.

Cass raises her hands, and though she does so slowly no amount of surprise keeps the creature from restarting that odd, piercing warning sound.

“Don't be afraid,” she says slowly and clearly, her hands moving to sign the words as she speaks. “I'm a friend.”

Despite there being no iris or pupil to be found in those glowing eyes, the way they dart back and forth between her hands and her mask is clear to see.

It doesn't stop growling, but it does shift uneasily. 

Cass's hands move to sign without speaking.

Do you understand me?

Nothing, save for the flicking of bottomless eyes.

“Do you understand me?”

The creature twitches, like being asked such a thing is a surprise. It takes a long moment - as if the question must be some kind of trap - before its head jerks in a jittery, hesitant nod.

More than one person's breath catches audibly over comms.

The set of Cass's shoulders softens in a way that telegraphs a smile, one that can't be seen past her mask.

“Nice to meet you,” she says with her voice.

Knows English but not sign, she says with her hands.

Smart girl. With that knowledge she can sign to the Bats without the creature realizing her hands are saying anything different than her mouth.

As soon as nice to meet you spills into the open air, the creature stops growling. For something with such an inhuman, blank face it telegraphs shock and confusion loudly.

Actually, it…it's almost like Bruce can feel those things himself, like something brushing against the base of his brain. It's disturbing and fascinating all at once.

Perhaps the feelings of dread and disturbance being near it causes is more than just fear of the unknown.

If it can project its own feelings, can it also sense theirs? Bruce isn't sure how he feels about that idea.

“Are you hurt?”

Definitely guarding chest. Bleeding.

“Bleeding?” Tim asks. 

“Chest hurts?”

Bleeding green.

“It's bleeding the Lazarus water?” Tim hisses. 

“I'm sorry,” Jason's voice cuts in on comms. “Your creature is bleeding what now?”

“Unconfirmed, but the color is similar,” Bruce says.

Jason is on standby, gracious enough to be patrolling a little further than his usual to cover the gaps while they deal with whatever this is.

Gracious is actually a stretch considering the choice words he'd had about the request when asked. Still, the protests had been more routine than truly venomous.

Bruce suspects he's mostly displeased with not being on site if his siblings need him in the face of a total unknown.

“Do you need help?” Cass's voice rings out softly again.

Doesn't want to admit injury.

“A doctor?”

There are flinches all around as that finally gathers a marked reaction, and a negative one. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard, like a million light bulb filaments breaking and fizzling out. The cadence is odd, almost like the creature is trying to speak.

“No doctor! Okay, no doctor. It's okay.”

Afraid. Terrified.

The sound stutters out again, that odd feeling against the base of Bruce's skull and the wide eyes of the creature projecting confusion and disbelief over the easy acquiescence. 

This is not an entity that expects to have its desires or fears cared about. Bruce has a bad feeling it's an expectation borne from experience.

Once again, he thinks with a sick feeling about the fact that he hadn't stopped to consider the creature might be reasoned with until Cass stepped in.

“Can I come closer?”

The creature whines as if it's a frightened stray, not a shadowy nightmare. Its claws click against the pavement in a manner that feels distinctly nervous. 

“Please? I won't hurt you.”

Tired. Can't go for much longer and knows it.

They all watch closely as the creature's eyes flicker up and towards the line of police cruisers and officers at the very end of the alley, then back to Cass.

Its claws keep clicking. 

The pool of green below it might be bigger, or it might just be the new knowledge that the substance is like blood messing with Bruce's nerves.

“I'm coming over. Slow. I won't hurt you.”

Weighing their options. Either me or cops. Knows that too.

True to her word, Cass moves slowly.

The creature's tail lashes and it grumbles its unrest, but it doesn't snarl like before and it doesn't lash out even when she's certainly close enough for those long spindly arms to reach.

Cass sinks to her knees just feet from it, posture intentionally open. Carefully, she offers another wave and a pleased, “Hello. See? All okay.”

Bruce's heart seizes. For just a moment, the wide glowing eyes angled to look up at Cass read as painfully young. Like a frightened child.

“You need help,” Cass almost whispers, hands laying on her thighs in plain sight. “No doctors, I know. But maybe a safe place? Come with me?”

Surely the comms have never been so silent as they are while Cass turns her hands over and extends them, like she's inviting the creature to place its own in her palms.

“Keep you safe. I promise.”

For a long few moments, the creature is so silent and still it may well have frozen in time.

Then there's a mourning keen that nearly buckles Bruce at the knees and the creature is moving. 

Instead of taking her hands, it drags itself forward and grabs at her to a chorus of panicked shouts on the comms. So quickly nobody has time to react, it's dragged itself up to cling to her shoulders and bury its face in her neck.

The shadowy frame trembles when she holds it in return.

Masterpost

[monzabee]

the smallest man who ever lived - cl16

masterlist || part 2 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, Charles’, infidelity.

Pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader; carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, cheating, crying, manipulation(?), charles is an absolute asshole (but so is the reader) (but she’s kinda also badass?) (toxic relationship?), even more assholish carlos (gasp), blackmail, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation (literally just pushing someone off but still)

Request: “Hey girl can I request something angsty with Charles? Maybe Charles cheating on Y/N (we’re already famous and have been married to Charles for years) and the fighting, the finding out, his guilt, angst, etc.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! thank you to the anon who requested this because i had the time of my life working on it, and it might be the first fic i wrote in one go for the last six months or so!! also thank you to the getting cheated on playlists i found on spotify and amy dunne for giving me the inspiration to make the reader as toxic as i could. special thanks to @norrisleclercf1 and @percervall who had to listen to me talk about this fic NONSTOP. this is definitely something very different to what i usually write, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

There are moments in life where you feel like a complete and utter idiot. Although it could be for no apparent reason at all, there is a perfectly explainable reason why you feel like that right now, in the middle of your trailer on the set, with your manager and publicist both looking at you like you could explode at any given moment. It took you a good amount of time to wrap your head around the news, the news that wrecked you into a million of pieces which left you as the only person who can put them back together.  

“Let me get this straight,” you start, still trying to wrap your head around the news, “they were photographed leaving the club, and there’s a–?” 

“Sex tape, yes.” Your manager mumbles, earning himself a side-eye from your publicist. “It was so kindly attached to the email.”  

“And it is anonymous?” You ask, earning curt nods from both. “Well,” you manage to get out, pressing your lips together not to let out a sob, or a laugh, both? “That is very ambitious of him.” 

Your publicist shares a concerned look with your manager, then turns to you, “I guess so? How would you want us to handle this? I can buy us some time until these are released to public, but I think getting a statement ready just in case is essential given the fact that both of you are public figues. We can say that you’ll attend marriage councelling–” 

Your loud laugter cuts her off in the middle of her sentence. “And just why would we do that?” 

“I–” She gives you another concerned look as she softens her voice, which is quite uncharacteristic for her, you realise. “How would you want us to approach it then?” 

“I don’t want you to approach it at all.” You voice cuts through the tension, your gaze fixed on her. “I’ll handle it.”  

“But Charles–” She tries to reason, but you cut her off again.  

“Decided to get his dick wet where it certainly didn’t belong, he’s a big boy – he’ll survive.” Fixing her with a final look, you turn to your manager instead. “I don’t want this going to Charles or his team’s ears, that’s what the email said, and we should honour it, no?”  

His expression turns into a smirk, matching the one playing on your lips as he nods in thougt, “Would you like us to do anything else? We can talk with the production if you need a couple of days to… well, recuperate. Greta would understand.” 

“No.” Your answer is final as you shake your head. “She thinks this is an Oscar worthy project, I’m not throwing it away because my husband decided to think with his dick and not his brain. Just call my lawyers and tell them to be on stand by.” 

“Should I also book you tickets to Monaco still?” He asks in a monotone tone. 

“Well of course,” you reply in a sweet voice, widening your eyes for dramatic effect, “it’s a family event.” 

Your publicist eyes the both of you, “Okay,” as she drags the word out, “are you sure you don’t want to take a couple of days off?” 

“Positive. I have an EGOT to win.” Raising the script you have in your hands in the air, you announce, “I have lines I need to go over, is that all?”  

And as they leave your trailer to give you some space to ‘go over your lines’, you let a few tears escape your eyes, promising yourself that you would make Charles feel a thousand worse what he made you feel in the moment. 

It is not surprising or a sudden revelation that Monte Carlo has good weather all year around. But as it happens with the last few weeks following you learning about your husband’s infidelity, all you feel is cold – and no amount of warm weather is enough to make your heart feel warmer again. As you stand at the terrace of Café de Paris, overlooking the cityscape of Monte Carlo, all you can think about is how you just want to get this part of you plan over with as fast as possible.  

“Chérie!” The voice you hear makes a lump perpetually situate itself in the middle of your throat, but you brace yourself for the worst as you turn on your heels to face the person you’re most scared of facing in this whole situation. “Look at you, you look incroyable! You had me scared when you told me you were catching the redeye, and that we just had to talk!” 

“Pascale,” you breathe out as the woman pulls you into her arms with the warmness of any mother would do, and for that brief moment, you feel better than you have in weeks. “It’s so nice to see you again,” giving her the warmest smile you can muster up in the circumstances as you pull back, fixing your gaze at the figure behind her as you nod your head in acknowledgement, “Arthur.” 

“Maman is right,” Arthur says as he opens his arms, “you do look good.”  

“Well, thank you.” You reply as you give him a quick hug, and motion the table as you pull back. “Shall we?” Call it common curtesy, or cowardice, the fact that you don’t directly get to the point. Either way, you talk about what you’ve missed in the couple of months in which you’ve been away filming. You’re not necessarily paying attention, though the endtail of Pascale’s sentence catch your attention. “Excuse me, can you repeat that?” 

“Well, I was just telling how sad I was that Charles doesn’t come home as often this season. Though I understand he’s coming out to see you on set, distance can be so hard even for–” 

“He’s not coming out to see me, Pascale.” You voice is softer, and appears more broken than you would want it to be, but your words convey the message enough. It takes you a couple of moments to organise your thoughts, and Arthur calling out your name, to get you back into the moment. “There’s something I need to talk with the both of you, something I’ve already talked with Lorenzo, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me.”  

“Okay?” Arthur mumbles, then gives you a supportive smile, “You can tell us anything. Though don’t tell me I’m about to be an uncle because I don’t think my ego can take it at the–” 

You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as you direct your words to the woman sitting across from you. “I’m divorcing your son, and I thought you should hear it from me and not him.”  

It takes a few minutes for both Pascale and Arthur to say something, and it concerns you that you somehow managed to give your mother in law a brain aneurism, but eventually, she manages to get out, “What? How? Why? Are you okay?”  

“I’m… fine.” You reply, albeit it comes off calculated. “I found a couple of weeks ago that he was cheating on me, I’ve came back to give him the papers myself.”  

“He what?” Arthur exclaims, then realises the level of his voice, and lowers it down as he asks, “Are you sure this is not a misunderstanding? The guy has been in love with you for over a decade, he wouldn’t do this.” With a resigning sigh, you find what you’re looking for in your phone and hand it over to Arthur. Who then, upon seeing what you have pulled up, immediately hands it back to you and turns to his mother, “Trust me you don’t want to see it.” 

“I’ve came to tell you the news, and well, to apologise.” You turn to face Pascale again.  

“Apologise?” She repeats, “Why on earth would you apologise to me when my son cheated on you?” 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me ever since we’ve met, both of you.” You acknowledge Arthur with a look, and then focus your attention back on the woman, “Though I will make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire in any way, I wanted to apologise for what I’m about to put your son through.”  

You honestly don’t know how you manage to act as if everything has been going fine in your life during race day. Given the fact that your husband doesn’t expect you to be at his race due to your rigorous filming schedule, and his family members being willing to hide your existence from him, you have no obstacles in your way to carry out the rest of your plan in motion. Which is exactly why you’re sat in the dark, waiting for your husband to walk through the doors of your apartment overlooking the city. With you seemingly being absent for the weekend, he has no reason to not believe that he is coming to an empty house.  

So, imagine his surprise when he enters his home; with his girlfriend in his arm, no less, and sees his wife sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand. The look on his face is priceless, and despite all the pain and frustration you’re feeling, it manages to bring you some semblance of joy, knowing that it’s going to hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  

“Ma chérie,” Charles stammers, eye wide as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, “I – I didn’t know y–you were coming back this weekend.” 

“Well obviously,” you scoff, taking a generous sip from the drink in the glass tumbler in your hand, “otherwise you wouldn’t bring your little girlfriend into my house to fuck her.” You hear a gasp from the scaredy brunette wedging herself closer to your husband’s side, and for the first time you take a good look at her – young, much younger than you, tall, leggy; all the telltale signs that she is exactly your husband’s type. Tilting your head to the side, you rest the glass on the arm of the armchair you’re sitting in, “If you could leave now, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

You hear Charles whisper something in her ear, probably telling her to leave and that he’ll contact her tomorrow, and watch as she gives him a scowl, screeching, “You’re just going to let her throw me out?” 

“Well, considering the fact that this is my house, yes.” You give her a look of pity, watching her face light up with anger.  

“Listen to me, you bitch–” She starts, but your husband quickly cuts her off.  

“Mon cœur!” He exclaims, “S'il te plaît!” 

“Yes, listen to him, like a good little girl,” you egg her on, a smirk widening on your lips as you start swinging the leg resting on your lower one, choosing to focus on your nails instead of your husband trying to soothe his lover. 

You hear her scoff, take a few steps as her heels click on the marble floor of the entrance, “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you, I’m not someone you want to be on bad terms with, considering the fact that he’s going to leave you for me!” 

“Oh, honey,” you coo, focusing your attention back on her and seeing the look of concern in your husband’s face through the corner of your eye, “and when did he tell you that, like a year ago? Two? Three?” A realisation dawns on her face as the smug expression starts to fade. “Don’t worry, though, you can have him when I’m done with him.” Pushing yourself off the armchair, you down the rest of the drink in the glass before slamming it down onto the glass coffee table. “And not only do I not care if you think I'm a bitch, but I hugely prefer it. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call security and get your ass thrown out.”  

You watch as she looks at Charles with indignation, lets out another screeching sound and slams the door behind her as she stomps out of your apartment. Only then you turn your gaze back to your husband, who has the guts to look at you with a worried look on his face. “How long have you known?” Is the first thing he asks you, taking a few steps closer.  

“A couple of weeks, a month, maybe?” You answer him, leaving your place to get to the small bar in the corner of your living room to get another refill of your drink. “There’s a video of the two, it somehow got into my hands, and it has very graphic details of the two of you having sex.” Popping a lemon into your cup, you make your way back to the armchair and sit down, “Are you stupid enough to cheat on me and make a fucking sex tape, Charles?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to–” He tries to plead, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.  

“You didn’t mean to what?” You ask him; your voice soothing, almost understanding, and it does the job of fooling him. “Cheat on me? Fuck another woman in my bed? Break the vows you’ve made?”  

“Ma chérie,” he whispers, “please.” 

“No.” Your voice is colder all of a sudden. “Tell me how long this has been going on for. Was I right? How many years?” 

“It started five years ago,” his voice is soft, somber and he tries to appear as genuine as he can in the situation, you suppose, “but I knew her, from before...” 

“Before what?” You’re seething now, the complete opposite of his calmness, “Did you fucking cheat me when we were dating, Charles?” 

“Ma chérie,” he gives you another pleading look, “please, I can change. I’ll go to therapy.”  

Now that, manages to get a bark of laughter from you. It’s ripped from the back of your throat, making you throw your head back as you lose yourself in the laughter to the point that there are tears in your eyes when you finally manage to calm yourself down. Putting the glass down on the coffee table once again, you wipe them off, mindful of your mascara, as you shift your attention back onto your husband. “Are fucking kidding me right now?” He gives you a concerned look, hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to answer you, but you quickly shut him down again. “You were bringing her into my house to fuck her, I caught you, I have your fucking sex tape – which is going to be streamlined for the world to see within twenty-four hours, do you honestly think I would go back to you?”  

“Wait, what?” He exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. “What do you mean they are going to streamline it, why didn’t you go to the lawyers? 

“I did go to the lawyers,” you shrug, innocently, “my lawyers,” you point out. “Why would I cover up your mistakes after everything you’ve done?” 

“Because I’m your fucking husband!” He barks, his arms widening to his sides as he finally loses his mask and his composure.  

His little tantrum only makes you let out another laugh, “Now, you’re my husband? Not when you’re cheating on me when I’m away shooting, but when you need me to clean up after your mistakes?” 

“How did you even get the video?” He asks, eyes narrowing down, “Who- who– who?” 

“Who? Who? Hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?” You exclaim, this time raising your voice. “You’re honestly more concerned about where I got it and not about the fact that the entire world is about to see you fucking someone other than your wife?” 

“What are we doing to do?” He asks, “Fuck, I have a race tomorrow.” 

“We’re not going to do anything.” You shrug, leaning forward to grab the glass and take another sip, “Or scratch that, we’re actually going to do something.” You stand up from the armchair, walk towards the table and hand him the file. “Congratulations, we’re getting a divorce.” 

“That is not happening.” He scoffs, not even bothering to look at the papers.  

“I don’t think you’re in the position to bargain with me, Charles.” You seethe, “You’re going to sign the damn papers, and you’re also going to sign away your rights to the baby.”  

“What the–?” He looks at you in disbelief, “You’re pregnant?” 

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” You bite out, “Like you wanted.” 

“You’ve been drinking the entire night.” He points to the glass, “Do you expect me to believe you’re pregnant?” 

Offering him a sweet smile you hand him the glass, tipping it towards him, “It’s soda water, would you like a sip?” 

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads, “give me another chance.” 

“I would’ve, if you were honest with me from the start.” You resign, a sincere look in your eyes. “I’ll give you a choice: us, or her.”  

He rears back with the offer, looking at you in disbelief. “What?” 

“You either choose me and the baby or you choose to be with her, and in that case, I will never let you near my baby, Charles.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.  

For a second, his eyes linger around your stomach.   But you know his choice when he meets your eyes again.  

“What have we done to each other?” He whispers, and you can barely see the tears in his eyes.  

“We didn’t do anything, Charles. I gave up everything for you, but you just took me for granted.” Walking back to the dining table, you grab your coat and bag, and when you come face to face with him again, your voice is soft despite all the anger you still feel towards him. “You, Charles Leclerc, are truly the smallest man who ever lived.”  

The hotel lobby is calm and empty as you sit at the bar, and it’s surprising when you consider that fact that it is the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, meaning that there must be hundreds and thousands of motorsports fans visiting. Not that you’re complaining about the silence, of course. After the night you’ve had, silence and calmness are all you could ask for.  

“I’ll get a whiskey, please, whatever top shelf stuff you’ve got.” A voice cuts through the moment you are having, and you instantly recognise the distinct accent of the stranger sitting next to you. “Thought you were in the States, finishing off filming.” This time, the comment is directed to you, and you roll your eyes as you push the empty glass towards the bartender on duty.  

With a sigh, you turn to the man on your right, “What do you want, Carlos?” Your voice conveys your lack of energy, and Carlos is not dumb enough not to notice the dark circles under your eyes beneath your makeup.  

“I came to check on you.” Is his answer. Simple, curt and to the point. You’d certainly appreciate it more if you had the patience for his antics.  

“Well, you did, have a good night.” Slamming down a hundred-Euro bill onto the counter, you make a move to get up from your place, but a gentle hand on your wrist stops you. “Let me go.”  

Though there is no venom to your voice, Carlos knows that it is not the time, nor the place, to test your patience. “I’m sorry,” he starts and when you take a good look at him, you can tell that he’s being sincere, “I really did want to check up on you, and considering the fact that you have a perfectly good penthouse but instead in a hotel, I think I was right to do so.”  

Crossing your arms across your chest as you get back onto the barstool with a huff, you glare at him lightheartedly, “I didn’t want to stay in the same house as him,” raising your eyebrows, you continue with a lower voice, “thanks to chilisade5594@gmail.com, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” The way his cheeks redden under the dim lights of the lobby bar would make you chuckle under normal circumstances, but you push the thought aside, “Honestly, what were you thinking? You’re lucky it was me who realised it was you, if it was my agent or publicist, we’d have another scandal to deal with.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes you off with a swat of his hand, “I’m sorry I put you into that position.” 

“Don’t be,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side, “I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t sent me the video. Just tell me why you did it.” 

“What?” He turns you with a confused look on his face.  

“Why, Carlos?” You ask, voice encouraging yet soft, “Why did you send it? Why now?” 

He keeps quiet for a while, not answering your questions but not taking his gaze off you either. Eventually, he exhales a deep sigh as he gives you a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t like the way he treated you. And I didn’t want to make you worry about it without concrete proof, so I guess everything just... worked out.”  

“Huh,” you let out a small hum in agreement, “I guess you’re right.”  

Expecting more than the words you chose to answer him with, he raises an eyebrow as he takes a big gulp of whiskey from his glass. “That’s it?” 

“Well, what more is it there to say?” You ask, sheepishly shrugging. “We’re getting a divorce; he’s going to move out and I’m gonna make sure the entire world knows just why.” 

Carlos flags down the bartender as he mumbles, “I feel like you need a stronger drink if we’re going to talk about your impending divorce, cariño.” 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling an even deeper sigh, you shake your head. “I can’t.” Thank God Carlos is one of the people who is the proud owner of a braincell around you, because he catches your insinuation quickly.  

With widened eyes, he quickly turns towards you, eyes softening as you offer him a sad smile. “Dios mío,” he murmurs, eyes running over you worriedly, “are you okay?” 

“Well... no.” You let out an unexpected laugh at his expression, patting him on the shoulder lightheartedly. “I’ll be fine, Carlos, I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” 

“I know you will,” he assures you, “but does Charles know?” 

Now that manages to bring a grimace to your face. “He signed his parental rights away along with the divorce papers.” The look he gives you after hearing your words has you worried that his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, but you try to calm him down as best as you can. “Carlos, it’s fine.” 

“It’s most certainly not!” He exclaims, his voice echoing in the almost empty hotel lobby. “Is he out of his mind?”  

You give him an awkward smile and another shrug of your shoulders. "I... feel like whatever I’m going to say is going to be wrong. So... yes?”

“Cariño,” he says, exasperated, “how are you so normal about this?” 

“Lots of women raise their kids as single mothers while working, Carlos.” Your expression quickly taking the form of a frown, “I can handle this, I don’t need Charles or anyone else to hold my hand and tell me I’m doing such a good job.” 

“I know you can do this alone, tonta,” he rolls his eyes as the endearment making you roll your eyes, “but you’re not going to be alone. Because I’m here.” There’s a certain finality to his words. And just as you’re about to object to his words, he quickly shuts you down. “I know you can do this on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”  

“What if I need waffles in the middle of the night?” You ask, your eyebrow raised in a skeptical way.  

“I’ll adjust my pancake recipe.” His reply his immediate, and he shrugs lightly as he adds, “Pancakes are better, anyway.”  

Rolling your eyes you continue, “What if I need someone to hold my hand in the delivery room? It can get quite gruesome, you know?” 

He provides you with another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve never really been affected by it.”  

“Okay, this is ridiculous, Carlos!” You exclaim, pushing yourself off your seat as you turn your body to face him. “I don’t need you to bail me out, I don’t need your help!” 

“I know you don’t,” he nods.  

“I am capable of doing this on my own!” You shriek, and the fact that your face is starting to get progressively redder worries Carlos.  

“I know you are, but–” he tries to reason.  

“No buts! I’m going to be a good mother, okay?” You point an accusatory finger towards him. “I’m going to choose him!” 

The way your voice breaks at the end of your sentence has Carlos instinctively pull you into his arms, which is not that hard given the fact that you are almost the same height as him as you stand in front of the bar stool he’s sitting on, and he doesn’t say a word as you sob into his chest – letting out all the emotion you’ve bottled up over the past few weeks, no less. He doesn’t you offer you empty promises or tries to soothe you with cliché phrases. Instead, he stands still, holding you between his arms as you sob continuously into his chest. Giving the bar tender an awkward smile over your shoulder, he hands him his card to close out your tabs.  

He only starts talking again once you’ve pulled away and trying to wipe the remnants of your tears from under your eyes. “Do you feel better now?” He asks, handing you a napkin.  

“Yeah,” you mumble, sniffing as you play with the corners of the napkin. Then, you flip your eyes toward his, and fix him with a glare. “You are not becoming my kid’s stepdad.” 

“Of course not, cariño,” he assures you, “I’ll be the dad that stepped up instead.” 

You let out a teary chuckle as you slap him lightly on his chest. “I’m serious, Carlos.” 

“So am I.” He replies softly, and you can see the genuine look on his face. “You’re not alone anymore, I’m choosing you.” Tentatively, he presses his hand softly against your stomach as he maintains your gaze. “Both of you.” 

And though the last thing you want is a promise, this one seems like a real one. So, you let yourself believe that he might just keep it up. 

[whatevergreen]

Two migrant teens, Alan Magalles Bello and Yeremi Colino were confronted by 3 people in Lower Manhattan and stabbed. Colino has died.

As for CNN, they and other news outlets also had the full Luigi Mangione manifesto (more of a note) for days but wouldn't release it, and instead made intentionally false statements about the contents.

This is what he actually wrote and doesn't come across as "unhinged" (despite the cringe opening):

As for Luigi Mangione:

It's no good judging him on his background or his social media alone. His twitter wasn't updated for months, and such as Goodreads shows a somewhat different side, more relevant to recent events - though there are hints of it on twitter. And something has clearly changed radically recently. Conservatives or alt-right people (or whatever label some have been trying to fix on him) do not normally refer to corporate executives as "parasites" who "simply had it coming" and then go out and kill one of them.

It seems like he has been trying to find his way... and it's led him to target a key figure among the many responsible for the suffering, and too often deaths, of millions of people over many decades through insurance and other healthcare profiteering. He didn't take out his personal problems and his ideologicial issues on random strangers or random employees like many have in the past. He took out one of those most responsible. Indeed it's just been revealed that he considered using a bomb to kill Brian Thompson but decided against it because he did not want to harm anyone else.

As for his being born into a wealthy Republican family, so what?

Countless socialists, communists, anarchists and others more difficult to label - famous, infamous or little known - have come from a privileged background. For a start Karl Marx was the son of a wealthy lawyer and married a member of the aristocracy. He lived in poverty for most of his life however. Engels was the son of a wealthy industrialist. Mao's father was a wealthy farmer and landowner. I'm not comparing Luigi with them too deeply of course but this needs to be considered.

Don't throw him or anybody like him under the bus when they do a neccessary thing for the right reasons, and are possibly rising above some of their older ideas, just because of those said ideas or beliefs. We don't know what his current state of mind is on any issue beyond the healthcare one.

It has been suggested that there may be some connection with possibly using psilocybin (magic mushrooms). Some people have been making that point to discredit his actions when actually such may have made him more empathetic and hence more enraged by the suffering of others. And his interest in such drugs was because of his chronic pain problems.

As a side note, apparently 2/3rds of Penn students support his actions. It's not really that surprising considering that the so-called health care system can be a nightmare for anyone but the very richest.

[soobnny]

dating him | bang chan

❝ have i told you how beautiful you look this morning? ❞

CHAN | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin

chan as ur bf wow congratulations

it’s giving strangers to lovers if i’m being fr

u just meet on a random tuesday like nothing out of the ordinary

conversation is made and for SOME reason, chan always feels the cogs in his head stop turning when he’s talking to u

like it feels like he’s constantly on the run all the time so how come with u it’s so different

what did u do to him

well wtvr long story short, he FELL

fell hard

now he’s ur bf

ok hear me out

perk #1: unlimited supply of his hoodies

he’d love it too .. when u wear his hoodie

doesn’t even try to act upset or bothered that u’re stealing his clothes

sometimes he’s the one to even put it on ur bed so u can wear it after u shower

or when u’re coming home from the dorm and when u open ur bag .. oh! his hoodie!

“ah, i must’ve misplaced it 😅😅😅”

yeaaaaaaaaah sure

sure u misplace the hoodie in ur very pink bag instead of his black bag

u’re not very slick christopher bang

u don’t mind tho

his hoodies are always xxxxl in size and it smells like him

perk #2: u have ur own man wife

that man knows how to do everything

he can fix ur sink, build u a table, put oil on ur doorknobs so they don’t harden, can clean, like what can’t he do

have u seen hometown cha cha cha? he’s giving very Chief Hong in his skills

(minho does too but we’ll talk about him in his post)

oh, did i mention he can cook too

one of his favorite little mini dates is when u just go thru cookbooks together

and then … cook

i’m sorry this man is a sucker for domestic things like this

and cooking together means u also grocery shop together

a fun challenge he made up is where u pick up random ingredients and try to make something decent out of it

maaaaaan he’s just giving husband

anyways back to cooking

imagine him in the kitchen right

and he’s tasting something new he made

ofc u’re curious too cos wow whatever the hell he’s making smells and looks good

when you try to ask him if you can taste it, he’d KISS you

“how do you like it? 😏😏😏”

😳😳😳😳

he’s getting bold

he does strike me as shy at first in relationships

and then when u’re together for long, u’re like damn this man kinda freaky

perk #3: his dog

berry loves u

like sometimes even more than chan

(it’s bc u give her extra treats when u can)

u walk his dog together early in the morning

it’s kind of become routine

u’d just get out of bed with messy hair and still in ur pajamas while chan is perfectly ready bc he loves waking up early when he can

u don’t even care that u look like a mess

bc chan always reminds u how beautiful u are every morning

so … messy hair and pajamas … putting the leash on berry and walking outside

it’d just be quiet mostly on the walk

there’s no need for conversation with chan sometimes

chan would say he finally knows what peace means after meeting u

his favorite scene ever is coming home and finding u asleep on the couch with berry

he has a million pictures of that on ur phone

like different days, same scene

sets it as his lockscreen even

on nights u can spend together, u enjoy watching cringy christmas movies w him

cue recreating the scenes

except it’s a massive failure bc both of u just can’t stop laughing

u especially love those christmas movies one

“I DONT HAVE A TWIN WE CANT RECREATE THE PRINCESS SWITCH”

u end up just falling asleep together

ofc not without cuddling and intimate kisses

chan finds he sleeps easier bc of u

he used to always find it so difficult to fall asleep before

so how come it’s as easy as closing his eyes now

btw u two most probably have promise rings

and he most probably wears it as a necklace

and he loves hugging u from behind

chan loves being able to nuzzle his cheek on ur back and hold u

he’d probably do that thing where u’re unaware and then BAM a pair of arms around ur waist

his chin on ur shoulder

oh Wow….. wow i just made myself crazy thinking about that

he’d lean in to kiss ur neck or ur chin bc it’s closest access

and he’d just look at whatever the hell u’re doing

chan loves looking at u

does that sound creepy

he just loves observing u ok !!!!!!

esp when u’re doing something u love

his heart goes 💗💞💕💕💝💘💖💞💓💓

bc that’s his baby

he just adores u tbh

u could just be standing there and chan’s looking at u with heart eyes

anyways whatever CONGRATULATIONS

u guys will probably last forever bc he’s whipped and so in love

he’s giving me the More In Love vibe

like when he falls, he FALLS

happy 4 u

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[megalony]

Evan Buckley (911) Masterlist

This was the 911 masterlist, but now this is dedicated to Evan (Buck) and there is a separate masterlist for Eddie. I hope you all enjoy them.

Main Masterlist

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Dark! Evan Buckley Masterlist

Bobby Nash Masterlist

Evan (Buck) Buckley:

I Was Worried

Care to Dance

Buck Jr

We Made It

Professional

Did I Stutter?

See The Difference

Obsessive

Early Arrival

Bathroom Revelations

Family Favouritism

Checked Out

Helpless

His Own Miracle

You Look Beautiful

You Saved Me

Being Threatened

I'm Home

Hostage

A Piece of Me

Old Memories

Call For a Rescue

I Won't Lose Her

Double Trouble

Comatose

Helping Hands and Paws

Sick Day

Falling For Me

Communication Error (Deaf! reader)

Give Me a Reason (Deaf! reader)

Hypo State

Emergency Situation

I'm Taking You Home

Is This Your Husband

Protect His Girls

A Burden On You

It's Yours

You Need To Choose

Let Me Help

Little Bird Part 2

You Didn't Know?

A Bad Night

One In A Million

Wish I Knew

Just In Time

Tiny Little Fighter

I'll Take Him

Meet My Family Part 2

My Little Girl

Matters Of The Heart

Heated Discussion

Keep You From Harm

You've Done Enough

Birthday Wishes

Touchy Situation

Finally Coming True

A Medical Emergency

Resemblance (Series Masterlist)

Too Stimulating (Autistic! Reader)

Another Present (Christmas fic)

Mayday, Mayday

Beautiful Destruction

He Can't Have You Part 2

Exploding Emotions Part 2

It's Bubba Part 2

Can't You Be Mine Part 2 Part 3

She's Not Here Part 2

Have You Slept Part 2

Strike Me Down Part 2

There's My Girl Part 2

My Squad Part 2 Part 3

Series:

Resemblance (Series Masterlist)

She Needs Help (Series Masterlist)

Call Me Dad (Series Masterlist)

Baby-Trapped (Series Masterlist)

It's Complicated (Series Masterlist)