#american politics.... the gift that keeps on giving...

[tortured-griffith]

Furthermore, since we're on the topic, i am willing to do 9/11 as long as guts gets involved with the Taliban. Vote Tortured Griffith 2024!!

[lovezbrownies]

Mockingbird. (Fem!Yandere Pop Idol x GN!Reader.)

Masterlist

(Coudln't pick between making her an american pop idol or a k-pop idol so i made her both! She's half American and half Korean and makes variety solo music while in her band :))

Synopsis: While trying to earn your paycheck as a Audio Tech, you manage to catch the eyes of the magnetic, Grammy winning Yuna Claire.

Under the spotlight, Yuna Claire was perfection—every note, every glance choreographed for the adoration of thousands. But when her eyes landed on you, their fire softened into something sharper, something that burned with a dangerous kind of focus. You’d noticed her at first only because of Yuna's fame, the admiration people lavished on her so excessive it was hard to ignore. It was after a concert that she’d approached you, alone in the backstage crowd, moving with a deliberate pace that only you seemed oblivious to.

She’d started with a polite introduction, a charming laugh. Fans had parted around Yuna, gaping as if she were a goddess, while you gave her a casual nod, barely glancing her way. If anything, you’d appeared more captivated by the band posters on the walls. Yuna wasn’t deterred, though. Instead, she leaned in, her words silken, inviting you to a private after-party. Her words were sugar, her gaze hypnotic—but something didn’t feel quite right. And still, her allure was undeniable, almost magnetic.

But you had your own reasons for resisting. The world of flashing lights and obsessive fans didn’t appeal to you, and the drama of idol life felt exhausting just to observe. You'd given her a nonchalant smile, declining politely, leaving Yuna alone in a corridor of confused and shocked onlookers.

Yuna didn’t give up. For weeks after that, her messages appeared daily, each one a bit more intense than the last, though always wrapped in a veneer of politeness. She’d send short, casual notes about her day, like Yuna was trying to convince you of her “normal” side. Then came the carefully crafted photos, her smile dazzling, eyes dark with something unsettling. Still, Yuna knew just how to tread the line between flirty and forward, between coy and committed.

But you didn’t respond, letting your silence answer in your place.

The silence only seemed to make her bolder.

Soon, small “gifts” began appearing. They were subtle at first: a book you’d mentioned liking left anonymously on your doorstep, a handwritten letter slipped into your bag somehow, perfume lingering on the pages. Then, one day, your phone buzzed, and there was a photo attached—a candid shot of you in a coffee shop, reading. The angle was wrong, too close, taken without your notice. The caption beneath read, “I love how focused you look.”

By now, you’d pieced together Yuna's persistence and presence. She was relentless, yet subtle. You’d heard rumors that she had been known to ghost her managers, locking herself away from the world for weeks until she’d get what she wanted. Those who defied her had been known to face mysterious career setbacks, projects canceled without reason. And now, that ambition—obsession—had found its focus on you.

One evening, you returned home to find Yuna waiting at your door. Her smile was radiant as ever, but there was an edge to her eyes, a desperation swimming beneath her polished exterior. Yuna wore a hoodie, as though trying to blend into your world, her gloved hands hidden in her pockets.

“You haven’t answered me,” Yuna said, her voice soft yet unyielding. “I thought… maybe in person you’d give me a chance.”

Her gaze didn’t waver as you fumbled for your keys, blocking your way. She leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath. “Please,” she murmured, her voice low and nearly pleading, though her eyes told a different story.

“I’m… really not interested,” you managed, keeping your tone polite but firm.

The smile on Yuna's face tightened, her fingers flexing slightly as she stood still, the air heavy with her scent and the weight of her expectations. The seconds stretched, her intense silence trapping you until she finally spoke again, her voice softer, almost disarmingly gentle.

“I can change your mind.” It wasn’t a question, more like a fact she’d already accepted. She shifted, a gleam flickering in her gaze as she stepped closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I just need a little more time to show you how much you mean to me. You wouldn’t turn me away if you knew how long I’ve waited to find someone like you.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, her intensity seeping into the air between you. The way Yuna looked at you—as though you were the one person in a world of facades—stirred something uncomfortable, something deeply unsettling. But behind that, a chill ran down your spine, the unease creeping in as her gaze lingered, too steady, too fixed, a promise hidden in the depths of her stare.

“I just… want to be left alone,” you said softly, pushing the words out, feeling the way they seemed to make her freeze for a moment, like she was memorizing the rejection, absorbing it before it sank into her.

And then, Yuna's smile widened, her voice tinged with an eerie, honeyed calm. “You’ll change your mind,” she murmured, pressing a soft hand to your arm. “I have all the time in the world for you. And don’t worry—I won’t be far.”

She let her fingers linger just a moment too long before stepping back, her gaze never leaving yours as she turned, leaving you in the dim hallway. And as she walked away, you felt a cold certainty that this was only the beginning.

A few days passed with nothing more than a tense silence and a faint scent of her perfume lingering in your mind. You tried to shake her memory, the look in her eyes that had lingered too long, the unwavering way Yuna had spoken as if her persistence was just a matter of inevitability. But Yuna had fallen quiet, her presence slipping back into the shadows. You told yourself that maybe she’d taken the hint, that perhaps her attention had finally shifted.

But soon, small traces of her began appearing everywhere. It started innocently enough: a coffee cup with Yuna's autograph on the sleeve sitting outside your door one morning, her signature sharp and elaborate. Then, one day, a bouquet of deep red roses appeared—delivered straight to your office, the envelope tucked inside holding only a single message in her elegant handwriting: You missed my last concert. I was thinking of you the whole time. You could almost hear her voice in the words, soft and unhurried, like a gentle reminder she would never let you go.

Still, you kept your distance, responding to her with only silence, the only reaction you could give that felt remotely safe. But Yuna's gifts continued, each more intimate than the last. One night, you found a plush blanket folded perfectly at your doorstep, the fabric woven with her initials stitched carefully into the corner. You left it there, untouched, but the next morning, it was gone, replaced by a small silver necklace, engraved with the words, Forever yours.

By now, you were beginning to feel Yuna's presence even when she wasn’t there. You couldn’t walk down the street without glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting her to step out from the shadows, her voice low and calm, as if she’d just been waiting for you to look her way. It made the world feel smaller, her influence extending far beyond the glossy photoshoots and stage lights. She wasn’t just a presence on screens or in songs; she was a shadow, creeping into every quiet corner of your life.

It was on a rainy night that she finally crossed the line. You were sitting at your kitchen table, half-awake and nursing a cup of coffee, trying to shake off the unease that had followed you home. There was a knock on your door, soft but unmissable. Your heart dropped, a part of you already knowing who it would be.

Reluctantly, you opened the door, and there she was—drenched from the rain, her hair clinging to her face, lips painted red but smudged slightly as though she’d been rushing. Her eyes were wide and focused, her gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you want to step back, but she was faster, already inside before you could say anything.

“Why haven’t you answered me?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but the sharpness was unmistakable. “I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to give you time, but you’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Yuna shook her head, her fingers curling into fists, her gaze brimming with something raw and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to find someone who doesn’t see me as just entertainment,” she continued, her voice wavering slightly. “Everyone else is obsessed with the idea of me, but you… You’re real. You’re the only real thing in my world, and I won’t let you ignore me.”

Her words were laced with a haunting vulnerability, but there was an edge there, a dark gleam in her eye that made your skin prickle. She took a step forward, and before you could react, her hands were on your arms, her grip surprisingly strong as she pulled you close.

“Do you know what it’s like to be worshipped by everyone but feel completely alone?” she murmured, her breath hot against your skin. “No one sees me like you do. You can’t understand what that means to me… what you mean to me.”

Her fingers traced along your arms, almost possessively, her gaze dropping to the floor before lifting again, filled with a sorrowful intensity that left you speechless. Her voice softened, barely above a whisper, but there was an unmistakable steel behind her words. “If I have to tear down every wall, break every distance between us, I will. You don’t understand how much I need you. You don’t know what it feels like to need someone the way I need you.”

You tried to pull away, but her grip tightened, her fingers pressing into your skin. There was a flicker of pain in her eyes, like she was fighting something darker, something she couldn’t control. Yuna's voice grew softer, almost pleading, a softness masking something much more intense. “I’ll be everything for you,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to her hands on your arms. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll leave the spotlight if I have to… if that’s what it takes.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with an eerie promise, a willingness to unravel her entire life just for a chance to stay by your side. You could feel her desperation, her obsession suffocating, seeping into the space between you until it felt like a cage.

“Please,” you finally said, managing to pry her hands off, your voice steady though your heart was pounding. “I don’t want this. I never asked for it, and you need to understand that.”

Her face fell, her expression wavering as though the weight of your rejection was physically painful. But after a moment, she smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You think you don’t want this now,” she said softly, her voice gentle, yet chilling. “But you just haven’t given me a chance to show you. I’ll change your mind… I know I will.”

With that, she took a step back, her gaze lingering as she brushed a strand of wet hair from her face. Her voice was soft, affectionate, but there was something almost dangerous in it now, something unyielding. “I’ll be seeing you,” she whispered, almost like a promise, before turning and slipping out into the rain.

As the door clicked shut behind her, you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew, with an unsettling certainty, that this wasn’t over. And somehow, a part of you wondered if it ever would be.

You sank into a chair, heart pounding as you tried to shake off the echo of her words. But her presence lingered, curling around you like smoke, insistent and inescapable. Every shadow in your apartment seemed to hold her gaze, every sound just outside the door felt like her footsteps waiting to step back into your world.

In the days that followed, it was as if she’d slipped into your life like a shadow cast just beyond reach. It started small again—your phone buzzing with her messages, her number somehow bypassing the blocks you’d put in place. A photo of the view from her hotel room, sent late at night with a message below: This would look better if you were here. Each time you saw her name appear, a tightness grew in your chest, the constant reminder that she was watching, waiting.

When you went out, she was there, always just out of sight but close enough that you could feel her, as if her gaze was a constant weight on the back of your neck. She lingered at cafes, always alone at a distant table, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, never taking them off until you’d met her stare for just a moment too long. She’d nod, that half-smile twisting into something more when she saw the flicker of discomfort on your face.

One evening, you arrived home to find a package waiting for you—an expensive leather-bound journal, its cover engraved with your initials. Inside, she’d filled pages with a mix of her own thoughts, scrawled lyrics, and snapshots of herself, each one accompanied by a handwritten note. Some were simple—Thinking of you—while others were bolder: You belong in my life. The scent of her perfume clung to every page, making it feel as though she’d marked each one as her own. The effect was suffocating.

You tried to shake it off, tried to return to normal. You avoided places she’d visited, tried to take different routes, anything to break free of the feeling of being watched. But no matter where you went, she was always one step ahead, a quiet but relentless shadow. And then one night, as you sat in a dimly lit bar, she slipped into the seat across from you, her presence as bold and unyielding as ever.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you murmured, your voice betraying the surprise and unease that flooded your senses.

She simply tilted her head, a knowing smile curling her lips. “I told you, didn’t I? I’d be seeing you again.” Her fingers drummed on the table, her gaze never leaving yours. “You keep avoiding me, but I know what you really need, what you’re afraid to admit.” Her words were soft, intimate, as though she were whispering them just for you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you replied, keeping your tone even, though it felt like you were trying to steady yourself on a tightrope. “This obsession… it’s not what you think it is.”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes gleamed with a chilling certainty. “You’ve made me wait, given me time to understand what you really need. I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people who don’t see you… but I see everything about you.” She leaned closer, her voice low and steady, her gaze intense enough to hold you in place. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you realize that we belong together.”

She pulled out a silver key, placing it on the table between you, a soft clink breaking the heavy silence. “I had a spare made,” she murmured, her voice a ghost of a whisper, as though confessing a secret. “I didn’t want to intrude too much, but… it’s better this way. I don’t have to wait for you to come to me—I can just find you when you’re ready.”

A chill swept through you, and the faint smile on her lips made it clear she knew exactly the effect she was having on you. She reached out, her fingers grazing the back of your hand, her touch soft yet possessive. “You’re afraid now,” she murmured, her eyes softening just enough to mimic tenderness. “But I’m willing to wait. I’m patient. I’ll give you all the time you need… because in the end, you’ll see that I’m the only one who truly understands you.”

Before you could respond, she rose, leaving the key glinting in the dim light between you, a symbol of the door she had already opened, the boundary she’d so carefully, and deliberately, crossed. And as she walked away, you realized, with a sinking certainty, that there was no escaping her.

[coochellati]

Living With Bruno - Headcanons

Hi guys. I hope you are all doing okay. These past 24 hours have been rough for those affected by American politics.

In the name of comfort and escapism, I’ve been imagining what living with Bruno would look like. For instance—What does Bruno do in his spare time? What does his house look like? Is he a neat person? (spoiler alert: he definitely is.) And what is he like behind closed doors?

I’ll be diving into these questions (and more!) under the break!

Bruno lives in his modest childhood home by the sea, and he hasn’t changed much of the furniture or decor since his parents decorated it. Almost everything is as it was when he was a kid—it gives him a sense of comfort.

During the day, he loves to let the salty sea breeze in through open windows. At night, the lighting feels warm and inviting. Bruno is mindful of energy costs; he only uses lights when needed. Candlelight often fills the home after dark, adding a cozy ambiance. Bruno Bucciarati is a neat person, so his home is impeccably kept.

Bruno spends most of his time in his living room, partly because it’s where his record player lives. It sits between two speakers on top of a waist-high bookshelf in his living room that holds his impressive record collection, including genres such as jazz, prog rock, classical, and more. (He has a whole section dedicated to Miles Davis.) He’s added a desk to the room so he can work while listening to his vinyls. On the wall hangs one of his father’s old fishing nets, a reminder of the vow he made to his father to fight against drugs.

His childhood bedroom is mostly unchanged, having the same furniture and arrangement as when he was young. A small bookshelf holds the stories his mother used to read to him, and pictures of his parents rest on his nightstand.

His parents’ bedroom remains as it was when his father passed. Besides keeping it clean, Bruno hasn’t altered a thing in there, finding something almost sacred in its preservation.

Bruno’s also got a pretty decent wine collection stashed in the cellar, with some expensive, rare bottles. Being careful with money, he rarely splurges on high-end wine, so most of these rare bottles were gifts.

(I headcanon that Bruno is passionate about wine. If you’re interested in hearing about why I believe this, here’s a link to this post.)

Bruno Bucciarati definitely uses his walls for storage.

Before moving in, Bruno will chat with you about your needs. For instance, do you have any allergies? Do you have sensitive skin and need to use special laundry detergent? Are there certain foods you won’t eat? His home is now your home—he wants to make sure you’re comfortable.

Bruno may not be a fan of PDA, but behind closed doors, he isn’t shy about showing affection. Whether it be a peck on the cheek, warm smiles, hand-holding, cuddling to Miles Davis, etc., Bruno is always happy to be close to you. (This goes without saying, but he loves when you reciprocate!)

You might often catch Bruno watching you with quiet admiration. For example, he lets you get ready for bed first so he can just observe you—it’s his way of reminding himself that he now has someone to come home to. For him, it’s like gazing at a winning lottery ticket.

However, like many people, there are moments when Bruno needs his personal space. (Especially if he’s very stressed or it’s work-related.) After all, everyone needs some alone time now and then, and he’ll do his best to let you know ahead of time. Don’t worry about upsetting him if you need to see him during this time—Bruno would never be mad about it. He’ll also reassure you there’s nothing wrong with your relationship if it’s something you need to hear.

Everyone has their flaws, and communication isn’t something Bruno is always the best about. He tends to keep stressful things to himself, to “shoulder the burden,” so to speak. In his mind, he believes he’s protecting you, but this can lead to him acting in unpredictable ways that only make sense if you have the full story.

For instance—remember when Trish asked Narancia why Bruno was such a cold person?

Bruno had a reason for his behavior, as he was close to death. But without knowing the entire story, Trish saw him as cold and uncaring. This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding I’m talking about—without context, Bruno’s actions can give the wrong impression.

Afterward, Narancia told to Trish that this was just how Bruno behaved, and she would understand if she got to know him better. While this dynamic of unexplained behavior may work in a subordinate-leader relationship, this isn’t the type of relationship you and Bruno have. Seeing you happy and safe is what matters most to him, but he doesn’t always go about it in the best way.

Communication is something the two of you may have to work through together.

As noted, Bruno is a neat person. Keeping everything clean and organized helps him stay focused and level-headed. On his days off, he keeps up with chores so his place stays in top shape—he also finds it calming.

Laundry and Ironing are two chores he doesn’t mind doing. Bruno takes great pride in the way he dresses so taking care of his clothes is very important to him. He also happens to be very good at removing stains. (Wearing white clothes regularly will force you to get good at it.) Like many Italians, Bruno doesn’t own a washer or dryer. This means everything gets washed by hand and hung outside to dry. (No need to splurge when you can do your laundry yourself.) Because clothes get stiff when air dried, Bruno irons everything, including socks, underwear, and towels. (This isn’t uncommon in Italy either.)

Bruno is quite skilled at cooking, a talent he developed while caring for his father. (He’s also picked up tips from Polpo’s unsolicited rants about food.) On the topic of cooking, Bruno tends to be big on meal prep, given that he doesn’t always have the time or energy to cook after a long day at work. Therefore, I can see him making a comical amount of food at once to store for later. You’ll walk in and the kitchen table looks like this:

If there’s one chore Bruno doesn’t enjoy, it’s taking out the trash. At first, I thought he’d have it easy because of the fact he could “zipper” it away inside the ground, but as stated to Trish inside Coco Jumbo, he has no idea where things go when he does that—probably best not to risk littering underground.

Bruno is very good about keeping clean. Every morning starts with a cold shower, which he enjoys for the mental clarity and alertness it brings. He’s happy to let you join him if he isn’t in a time constraint, and upon doing so, he’ll adjust the water temperature to something more suited to your preference. (Since he takes cold showers, he’s fine with pretty much any temperature as long as it isn’t scalding.)

If you end up showering with him, expect it to take a while. ;) (Especially if he has nothing going on that day.) His hands gently grazing your sides, he’ll likely start by asking if he can wash you. If you say yes, he’ll begin to gently and meticulously wash every part of you with an awestruck expression gracing his face. (“How did I get so lucky?” He’ll wonder.)

Araki designed Bruno with shiny, meticulously styled hair, which suggests to me that Bruno puts effort into caring for his hair. Healthy hair isn’t just good genes—Bruno goes a little further than just using shampoo and conditioner to maintain it. For instance, he definitely uses leave-in conditioner and hair oil. I can also see him using a hairdryer to blow out his hair and give it that perfect bob shape.

It’s impressive how fast Bruno can get ready for the day, considering all that goes into his daily styling. (You should see how fast he can braid his hair.) It takes him about 16-17 minutes to get ready, 10 more if he has to dry his hair.

Bruno finishes his routine with a few spritzes of cologne.

Around the house, Bruno dresses casually—no need for a fancy suit if no one’s around to see it. However, he will dress up if he’s expecting a visitor.

Sleeping next to you makes Bruno realize how fucking stressed he is all the time. His lifestyle/career has turned him into someone who is constantly hyper-vigilant, so it’s no wonder that Bruno is a very light sleeper. (That, plus the trauma from the night two intruders tried to kill Bruno’s dad while his dad was asleep. ) On his own, he tends to wake up multiple times in the middle of the night, but when he sleeps next to you, he usually stays asleep.

The best part about sleeping next to Bruno? He doesn’t really snore, possibly thanks to being a side sleeper. He also sleeps in pajamas, just in case he has to get up quickly. (Imagine being caught naked as intruders walk into your bedroom.)

I imagine Bruno uses the same bed he did as a kid. Therefore, I bet it is the Italian equivalent of a full-sized bed. This bed size has always worked for him, though he’d likely get a larger one if a partner moved in.

(You really can’t tell the size of the bed from the photo. It could very well be a twin instead of a full.)

Bruno typically starts his mornings bright and early at 6:30 am. He usually aims for about seven hours of sleep, going to bed around 11 p.m. or midnight, though it’s not unusual to see him working until 1 or 2 a.m. (So yeah… he never really gets enough sleep.)

In his downtime, Bruno likes to unwind with a book or by listening to records with a glass of wine—though these moments don’t happen as often as they should since he’s a bit of a workaholic.

Sometimes, he’ll take a walk to the shore where his dad used to dock and sit for a while. He finds it comforting—this is one way he feels he can stay connected to his dad.

Thank you for reading!!! this was super fun to write! I hope this post was able to provide you some comfort 💕

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Disgusting comments of a sexual nature. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Your mother rushes into your room, followed by her many assistants. "It's today," she tells you. You give her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. "The marriage. It's happening today so you'd best dress up. My ladies will do your hair and makeup so you can look somewhat decent for your new husband."

"Yes, mother," is all you can say. Any attempts at pointing out you'd had no notice would be futile. And should you dare try to state a preference in your looks it would be immediately dismissed, paired with an insult. Best to just comply and do as she says. You make sure to follow the instructions of the hair and makeup team. They have to put up with your mother, too, so you always try to be polite to them.

As soon as they finish your mother shoves you in front of a mirror. "There," she coos. "Don't you look so lovely?"

You think you look like a clown. Like a lesser copy of her. "Yes, mother. Thank you."

"Would have gotten you a better dress but you refused to lose weight," she sighs. You bite your tongue. The doctor said you were healthy, that should be enough. But not for her.

"Now," she continues, "we will be meeting your father and brother at the Jensen estate. Apparently they've already go the paperwork and notary crap sorted out. Remember to walk gracefully, be polite, and for the love of everything, smile. I don't need my daughter's wedding photos to look like a funeral had happened!"

"Yes, mother."

Jake is really trying to keep calm. His father, father-in-law and brother-in-law are all drinking to the "marriage" happening this afternoon. Apparently they're just waiting for the bride and her mother to finish getting ready. Jake is scared she's going to be just like his own mother: power hungry, demanding, backstabbing, cold. Meeting the bride's family has not helped assuage his concerns. If anything, it only further drives his conviction that he did the right thing, breaking his sister's engagement. The only thing keeping Jake calm is Clay's presence. Having an ally makes a world of difference.

Montgomery, his father-in-law, is already three drinks in. "And as a wedding gift to the happy couple, your father and I have purchased a penthouse and a car that you won't be embarrassed to be seen in."

"Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?" Clay raises an eyebrow.

"It's a pinto," Travis, the brother-in-law, scoffs.

"Exactly," Clay calmly says. "An American classic."

Travis rolls his eyes before turning to Jake, "I'm kinda disappointed you agreed to this thing. I was kinda hoping for that niece of yours. You know, once she turns 18. The young ones are so much easier to train."

Jake's gripping his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He has to behave, it's in the contract. And punching his brother-in-law would not be behaving.

Thankfully Clay has his back. "Young man, you've got problems. I'm specifically talking in the bedroom, but I'm sure you've got plenty of problems outside as well. If you need some lessons on how to please a woman, I'm happy to give you some pointers."

Travis glowers at him but Clay just smirks.

A knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. An attendant comes in, "the bride is here."

The first time you see Jake, your heart falls. He looks angry, mean. You didn't have much hope about being treated well to begin with but this just solidified it.

The first time Jake sees you, his own heart does the same. You're the spitting image of your mother. He mentally prepares himself for a life of being scolded for never being enough, a life of being cheated on, a life without love.

The documents are signed and notarized. The fake smiles are pasted on for the photos. Jake is given the keys to both the penthouse and the car. Clay promises to meet them there, driving his pinto.

You and Jake sit silently in the car. Both wanting to cry.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[darylas]

Chapter 2 - It’s Only a Paper Moon

John “Bucky” Egan x singer!fem!reader previous ♫ next ♫ ao3

Bucky is realizing that your performance doesn't end when you leave the stage, but he's determined to see what lies under the mask.

1.8k words

Warnings: Language, Smoking, Bucky being a little shit

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

You stood outside the officers' club, slouching against the back wall and using one hand to massage your cheeks. Before joining the American Red Cross and moving overseas, you’d never realized just how sore one’s face could get from smiling all day long. How tired one could become of the sound of their own false laughter. Never appreciated just how valuable a quiet moment alone could really be. 

Your days at Thorpe Abbotts had quickly grown monotonous, though you supposed that rehearsing and performing with the band multiple days a week made your experience a bit more unique than the other volunteers’. 

For you, the most difficult part of the job was not waking up before dawn to prepare doughnuts and coffee for the airmen, though you were counting down the days until your next morning off.

It also wasn’t the fact that you and your fellow ARC girls were nothing less than amateur psychiatrists, offering a comforting and listening ear to soldiers who were fresh out of combat to process their violent experiences. You felt that you had become quite adept at keeping your attitude from being too bright, thus seeming uncaring, or too sympathetic, which might evoke even darker emotions from the soldier. Thanks to these revealing conversations, you came to know a lot more than you anticipated about the horrors of war.

It certainly wasn’t performing in front of large crowds; you had always been good at that. 

No, for you the most draining aspect of your job was moments like this one, the moments between musical numbers. Making small talk, smiling at all times, laughing at the same joke you’d already been told at least thirty times as if it were the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Truthfully, it felt like a much grander performance than anything you’d ever done on stage. Ever since you were a child, you cherished your alone time and preferred genuine, intellectual conversation to what felt like pointless small talk. At this point, the mask you wore during these moments seemed to be plastered to your face at all times. You would never reveal this to the men, of course. This was why you were here, to give these brave men a piece of home and to raise morale. 

Of course, while ARC girls were expected to attend parties and socialize, they were not required to accept every invitation. While most of the men were harmless and polite, there were some who you would prefer to avoid interaction with altogether. Major Egan being one of them. 

You had always been one to trust your instincts about a person, and something about the major kept you at a distance. For one, he was full of himself, or at least he seemed to be. You supposed that was not uncommon in young officers with higher ranks. For another thing, word spread among the women fast enough for you to know that a dance with John Egan often didn’t end once the music stopped. You had no interest in being anyone’s conquest of the month. 

Right now, you knew you had a few minutes before your next number. You had been able to sneak out for a moment with the rather poor excuse of needing some fresh air to boost your lung volume and vocal control. You took out your sad little lighter and a cigarette from one of the packs of four rationed to each soldier. This pack was gifted to you by a young private who said he didn’t smoke. Fresh air, indeed. 

You flipped open the lid and thumbed the wheel once, twice, three times with no flame. You kept trying, but the damn thing still wouldn’t light. “Oh for crying out loud, you goddamn son of a b-”

“Need a light?”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky watched you transform before his eyes. Your posture went from slouched to straight-backed; your expression from one of annoyance and frustration to unnervingly neutral. You could certainly teach a thing or two about standing at attention to many of the airmen under his command. He had to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier.” While it was impressive, it was not the reception he had been hoping for. 

“Major Egan,” you said. “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone out here.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he replied, pulling his Zippo out of his pocket. “And you can call me Bucky.” He ignited the lighter. 

You glanced at the flame and then back at him gratefully before lighting your cigarette. “Thank you for the light, but if you don’t mind I would prefer to continue addressing you professionally.” 

“Oh, well in that case, you can call me John. Mind if I have a smoke with you?” he asked, already taking out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth. 

Bucky noticed a slight pause before you replied, “Of course not, but wouldn’t you rather join everyone else in the club? From what I gather, you’re often the life of the party.” You looked toward the door. 

Bucky grinned. “I don’t know about that. Since you started singing here, I’d say you’ve earned that title yourself.” He leaned against the wall next to you, though you were now standing straight. “‘Sides, I see too much of those guys as it is. Trust me, you’re much better company.” He winked. 

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and said “You’re too kind,” then gave him a close-mouthed smile. You looked away and tapped your foot absent-mindedly to the muted sound of the lively music coming from inside. Bucky took a drag of his own cigarette. You remained quiet, the tapping of your foot on the gravel and the muted jazz tune being the only sounds for several seconds. Bucky frowned. Every other Red Cross girl he interacted with made small talk, asking him questions about his home town, listening excitedly as he talked about baseball. Hell, you had more to say to your dead lighter than you did to him. 

It appeared that flattery was not the key to unlocking your clearly well-protected personality. It didn’t convince you to dance with him the other night, and it certainly wasn’t working now. He scoffed to himself. Buck would smirk and say that he should’ve asked Bubbles for advice before making another attempt with you. 

He could give up. Accept the fact that you clearly didn’t like him, go inside, and have a drink with the boys. 

Or he could try something else. Something Buck would call him a loony for even thinking.

Looking straight ahead, he said, “Don’t, uh, don’t they interview you Red Cross girls? Before you can come overseas? I thought the ones that got sent over here had to have killer personalities or somethin’.” He glanced toward you while taking another drag. 

Your brow furrowed and you turned your head toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

There you are.

“Aww, you don’t gotta beg me, sweetheart. It’s okay, I get that not everybody is cut out for this.” He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette. “I just find it odd that you made the cut. I was under the impression that the competition to get this position was pretty fierce, but maybe there are fewer girls gunnin’ for it than I thought.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, keeping a serious expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes and slightly cocked your head to the side. “I expect you to apologize for that, Major.” 

Bucky nodded quickly and tossed his cigarette on the ground before crushing the butt beneath his heel. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry about that.” He leaned against the wall once again, this time facing you. “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can. You do seem a little tired.” He looked at you sympathetically, then glanced down to watch you bite your bottom lip. Miraculously, he was able to tear his gaze away to look you in the eyes again, not wanting to miss your reaction.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, you looked away and disposed of your cigarette. “Thank you again for the light. I’m going inside.” You walked toward the door. 

What the hell was that?

He must have inadvertently spoken the question aloud, because you abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. He started to apologize for cursing at you, but instead he said, “You’re not gonna say anything? Not a ‘how dare you?’ Not gonna call me a goddamn son of a bitch? Or do you just save that fire for your lighter?” You continued to watch him silently. “I guess you also save all the laughs and dances for every other guy here.” He pointed hard with both index fingers to his chest. “But me? Oh, lucky me, I get nothin’.” He stopped talking and looked at you with anticipation, both of his brows raised.

You finally shrugged and said, “I suppose I’m just too tired,” then started again for the door. Bucky forced himself to unclench his jaw and pry his feet from their current spot. He hurried to beat you to the door and hold it open for you. 

You muttered a quiet “thank you” as you walked through, but before you could get far into the crowded room, Bucky was once again by your side. 

“You know, I got a theory,” he said, his voice a little brighter than it had been just moments ago.

Whether you had meant for him to or not, he heard you let out a huff from your nose. “Oh, please,” you said under your breath.

“I told you, you don’t have to beg me, sweetheart.” He continued. “I think you know that if you dance with me, you’ll realize I’m not such a bad guy,” he said, leaning in quite close to you but giving you enough space to back away. You didn’t. “I think you’re scared you’ll like it.” 

You didn’t blush or move away. Instead, you maintained eye contact as the band began playing It’s Only a Paper Moon. You responded with that polite, cryptic smile that was beginning to drive him nuts, and said softly, “I guess we’ll never know.” 

You didn’t wait for him to reply before making your way toward the microphone. The crowd cheered eagerly as they saw you approach. You beamed at the crowd and began to sing. 

Say it’s only a paper moon

Sailing over a cardboard sea

You motioned to the crowd to sing along with you for the next line, a silent command that everyone except Bucky obeyed wholeheartedly. For once, he was the only person in the room not singing. 

But it wouldn’t be make-believe

If you believed in me

As the band played a brief interlude, you said into the microphone, “Wow, you all sound fabulous. I’m not sure why they’ve got me up here. Heck, they aren’t even paying me.” The crowd laughed and remained enraptured with your performance. As burnt up as he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t help hanging onto every note. As he watched you sing and smile and joke, he had one thought run continuously through his mind.

Just who the hell is this woman?

A/N: This one's for my fellow masking introverts. Yeah so Bucky decided to use kindergarten tactics on reader. Next chapter, he pushes her off the swings. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

[see-arcane]

Cards with the Count

Thinking about how Jonathan is trying to pass the time during Vampire Hell Staycation with all the books in the library (a guaranteed Dracula Zone), no stationery (bastard), and a finite amount of secret pen ink and secret diary pages left at his disposal (shit). Reading and writing and art are all out. What’s left?

I like to think, in this order:

1)    He remembers that he has a pack of playing cards in the general luggage Dracula didn’t snatch. A gift Lucy had bestowed on him and Mina, a pack apiece, as she insisted that it was the best way to pass an hour in dreary company that wasn’t to do with gossip or politics.

2)    He doesn’t normally play, if only because he doesn’t have the coin to meet any real gambling stranger at a table. Just a ‘for fun’ thing.

3)    Fuck it. Solitaire. Card towers. It’s something to keep his mind off the…everything.

4)    He gets exactly one (1) day/evening of peace with this. Then:

5)    “Whatever are you up to, my friend?” 

(He didn’t even use the door to give Jonathan time to hide the pack. Misted in. No shadow to give him away. Fantastic.) Jonathan staples his smile back in place and rattles off something apologetic, so sorry, was he keeping the Count waiting? Let him just put this away, he wouldn’t be interested—

6)    Smash cut to the library. The cards are now unofficially confiscated/a staple of the Dracula Zone, alongside the fancy crystal chessboard the Count loves to crush him with on a semi-regular basis. Jonathan is walking him through the rules of sundry card games. Unsurprisingly, he latches onto the concept of American poker readily. The game is a soup of similar European predecessors that light up his eyes with recognition—primero, poque, brelan—sewn together with England’s game of brag into a medley of the initial rules, both written and unwritten.

7)    “A game of skill, then?”

“Skill, acting, and luck.”

Dracula grins as he produces a ransom of gold coins to use as chips. Jonathan deals. 

(What are the extra rules here? Does he throw every hand? Does he play in earnest and inevitably lose anyway? Does it even matter? It isn’t chess, after all. Not a proper strategy game. Cards happen. Guesswork happens. A winner and loser every turn. What does it matter?)

8)    Jonathan realizes two dozen hands later that what matters is, apparently, his face. One that, likewise apparently, cannot be read by the Count in this game. Out of those two dozen hands, Jonathan has won eighteen. Of those eighteen, his hand was the clear dud for nine. Through it all, Dracula’s eyes keep jumping from his own hand to Jonathan’s tired gaze. When Jonathan wins the twenty-fifth hand and the mountain of gold on his side of the table risks toppling off the edge, Dracula bites out a word Jonathan is sure is too caustic to have a spot in the lost polyglot dictionary.

9)    “You have a gift for schooling your face, my friend.” Every word is an icicle; each as sharp as the canines jutting out of the rictus grin.

“I don’t,” Jonathan says. 

And it’s true. Now he’s schooling his face—first lesson of anyone destined for the realm of serving others—but in the game, he’s barely thinking of anything else beyond the ticking of the clock. To punctuate this, he slides the heap of gold back to Dracula’s side of the table. 

“This is only a game for the fun of it. In a game with stakes, there would be something worth playing and worrying for. When you get to England,” his face is very, very schooled as he says this, “you’ll find a much more varied competition at gambling tables. The players who really train their expressions can do so with fortunes at stake, while novices reveal every victory or loss plainly on their face.”

10) Dracula considers this. And smiles.

11) “Ah, then there must be stakes before we can play the game properly. Still, you have won the bulk of these rounds, my friend—” his hand seems like it wants to be strangling something when it drums atop the gold heap, “—and done me the charity of not taking your rightful winnings.” He throws down his cards. Ace and deuce of spades. “I shall have to speak with the kitchen about producing a stand-in prize.” 

He leaves. Jonathan doesn’t blink when he hears the door lock behind him. A card pyramid is erected.

12) Paprika hendl for supper. As excellent as he remembers. Huzzah.

13) The next time he’s herded into the library, he sees what looks suspiciously like his travel paraphernalia flimsily hidden behind a bit of drapery. Dracula is shuffling the deck.

14) “A true prize on the table this time, my friend. I know you are one to appreciate the splendor of our beautiful country, just as I know it is, for your own safety, quite impossible to go exploring alone in the wild. Too many wolves about. But if you win the majority tonight, I shall see to it that my driver takes a leave from his own many errands to escort you beyond the castle for a time, if you so wish.”

“…And if I lose the majority?” He can’t help it: “I’m sure there’s little from me you’d be interested in.”

Dracula grins.

“We shall think of something, I’m certain. Here. Deal.”

15) As expected, Jonathan’s face isn’t effortlessly unreadable in its misery anymore. He has something to play for, even if his trust in Dracula’s dangling carrot on the stick is nigh nonexistent. He loses more. He struggles more. He worries more…

16) …But the wins and losses remain surprisingly even. On into the dawn they play, matching victory for victory. Even the Count seems puzzled. Jonathan is just tired. He was never going to win. The ‘driver’ will fall to some mysterious ailment, his possessions will disappear the moment he’s sent out of the room ahead of the Count. To Hell with it.

17) “I forfeit. We remain tied, so neither has to lose.” A sour smile curls. “Besides, I have kept you up too late again.”

“One more.”

“We can say you won—,”

Dracula gives him a Look.

Jonathan sits again. Plays again.

Wins again.

Dracula hisses several words the polyglot dictionary would be scandalized to translate. Jonathan feels the first genuine smile he’s wanted to make in a month and a half try to creep up on his lips, and stifles it.

18) Dracula turns over his cards and thumbs though the deck as if looking for a conspirator. He even scowls at Jonathan’s forearms, both bare through the whole game as he’d rolled up his sleeves. Still grumbling, his thumbnail finally hooks a card that makes a cloud pass over his face.

19) “What. Is this?”

Jonathan looks.

“Oh, that’s just a Joker.”

“Joker?”

“Yes, I thought I’d taken him out. He’s not a usable card in this game, but he’s sometimes used as a trump or wild card in others. That is, he’s there to turn the tide for whoever gets to play him.”

Jonathan reaches for the card to tuck it back in the box. Dracula pulls it out of reach, walks to the fireplace, and flicks it into the flames.

“Say what you will, but I recognize a symbol of sabotage when I see it. It should not be in the deck at all!” Still watching the little harlequin turn to cinders, he flaps his other hand at Jonathan. “Go rest, my friend. Take that infernal game with you. It is not a respectable pastime for men of our like.”

20) Jonathan gathers up the deck, gives his travel kit a last mournful look, and leaves for his bedroom, knowing not to ask after the walk in the forest as he goes. In his bed, he empties the deck into his hand again and thinks on four things.

Skill.

Acting.

Luck.

And…

21) He turns the deck’s neglected second Joker over in his fingers, the impish face seeming to hold a secret in its grin.

22) When he wakes next, he isn’t surprised to find the deck has been stolen. It doesn’t trouble him. Somehow, it even produces a tired grin on his face. It nearly matches the painted thing hidden, wild and powerful, in the pages of his journal.

[transformation4life]

Peak Musclenity

Josh was your average skinny american blonde. Average grades and average life. There was nothing remarkable about this guy... besides maybe one thing.

Josh was gay. Very very gay and was trying to get big like the men he admires over the internet waves. And against all odds he managed to make a friend at the gym! A czech bodybuilder named Alois. Unlike Josh, Alois was as straight as can be and understanding gay people was the least of his problems, but Josh was failing at using a workout machine so bad it led to the two to meeting and becoming workout buddies.

Josh was never one to give up and despite his currently lacking frame he continued to workout even after weeks of no results. Alois noticed this and was starting to get worried Josh's body just wasn't able to get big like his. Alois wanted to do something so do something he did and it was going to be drastic...

"Hey Alois! My man, my big burly man! How's it going?" Josh ran up to Alois mid-flexing routine.

"Oh hey kid, what's up?" Alois replied back.

"Nothing much! Just excited to work out with you!" Josh smiled.

"Great, great...." Alois frowned.

"Is... something wrong?"

"Be honest with me Josh, I've noticed you haven't been gaining muscle for weeks now and you keep that damn smile like nothing's wrong. Your lack of muscle has to be bothering you!" Alois put his hand on Josh's shoulder

"I'm just concerned for ya-" Josh politely removed Alois's hand.

"Don't worry about me! I've noticed this myself actually... and I don't mind at all! I'm just glad to be doing with you!" Josh smiled again.

Alois looked down to his pockets. Alois knew that he had to do this. He needed to give Josh what he DESERVES.

"Look Josh, you deserve to get big like me so I got this supplement for you." Alois grabs a bottle from one of his shorts pockets.

"Don't worry. It ain't no steroid. Just lather it on your face and the effect should spread to your body." Alois put the bottle in Josh's right hand.

"Please, for me." Alois said sweetly.

Alois's deep voice was always something Josh adored so despite his reluctance to accept the gift he did keep it.

"Alright then... uh... are we going to work out now or-"

"Nah. Let's go to your apartment. Just us two."

"Oh! Ohohohohohohoh!" Josh started to blush a beet red.

"A-Alright let's go then!!" Josh quickly turned around as Josh led the way to his apartment.

After a 30 minute drive for both of the men they both arrived at Josh's apartment. Josh unlocked the door with his keys and put his arms towards the apartment living room as if to showcase it.

"Here it is!!! It's not great, but it works!" Josh said with confidence.

Just looking at the place tightened Alois's resolve to go through with his plan.

"Yes... very. Say Josh, how about you apply that supplement now?" Alois gestured to the bottle in his pocket

"Hm? Why now? We're not even at the gym plus I don't think we're gonna be at the gym again until-"

"Just apply it for me please." Alois interrupted Josh again.

Josh was getting really confused at this point, but if the bulging man is asking you to do something you might as well. At least that was Josh's reasoning. So Josh unsealed the lid to the bottle and removed the foil covering the liquid inside and dipped his fingers in and out of the bottle before applying it to his face all over. The substance was a bit thick and a very dark black and it made Josh's skin crawl, but somehow Josh could feel the liquid seeping into his skin leave his face clean again.

"Woah... that was weird! Hopefully it actually works..." Josh looked at Alois for some affirmation only for Alois to be deep in thought.

"Alois? you good?" Alois jumped at the mention of his name.

"Yes, yes! I'm fine!!"

"Okay then, so now that we're at my apartment do you want to do anything?" Josh asked a bit nervous.

"Oh, sure! Though there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Josh,"

"Yeah?" Josh gave a really curious look this time.

Alois opened his mouth only to pause for a second... only for Alois to shake his head before speaking again.

"Josh, when did you have such a beautiful manly beard?" Alois knew there was no going back from this.

"A m-manly what?!?" Alois implying Josh had a beard certainly wasn't something that Josh was expecting.

"Yeah, that beard of yours is thick like mine. a real item," As Alois spoke little by little hairs began to grow on Josh's clean shaven face.

The growing didn't stop for a long while and before long a beard that looks to have been growing for years was now on Josh. Unexpectedly though the facial hair was a deep black and Josh's blonde hair was now black to match the beard. A quick pain went through Josh's head before Josh's confusion turned into confidence.

"Oh thanks, I did always pride myself on not ever shaving it! Doesn't really fit my frame but my genetics blessed me!" Josh smiled as he caressed his beard.

"Of course! Can't forget that almost shaved head of yours too!" Alois continued his trek across Josh's body.

"What are you talking about Alois? I love my curly locks!" Alois stopped messing with his beard and grabbed his hair to show Alois that he did have the locks he said he did.

"No need to lie to yourself, Josh. That shaved hair is a good look with your beard!" And just like Alois planned Josh's hair began to fall off and melt into the floor like it wasn't even there until there was barely any hair on Josh's head.

Josh was still grabbing his hair but his mind caught up with the new reality and smiled again.

"Silly me! You're right! I love the kind of masculine look it gives me! Still no muscle though haha..." Alois knew that last comment wouldn't last long.

"That masculine look really suits you, Josh. Especially with those big muscles and tattoo of yours," Now Alois was the one to smirk.

This absolutely flabbergasted Josh. There's no way Alois was telling the truth. Wasn't it just an hour ago Alois was worried about his muscle gain. Josh was a stick!

"Alois I appreciate your compliment but it's simply untrue... I'm a twig and I definitely have no tattoos. I hate tattoos!!"

"That was what you thought years ago, but look at you now! Gruff and tough and just as old as me!" This was the big one and Alois was ecstatic to see Josh's frail body begin to grow.

Before the growth could start, all of Josh's clothes evaporated off his body. The growth now began in Josh's chest as he developed two large pecs that were dying to be popped. Next was Josh's stomach as it became a strong gut and slight hint of abs being there. Josh's back expanded like a large map meanwhile his stick arms were sticks no more as they were now more like tree trunks and his hands grew into sausage like fingers with very rough texture after years of lifting weights. Josh's legs weren't far behind in growing until they were two thick rocks of pure muscle. Josh's flat ass ballooned up into the perfect bubble butt and his feet grew a couple sizes too. Josh's face was next up to bat when it began to physically age and become much more gruff and masculine. Josh's neck thickened as his adam's apple became more prominent. Josh already looked like a completely different person at this point and Josh was none the wiser, but the show still wasn't done. Out of nowhere ink began to surface on Josh's skin with various patterns running all over his arms, back, fingers, pecs, and chest. The most unique one being one that was just "5%" etched on his left pec. While this was happening Josh's dick became quite the well endowed one with a generous 9 inch schlong. The final change wasn't too major with Josh's body being flourished with body hair all over his now huge frame. Josh didn't speak through the whole ordeal, but with a quick change of Josh's memories he just smiled.

"Yeah... you're right. I am BIG and I am a true man!!" Josh flexed his bulging arms and with a shiny gleam a ring appeared on his ring finger.

Alois was quick to notice the accent and deep voice Josh now had. Alois supposed the "just like me" comment changed his birthplace. He also noticed Josh's face being more like his own as well. Alois couldn't believe the black liquid worked. That purchase from the black market was worth all the money he spent. Alois just wasn't sure what to do now-

"Hey Alois, do you see this ring on my ring finger? I don't remember putting this on... Did you pull a prank on me? Pretend we're married? Haha!" Ah right, Josh was still as gay as ever.

Alois thought for a moment. Should a gruff and tough guy like the new Josh be gay? Alois was straight as an arrow and didn't feel like he had the right to change Josh's sexuality.

But... imagining Josh in his current state as gay didn't seem right to Alois. This Josh belongs with marrying a woman! Atleast that's what Alois reasoned. So Alois readied his response and spoke.

"Oh come on, Josh you know full that-"

"Wait we're actually married? I thought you were straight," It was time for Josh to do a little bit of rearranging.

A wedding ring appeared on Alois's ring finger and memories were injected into both men. Memories of meeting way earlier than they actually did. Memories of falling in love through the power of bodybuilding. Memories of their wedding as they kissed under the altar. It wasn't before long after the memories of their lived changed as they passionately kissed right in Josh's apartment which slowly changed into their joint home.

"Babe, у тебя скоро фотосессия..." (Babe, you have that photoshoot soon…) Alois spoke after the kiss ended.

"I know... I have to take a shower.." Josh spoke back.

Josh was still naked and wasted no time hopping in the shower. Josh turned on the showerhead and hopped in letting the cold water lay waste on his large muscular body. Alois while watching his beloved get in the shower realized they were no clean towels in there oh no! Alois quickly grabbed one and rushed to the shower.

"You forgot a towel!" Alois slammed the door open right as Josh finished his shower. Guess it was a quick one.

"Thanks babe, but I can get my own damn towel next time alright" Josh grabbed the towel and started to dry himself.

Before he continued drying himself off he flexed to his husband just to make sure he knows that he loves his man. Josh even did a little pout with his lip!

After Josh finished drying, Alois handed his husband the clothes for the photo shoot later today. Josh quickly put on one of the American flag branded shorts and underwear then went straight to grooming his beard for the shoot.

"Удачи в фотосессии. Я тебя люблю!" (Good luck with the photo shoot. I love you!) Alois said to Josh as he started to leave.

"Тоже тебя люблю!" (Love you too!) Josh left his house completely different than when he entered it moments ago.

Josh became the man of his dreams and Alois was along for the ride as his husband. Josh's photo shoot showed off the new Josh in a glorious way.

First picture by the pool...

Second picture with a cat...

Third picture lifting some mad iron...

And the final picture by the local beach...

As the shoot finished Josh couldn't help but flex in triumph. This was the life! a huge husband, a huge him, and a promoter for products! Josh was a true man. Always has been and always will be with a muscular husband by his side.

[jhoneybees]

I love your writing and the effort you put into it, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to share one shot of (Any year) Elvis with a Mexican reader. Specifically, one of him and his mama being invited to a party (birthday, reunion, or any type of party with family). This would be the first time Elvis gets to meet the readers. 

Also, I just genuinely think Gladys would enjoy the little chisme that goes on in the kitchen as the grandma's and tías cook.  Just a bunch of wholesome fluff!

Oh thank you! Yes I'm willing to share! This one was quite a challenge to do because I know nothing about Mexicans so please forgive me if I used the wrong Spanish words and this is more of a blurb so...please forgive me on that too😭

Fiesta

Characters: 50s!Elvis X Mexican!reader

Warnings/triggers: Probably nothing!

Author's note: Pétalo means petal, Tía means aunty, Tío means uncle, Sobrina means niece, Sobrino means nephew, Hermana means sister, Hijo means son, Feliz Cumpleaños means Happy birthday 🤧

_____________________________________________

Elvis has always been so polite and caring towards your family and when you first introduced him to your parents in ‘56 he instantly became the favourite. Out of all your brothers and sisters’ partners, Elvis won the spot of definite future son in law.

Your parents absolutely adore him, it’s not because he’s the upcoming celebrity but because of how well he treats you. Elvis would pick you up from your house for dates with a massive bouquet of flowers in his hand every single time and as much as you love the gifts, you tried to tell him to not spend so much on you but he kept insisting. He just loves watching you and your parents' reaction to the expensive things he would give you. Flowers, jewellery, clothes, anything.

Elvis would never forget to give your mamá something either, no, no, no, he’d give her the most beautiful things which you thought your papá would feel somewhat jealous of but no, he absolutely loves it!

Today is one of those days, Elvis has a lovely gift and he and his mama are dressed up to attend your mamá’s birthday party.

Your parents haven’t met Elvis’ parents yet and you weren’t going to lie, you’re a little nervous. Your family is very loving and welcoming when it comes to new members and Elvis’ parents are wonderful but you just can’t help it.

What if it’s not like that at all when he arrives?

“That must be your boyfriend!” Your aunty gasps in delight at the sound of the front door bell, you bite your bottom lip preparing yourself for some sort of disaster as you put down a plate of Chilaquiles.

“Quickly, you have to come and introduce us!” stumbling a little when your aunty drags you out of the kitchen into the living room. “Todas! Y/n’s boyfriend’s here!” She shouts, calling all the tías, tíos, sobrinas and sobrinos from all corners of the house. Holding onto your arm tightly with an excited smile on her face as your papá opens the front door.

“Hello.” Elvis grins, leaning to one side to peek inside of the house as your cousins scrabble around you to see who’s arrived.

“Ah! Pétalo, he’s handsome!” Your other aunty cheers.

Then in a blink, all of your family usher Elvis and his mama inside, the tios happily shaking hands and the tias greeting and complimenting Gladys. Your heart smiles at the delighted cheers and laughs.

“Hermana, look how tall he is! He must be really strong.”

“Could easily lift two of us up onto his shoulders!” The tias giggle.

“He reminds me of my late husband!”

“How could you think that? Your late husband wasn’t this handsome.”

“What do you mean? He was american!”

“Hermana, how long have you been living in America? 20 years? Not all Americans look like that!” The others argue.

You groan in embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands at how your aunties are all over Elvis and Gladys.

“Todas! Todas! You’re going to scare them if you keep latching onto them like that!” Your mamá clicks her tongue with an amused smile on her face. Walking calmly through the sea of people to gasp and squeal seeing Gladys. “Hello, you must be Gladys!” Excitedly grabbing her hands and admiring her hair and skin. “Oh mi, you’re beautiful!”

Gladys smiles shyly, thanking your mother politely before her eyes turn to look at Elvis. “Oh, my hijo!”

You smile gently, watching Elvis chuckle and laugh as he bends down to hug. “Hello mamá.” He replies, carefully putting a nicely wrapped up jewellery box in her hands, grinning at how her eyes soften. “Feliz cumpleaños to the birthday girl.”

You’re quite surprised how well Elvis pronounced happy birthday in spanish, you would often teach him a few words whenever he wants to impress your parents.

“Aww my son…Come! Come! I made Camote, your favourite!”

Elvis nods with a laugh and with a delicate push, he says to take his mama to the kitchen and show her.

“Hi baby.” He turns to you, his eyes sparkling with joy at the sight of you. Slowly sliding his arms around your waist to be closer to you and seeing out of the corner of his eye, he sees your cousins watch with open mouths and he smirks, suddenly attacks your neck with playful kisses and growls.

“Ai! Elvis! Stop that!” You gasp in a hushed tone, hearing the little kids snicker. You start to laugh too, pushing him away you shake your head in disbelief. Kissing him a little when he hums for one you scrunch your nose at the youngest ones watching. “All of you, go away. This is adult stuff.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!”

“OooOoo Pétalo’s going to give her boyfriend kisses!” One jokes with a cute giggle.

“Go!” You order again and this time they all begin to pile out.

“How’s my baby, hm?” Elvis asks with a cheeky deep voice, his hands sliding up your waist to the sides of your breasts. Chuckling as you rest your arms around his neck.

“Good, how was your trip here?”

“It was good-”

“Lunch is ready, lovebirds! Come and eat before it’s all gone!” Your Tía calls making both of you laugh.

“Yes, Tía!” Elvis answers back with a big smile.

You really do wish Elvis would become your family's son in law, he's perfect to you.

“C’mon, Pétalo. Let's go.”

[dioslesbianwife]

Here are some jojo villains headcannons for receiving gifts on their birthdays!

You’ve somehow found out the birthdays of every villain in the house (except the Pillar Men because their age is…hard to tell) and make a big deal out of celebrating them. Whether they love or hate it depends on the villain.

How You Find Their Birthdays:

Kira’s Journal: You snuck into Kira’s room and borrowed his neatly organized personal planner, which he kept for his old life. Naturally, this included his birthday.

“Kira, I know your birthday’s coming up! Do you like cake or pie better?”

“…How do you know that?”

Pucci’s Notes: You peeked in one of Pucci’s journals during one of his long monologues and found a note about his birthday in the margins. He now keeps all his writings locked up.

Dio’s Ranting: Dio casually mentioned his birthday during one of his speeches. Later you ask for the exact date. You immediately jotted it down.

Doppio/Diavolo’s Documents: You’d have to have hacked into Diavolo’s personal records because he would never divulge that information. Diavolo is still trying to figure out how you did it.

Valentine’s Records: You grilled Valentine over dinner about his “human side,” pretending to be fascinated by his patriotism. He gave that sob story about his dad and the handkerchief.

Reactions:

Dio Gift: A custom mirror engraved with “To the world’s most perfect being.” You even add a few rhinestones because you know how much Dio loves to sparkle lol.

Reaction: Dio basks in the attention. Deep down, he loves the gift, though he’ll never admit it.

“Hmm. You’re an odd creature, but this is… acceptable.”

Kira Yoshikage Gift: A pristine pair of leather gloves and a bouquet of roses to match his aesthetic. You also bake him a hand-shaped cake. He’s horrified.

Reaction: Kira begrudgingly accepts the gloves (because they are high quality) but refuses to acknowledge the cake. He spends the entire day avoiding you.• “I don’t know how you know my birthday, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Diavolo Gift: A limited-edition Italian silk scarf in his favorite shade of crimson.

Reaction: Diavolo is suspicious, thinking you’re trying to gain leverage over him. He eventually accepts the gift when Doppio convinces him it’s harmless.

“Tread carefully. I don’t trust your motives.”

Doppio Gift: A pink rotary phone because it matches his vibe.

Reaction: Doppio adores it and spends hours pretending to make calls with it. Diavolo later destroys the phone out of sheer annoyance.

“You’re the best!”

Pucci Gift: A first-edition copy of a rare theological text you found.

Reaction: Pucci is conflicted. On one hand, he appreciates the gift. On the other, he’s uncomfortable with how much effort you put into finding out his birthday.

“Your persistence is… unsettling.” He keeps the book locked in his room.

Funny Valentine Gift: A custom pocket watch with an engraving of the American flag on the front and his initials inside.

Reaction: Valentine is both touched and suspicious. He accepts the gift with a stiff nod and politely thanks you. He later examines it for tracking devices (just in case).

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. However, I will not tolerate any schemes.”

Pillar Men: They are spared from your birthday obsession because you couldn’t possibly figure out their birthdays. This doesn’t stop you from giving them gifts anyway.

Kars: Gets a gemstone-encrusted hairbrush because his hair is so gorgeous. He throws it at you.

Esidisi: Receives a set of scented candles because you thought they’d calm him down. He cries tears of rage.

Wamuu: Gets a polished silver armband. He accepts it graciously and bows, earning him the title of your favorite.

The Aftermath: Most of the villains are deeply unnerved by your stalkerlike knowledge of their birthdays, but your gifts are always so perfectly tailored that they can’t bring themselves to refuse.

You celebrate with so much enthusiasm that even the grumpiest villains (like Kira and Diavolo) eventually start tolerating you, though none of them will ever admit they secretly look forward to their birthdays now.

[robertreich]

How to Fix a Broken Supreme Court

The Supreme Court is off the rails — and it’s only going to get worse unless we fight to reform it.

Trust levels and job approval ratings for the Court have hit historic lows due in large part to a growing number of ethics scandals.

Here are THREE key reforms Congress should enact to restore legitimacy to our nation’s highest court:

1) Establish a code of ethics

Every other federal judge has to sign on to a code of ethics — except for Supreme Court justices.

This makes no sense. Judges on the highest Court should be held to the highest ethical standards.

Congress should impose a code of ethics on Supreme Court justices. At the very least, any ethical code should ban justices from receiving personal gifts from political donors and anyone with business before the Court, clarify when justices with conflicts of interest should remove themselves from cases, prohibit justices from trading individual stocks, and establish a formal process for investigating misconduct.

2) Enact term limits

Article III of the Constitution says judges may “hold their office during good behavior,” but it does not explicitly give Supreme Court Justices lifetime tenure on the highest court — even though that’s become the norm.  

Term limits would prevent unelected justices from accumulating too much power over the course of their tenure — and would help defuse what has become an increasingly divisive confirmation process.

Congress should limit Supreme Court terms to 18-years, after which justices move to lower courts.

3) Expand the Court

The Constitution does not limit the Supreme Court to nine justices. In fact, Congress has changed the size of the Court seven times. It should do so again in order to remedy the extreme imbalance of today’s Supreme Court.    

Now some may decry this as “radical court packing.” That’s pure rubbish. The real court-packing occurred when Senate Republicans refused to even consider a Democratic nominee to the Supreme Court on the fake pretext that it was too close to the 2016 election, but then confirmed a Republican nominee just days before the 2020 election.

Rather than allow Republicans to continue exploiting the system, expanding the Supreme Court would actually UN-pack the court. This isn’t radical. It’s essential.

Now, I won’t sugar-coat this. Making these reforms happen won’t be easy. We’re up against big monied interests who will fight to keep their control of our nation’s most important Court.

But these key reforms have significant support from the American people, who have lost trust in the court.

The Supreme Court derives its strength not from the use of force or political power, but from the trust of the people. With neither the sword nor the purse, trust is all it has.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ruth Ben-Ghiat at Lucid:

While the Fascist focus on growing the population was linked to Italy's perennially low birthrates, Mussolini's quote, which reflects his immersion in what we now know as Great Replacement Theory, reminds us that concerns with "childlessness" never occur in a vacuum, but are linked to concerns about race and "civilization."

Among today's far-right in Europe and America, Fascist ideas are finding new life. Misogynistic impulses to link women's societal value to their roles as mothers and limit or abolish their bodily autonomy find justification in the belief that populations must increase in response to fears of White extinction by non-White births.

In the United States, Vice-Presidential candidate J.D. Vance's offensive pronouncements about women echo Fascist notions of women as a tool of demographic growth, starting with his seeming belief that motherhood is the metric of a woman's worth to society. Anything that gives greater agency or independence to women in terms of their reproductive capacities and choices is seen by Vance as dangerous, from in vitro fertilization to abortion rights.  Vance's apparent agreement with the comment made by extremist Eric Weinstein on a 2020 podcast episode that the main purpose of the "postmenopausal female" is to raise grandchildren is also in this vein. While exposing children to grandparents is a great gift, Weinstein's clinical assessment of the "postmenopausal female" as having no other societal value is chilling. Keeping women in the home occupied with children throughout their lives means women are not out of the home, leading in politics, culture, finance and other sectors.

The same fear of female autonomy, and the same misogynist sentiments, lies behind Vance's apparent feeling that women should be forced to stay in abusive marriages. Vance is well suited to be the political partner of Donald Trump, who partly decriminalized domestic violence during his presidency: economic impoverishment, psychological and emotional harassment, and other forms of non-physical abuse could no longer be prosecuted. Vance's blaming of childless women for the supposed increased decadence of society and decline of civilization also has Fascist roots. The regime constantly juxtaposed childless women as morally unhealthy and representative of degradation (they were known as "the crisis-woman") with robust mothers of many children, who represented the best of Italian tradition and had shown their investment in the national future by giving birth multiple times.

And what to say about Vance's idea that childless people don't have a stake in society and thus deserve a downgrading of their rights based on their procreational status? In 2021 he made a remark that Americans with children should be able to vote more times in an election than their childless compatriots. That someone with Vance's opinions is now a possible vice president of the United States says so much about how far to the right the needle has moved and how extreme the GOP has become. The kindred spirits of Vance and the GOP on such subjects are not the leaders of democracies, but the heads of illiberal parties and states and the private sector actors who boost their causes. Vance would be right at home at this gathering of neo-fascist Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni of Italy, former Hungarian President Katalin Novák, and extremist billionaire Elon Musk, this last also obsessed with demography and prolific procreation by people with the right genes.

The far-right fascists have an obsession with fertility rates.

[the-blue-wraith]

My review for Dragon Age: The Veilguard (SPOILERS BELOW)

These are my personal opinions and not personal attacks to anyone who loves the game.

Pros:

Combat is invigorating.

Exploration is just fine, not too overwhelming.

Side quests are not lengthy.

CC was great and had lots of sliders and lots of good hair too.

Harding, Bellara, Lucanis, and Emmrich’s voice acting are in point.

NPCs are more active in terms of animation, unlike in previous games.

The codex you found in areas is short and easy to read.

Dragon fights are more challenging.

Banters outside the Lighthouse are compelling.

Emmrich and Harding's quest are impactful.

No major glitches, only encountered a few minor glitches.

Cons:

Writing is just basic. Humorous/aggressive dialogues are not totally funny/aggressive. Companions/Rook are too polite.

Dialogue after the fall of Weisshaupt feels off, they don't need to say directly to players that companions need to resolve their problems before fighting the Gods.

Interaction inside the Lighthouse feels like an interaction inside the workplace. I wish I was kidding.

Some dialogues are repetitive (ex. “The elven gods have broken free from their prison” “Dragons don’t have kings, they have queens”).

Factions lack introduction. We didn’t get to know each faction in depth.

Story and companions lacks conflict/disparity.

Choices from the last 3 games didn’t matter, and became a wasted chance to explore in Veilguard.

Can’t talk to NPC like in DA:I.

What's the point of having gifting scenes where all they could say is "thank you"?

Some voice actings are a bit off, lacks emotions (American Female Rook/Neve)

Enemy designs are repetitive.

Ability wheel is lacking, it should’ve let us get 5 abilities to use in battle.

Qunari designs are not good.

Overall music is too ordinary.

Romances are lacking and have no growth

I really enjoyed the combat it reminds me of Mass Effect. The best part here are the dragon fights because this was one of the things that I anticipated years ago, and I'm quite satisfied! I like the flow and conflict at the end of Act 2 up to Act 3. That scene with Varric in the Fade still hits hard to me. 😭 I know it was sad, but in that phase I was motivated to finish the game. I just wish the flow of Acts 1-2 were intense like Act 3. Like I said, it lacks conflict.

After finishing the game, I ended up liking Emmrich and Harding. I didn't give a shit about Harding back in DA:I but now I like her even more 😆. Emmrich's quest was the most impactful to me, I chose to revive Manfred, and after that, I saw how much he loves him, that scene was heartwarming. Kudos to their voice actors 🙌🏻

I resonate with Bellara's quest, but I wish it could've been more dramatic. Like after what happened to her brother, her companions should've given her a hug and comfort. But I still like her quest; kudos to her voice actress too.

What bothered me was that Varric and Solas both got sidelined. I wanted Solas to have more screentime! I wanted to see him more as a villain. I don't know why Bioware decided to kill Varric, to me, it felt like they just used him in the game to attract fans. If you ask me, that's disrespectful to Varric's writer, who got laid off.

The romance here sucks. I was disappointed in how they handled Lucanis' romance. I didn't feel the buildup of my Rook's relationship with him. I felt like he was interacting with me as a friend 😭. Veilguard has the weakest romance system in Bioware games.

Overall, I would rate this game 7/10. I think the game is decent, but not for everyone. This game is for casual players who want to experience different RPGs, but for DA fans? It really depends. As a longtime fan, I would say I'm half-satisfied with Veilguard. I just wish the writing/dialogue could've been better and not repetitive. I wish we had an option to become evil and upset companions if we make bad choices, but sadly the game lacks conflict and disparity. Veilguard didn't keep up with the current RPGs, despite its lack of RPG elements.

Will I replay this game? Yeah, someday maybe. Do I think the game is that bad? Nope, but it's lacking. The game is not for everyone. Do I think the game deserved the hate it got? Yes and no. Yes, because the writing/dialogue in this game is basic and some times felt off. And no, because I still think the game is fun. Do I want DA5 to happen in the future? Sure, why not.

Despite all my criticisms of this game, I still love Dragon Age. This series saved me in high school. If my younger self were here and witnessed Veilguard, I know she'd be happy because she waited so long for this game.

[alexanderwales]

My son is apparently learning about civics at his school, and he wants to share his knowledge with me, which I try my best to indulge, because I like sharing knowledge with people too.

Son: I have a fun fact for you. Me: Okay, go ahead. Son: Kamala Harris is running for President and her running mate is actually from Minnesota, where we live. Me (waiting for the fun fact and slowly realizing that was it): Oh, interesting. Tim Walz, right? Son (with relief): Yeah. He's our ... governor.

I made the mistake of telling him that we could go to a rally, and he was so gung ho about it that I felt sad about telling him that political rallies are actually really boring. But he still wants to go, I think because he thinks I'm hiding something cool from him, or just because he doesn't trust my tastes.

He did have one other fun fact, which is that one of our presidents had two tiger cubs that were confiscated by Congress. He couldn't remember which president, and I guessed that it was Teddy Roosevelt, but we looked it up later that night and it was actually Martin Van Buren.

Except I looked it up more once he'd gone to bed, and apparently this is just a persistent and oft-repeated myth. Van Buren got horses as gifts from Oman and had to decline them due to the emoluments clause, but they arrived anyway, and had to be "disposed of" which in this case meant put up for auction. Separately, the Sultan of Morocco wanted to gift Van Buren with a male and female lion, because gift-giving was culturally important, but the consulate said no, so the officer trying to deliver these lions said that instead they would go to Congress, which is also not allowed, and finally the lions ended up living in the Moroccan consulate for three months before being sent over.

Personally, I love the (untrue) story about Van Buren getting some tiger cubs as a gift, saying "yay, big kitties!", and then getting into a fight with Congress about it. It's also a simple story to tell, and it's got a happyish ending, where the tiger cubs end up living in a zoo, nevermind that American didn't really have zoos, and that I wouldn't want to be a tiger in a 1830s zoo.

But I also love the story of a consulate having to keep lions for three months because there's a cultural misunderstanding about gifts and a clash between the early American ideals about their political institutions meeting the diplomatic reality of a tradition of gift-giving. Van Buren certainly didn't want them, and not only because they're a dangerous and expensive animal to maintain, but because foreign powers giving gifts to the President was bad precedent.

So anyway, I have to explain this to my son, who assuredly read the tiger cub fact in a book somewhere. Maybe it's a good lesson about not trusting everything you read, but he seemed excited to share this fun fact about history, and I have to imagine that he's going to be a little bit sad that it's not true.

(The Omani horses and Moroccan lions both made it to America, and were then auctioned off. It's unclear what their fates were, but I like to imagine that they had happy, healthy lives, and that the lions would go on to fight on the side of the Union in the Civil War.)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Efforts to alert Americans to the danger of Trump's fascism are beginning to gain traction

Efforts to raise the alarm about Trump's explicit threats of a fascist government are beginning to gain traction. On Sunday, the NYTimes published a powerful editorial entitled “Donald Trump says he will Order Mass Deportations, Prosecute His Enemies, Use Soldiers Against Citizens, Play Politics with Disasters, and Abandon Allies. Believe Him. (Click on the photo on top. Gift link to NYT.)

The editorial is a full-throated condemnation of Donald Trump. The article says, in part,

The record shows that Mr. Trump often pursues his stated goals, regardless of how plainly they lack legal or moral grounding. The record further shows that many of his most reckless efforts in his first administration were stymied only because of others in his administration who blocked, delayed or watered down his aims to ensure that he could not put himself above the law or the country. Mr. Trump has learned from that experience to surround himself with supplicants who would instead obey his wishes and bring his words and ideas to life even if they contradict facts, the public interest or the Constitution.

The Times Editorial Board is correct in its description of the threat posed by Trump. The question is whether it is too little, too late.

After reporting on Trump for two years as if he were a normal candidate for the presidency, the Times and other major media created a permission structure for otherwise rational, upstanding Americans to say they were voting for Trump because issues like “the economy” or “immigration,” while skipping over the attempted coup, insurrection, sexual abuse, attempted bribery of Ukraine, obstruction of justice in the Mueller investigation, and the withholding and disclosure of national defense documents.

It is never too late to start doing the right thing. But the Times deserves no special praise or credit for choosing nine days before the election to run this op-ed. It should have been running something similar every day for the last two years.

I acknowledge that this is not the first such article run by the Times; but articles of this type have been few and far between—and were overwhelmed articles about Joe Biden’s age and inflation—neither of which pose the existential danger to democracy presented by a second Trump term.

Let’s hope that it is not “too little, too late” and that the Times keeps up its attack on the real danger of a fascist second Trump term.

Many readers shared Saturday’s post by Heather Cox Richardson, Letters from an American, October 26, 2024. HCR reviews a 1943 pamphlet from the US War Department with the headline, “FACISM.” The pamphlet is a sobering description of fascism that maps neatly onto the MAGA movement of today. I highly recommend the article to your attention.

The closing paragraph of HCR’s newsletter is this:

“Fascism thrives on indifference and ignorance,” [the pamphlet] warned. Freedom requires “being alert and on guard against the infringement not only of our own freedom but the freedom of every American. If we permit discrimination, prejudice, or hate to rob anyone of his democratic rights, our own freedom and all democracy is threatened.”

The Trump rally in Madison Square Garden was the very model of “discrimination, prejudice, and hate” that the War Department warned against in 1943.

Also relevant on Sunday was JD Vance’s efforts to defend Trump's threat to use the military against American citizens. Incredibly, Vance argued that Trump did not threaten to use force against Americans but instead threatened to use the military against “lunatic members of the radical left”—who are Americans. See YouTube, JD Vance tries to defend Trump’s ‘enemy’ rhetoric.

Finally, Jonathan V. Last writing in The Bulwark gives the best explanation yet of why Jeff Bezos’s decision to not make an endorsement in the presidential race fits into the fascist playbook of forcing leaders of industry to “obey in advance.” See The Bulwark, Bezos, Trump, and the Failure of Democracy, by Jonathan V. Last

Jonathan Last writes,

When Bezos decreed that the newspaper he owned could not endorse Trump’s opponent, it was a transparent act of submission borne of an intuitive understanding of the differences between the candidates. Bezos understood that if he antagonized Kamala Harris and Harris became president, he would face no consequences. A Harris administration would not target his businesses because the Harris administration would—like all presidential administrations not headed by Trump—adhere to the rule of law. Bezos likewise understood that the inverse was not true. If he continued to antagonize Trump and Trump became president, his businesses very much would be targeted. So bending the knee to Trump was the smart play. All upside, no downside.

Bezos’s action was doubly cynical. He refused to do the right thing because he knows that Kamala Harris will abide by the rule of law. Having hedged that bet, he changed the Post’s policy at the last minute in a way that advantaged Trump—and Bezos if Trump wins.

At a time when our democracy faces the threat of fascism, those who seek to defend the rule of law do not have the luxury of hedging their bets in the way Bezos did. We need the rule of law to continue to enjoy the fruits of democracy. Bezos doesn’t, so he abandoned us. That is why Bezos is a coward. He is granting Trump obedience in advance—which is how fascists come to power.  

Three final notes about the fascist threat posed by Trump. They don’t quite fit into the narrative of this article but they are important and I need to bring the newsletter to a close.

First, the New York Times reported that Trump intends to “outsource” security clearances to a private firm in order to cut out the FBI from the process. During Trump's first term, the FBI refused to grant clearance to Trump's son-in-law, Jared Kushner. Trump ultimately over-ruled the FBI and granted Kushner a security clearance. See NYTimes, Advisers Propose That Trump Give Security Clearances Without F.B.I. Vetting.

By privatizing a federal function—security clearances—Trump is eradicating the dividing line between himself and the state. The private firms will be beholden to him—rather than to the Constitution.

Speaking of privatizing government functions, Elon Musk boasted at the Madison Square Garden rally that he believes he can cut “one-third” of the federal budget. See Business Insider, Elon Musk says at a New York Trump rally that he could save the country $2 trillion through a department of efficiency.

Musk has no idea how the Constitution or the federal budgeting process works. Nor does he have the emotion intelligence or lateral thinking skills to understand the havoc on personal and national security that cutting the federal budget by one-third would cause. Even suggesting such cuts would likely undermine the stability of markets, interest rates, and investments in the US. But when fascists erase the distinction between themselves and the state, their hair-brained ideas become the policy of the state.

Finally, Trump said at the rally on Sunday that he would appoint Robert F. Kennedy Jr. to a position in charge of federal health care policy. Trump said,

I'm gonna let him go wild on health. I'm gonna let him go wild on the foods. I'm gonna let him go wild on the medicines.

The last time Trump promised something would be wild, we had an insurrection. Putting RFK Jr. in charge of healthcare and medicine in the US would cause human suffering and death on a grand scale—assuming Kennedy could get anything done. But Kennedy, like Trump, has no idea of what it takes to create policy, write legislation, and fund programs. So, is Trump simply planning to override federal law for the appropriations process?

The above facts should arm us with the knowledge we need to persuade the few remaining voters who are undecided about voting. Use the information to generate turnout. That is the key to victory. Anyone who is on the fence about voting shoud be concerned about the hate, authoritarianism, and recklessness highlighted in Trump's rally at Madison Square Garden on Sunday—and at all of his other appearances.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[walmarttrashbag]

Hurt - Mike Wheeler Tw: bitchy, rude Mike. It was an extremely hot day in the summer of '82, and you had just moved into Hawkins, Indiana. The day was full of unpacking and decoration, and you had made your bedroom just as you wanted.

Your mom had told you to try and explore the neighborhood and make friends, which you happily obliged.

You decided to go to your new neighbor's house, and you politely knocked on the door, expecting an adult, but your expectations were too low, because what opened the door rocked your world even with just a look.

It was an extremely cute boy, with fluffy-seeming dark, burgundy-like hair, and his brown eyes stared into yours with some kind of emotion you couldn't read.

"Who are you?" The cute boy asked almost coldly.

You smiled innocently and sweetly "My name is Y/n! I'm your new neighbor! I live in that house, right there!" You pointed to your house that stood still.

The boy looked over and his eyebrows furrowed "I don't really care..." He replied, and shut the door.

That hit you like a book, but you wouldn't give up, not ever! For the last days of the summer, you decided to ask the boy to come play or to share his name while you'd ask to play, but all you got was a harsh "No" and a door slam.

But you weren't giving up at all, besides, he was just across the lawn!

It was now the start of 6th grade, and Mike was keeping a low go, in case you were in Hawkins Middle School, but his eyes widened at the fact of you walking into his classroom all giddy.

Mike's teacher smiled "Class, we have a new student joining us today. This is y/n l/n, and she will be sitting next to Mike Wheeler. Mike, could you raise your hand for us?" The teacher asked.

You quietly gasped in excitement "So that's what the cute boy's name is!" You thought happily. Mike hesitantly raised up his hand and you skipped along, sitting beside him.

During reading time, you noticed Mike was leaning far away from you, but just enough to keep balance on his chair, so you decided to rip a piece of paper and wrote down "Hi!" And slid it toward Mike, who glanced at it but ignored it, and throwing it away after class.

During lunch, you saw Mike hang out with three other boys, one with curly hair and tan skin, one with a bowl cut and pale complexion, and one boy who was African-American.

You smiled and walked over to the table with your lunch tray, but Mike quickly said "This table's full!", Making his friends looked at him confused, and you frown but nod. "I understand" You replied, deciding to go to a different table, but nobody would wanna sit by the weird new kid... So you had to sit alone, and that went on for the rest of the year.

Nobody liked to be near you. Usually, the teacher had to pair you up with someone because even the last kid wouldn't want to. You didn't get why no one liked you, but maybe it's because you were just still the new kid.

Your crush on Mike hadn't gone away, but in the second year you were there you finally made some friends, they were fun and cool to you.

By the time you got to middle school, Mike had straight up told you to leave him alone, but you were determined to make him love you, so you left cute little stuff in his locker like notes and gifts, but in the corner of your eye, you'd see Mike grumble angrily and throw it away.

You felt hurt, but nothing came close to what you were at the park. You hid behind a tree and listened to what Mike and his friends would say about you.

"She's fucking obsessed with me! She won't leave me alone!" Mike yelled angrily. "Have you told her to stop?" Will asked. Mike nodded and Lucas tilted his head "Well be more assertive" Dustin shook his head "She's gonna want you more, man. Just ignore her." Mike laughed "Yeah, nobody likes that freak anyways."

You felt tears in your eyes, and you ran home, your loving heart shattered. Once at home, you fell on your bed "I didn't know he hated me like that..." You whispered, you felt horrible.

Seventh grade rolled around and you had completely given up. You felt destroyed and you didn't talk to anyone. You didn't start wearing black or slitting your wrists, you weren't like that, you were just quiet now.

Mike noticed that his locker was always empty beside his backpack. There were no happy notes or small gifts you had slipped inside. There was nothing to throw away.

Mike also noticed that you'd sit by yourself and do your projects alone, which he thought was weird. At least you weren't bothering him anymore.

During lunch, Mike would watch you walk passed him with tired, sad eyes, and he'd watch you eat all alone. It was like you didn't even care anymore... But you did. Mike never knew how many sleepless nights you've cried over him.

Dustin, Lucas, and Will saw, too, but they didn't address it to Mike, who watched you eat while talking to his friends every day at lunch.

You were no longer your happy, loving self, you were just a depressed girl trying to get over a heartbreaking crush. You sometimes never even went to school because you were just too tired to get up.

Mike would sometimes wait behind the front door, waiting for you to ring his doorbell, waiting for you to ask him to play, but that you didn't exist anymore... And Mike felt sad that you wouldn't bother to ask anymore.

Eventually, Mike went against every fiber of his being and got outside, walked across the lawn, and knocked on your door. You opened up with tear-strained eyes.

"What do you want, Wheeler?" You asked Mike coldly, and that kind of shocked him.

"Hey, Y/n! My friends and I are gonna play this cool fantasy game called Dungeons and Dragons and I just wanna ask if you would like to play with us." Mike said, cracking a fake smile that you could see right through. "I don't wanna play with you, Mike. Just go away." You scoffed, trying to shut the door on Mike. Mike kept the door open and whined "Come on! It'll be fun! It's a game about-"

You groaned "I said I don't wanna play with you, Michael Wheeler! Leave me alone!" And you shut the door on Mike's face.

Mike felt Hurt but he wasn't gonna give up, as his crush on you has only just begun.

[yetisidelblog]

The U.S. House recently passed a bill that would allow Trump to destroy nonprofits that oppose his agenda.1 With the swipe of the pen, Trump could gut some of the most important civil society organizations in America.

With Trump returning to office in a matter of weeks, the chance he uses legislation like this to make good on his repeated promises to punish his political enemies and critics is sky high. We need to ensure the Senate stops this bill now — and doesn’t stick it in any must-pass legislation before the end of the year.

Add your name: Urge Congress to oppose dangerous legislation that would allow Trump to crush dissent!

If this bill passed, all Trump would need to do is get his Treasury secretary to label an organization as “terrorist supporting” — no evidence or real justification needed.2 Trump has threatened to jail journalists and get retribution against political foes3 — why would Democrats help him do that?

The legislation is cynically titled the so-called “Stop Terror-Financing and Tax Penalties on American Hostages Act,” even though it provides extreme powers that have nothing to do with terrorism. No administration should be trusted with such sweeping, arbitrary authority, and certainly not a president who has spent months pledging to weaponize the federal government to take revenge on political opponents.4 Democracy Now is even calling it the most dangerous domestic anti-terrorism bill since the PATRIOT Act.5

Demand Progress joined over 100 nonprofit organizations in a letter to Congress opposing this reckless legislation. Now, as Republicans continue to pursue this democracy killing bill, we urgently need to tell the Senate that the country opposes this legislation.

Sign the petition: Tell the Senate not to hand this devastating, powerful tool to Trump. Keep this provision out of all must-pass legislation!

Sources:

Democracy Now, “House Approves 'Nonprofit Killer' Bill, Most Dangerous Domestic Anti-Terrorism Bill Since PATRIOT Act,” November 22, 2024.

The Intercept, “Congress Is About To Gift Trump Sweeping Powers To Crush His Political Enemies,” November 10, 2024.

The Intercept, “House GOP Moves To Ram Through Bill That Gives Trump Unilateral Power To Kill Nonprofits,” November 15, 2024.

The Intercept, “Congress Is About To Gift Trump Sweeping Powers To Crush His Political Enemies,” November 10, 2024.

Democracy Now, “House Approves 'Nonprofit Killer' Bill, Most Dangerous Domestic Anti-Terrorism Bill Since PATRIOT Act,” November 22, 2024.

Time Sensitive! Please sign now!

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