#it’s one of the most famous sitcoms ever like shut the fuck up

[sammansonn]

I hate everything and everyone and I’m tired of everything

also I think ross geller gets too much hate btw I think he’s not a good boyfriend (but in slight defense of his jealousy and insecurity with rachel the only other woman he had loved at that point turned out to be a lesbian who was cheating on him so I do understand where his issues come from) but ross is actually quite a good friend and I think people are too harsh on him

#honestly I like ross geller more than ted mosby #I am also just more of a friends person than a himym person #also at least friends had a good finale #I’m a big friends defender #I think a lot of people hate on it because it got trendy to hate it #but also many people do have very valid criticisms of the show #but people who say it’s objectively not funny are annoying #like not Everyone has to think it’s funny but to say the Entire show is unfunny? #it’s one of the most famous sitcoms ever like shut the fuck up #I’m having anger issues rn btw #really wanna kill and fight

[mgg-theprettiestboy]

the best part

matthew gray gubler x fem!reader

request: a fluffy mgg blurb where you propose to him and he’s like :O

fluFF

in which you finally pop the question

warnings: cursing, mentions/insinuation of sex

It had to be special. You were a pretty impatient person, but for this, you took your time to plan every last detail. It didn’t have to be absolute perfection, you knew that. But you wanted it to be special. Memorable.

So of course, if you were going to propose to your boyfriend, you had to do it on Halloween. You knew Matthew was a little bummed out that Halloween wouldn’t be as exciting this year because of restrictions in place, but you were set on making it a good day for him. Starting with breakfast in bed, you then dragged him out to a pumpkin patch to pick some to carve. As if your house wasn’t already covered in gourds already. But a few more wouldn’t hurt.

Then you set off to an orchard, where you could pick your own apples and make your own cider. All while wearing masks, of course. You even got to take a few loose apples home afterwards, which is why you were now both in the kitchen, making an apple pie. Well, you were. Matthew was just stealing apple chunks and eating them while you tried not to chop his fingers off. 

“I think I should quit and become a brewer,” he hummed in thought as he glanced over to the bottles of cider you guys had brought him. He was sat on the counter, swinging his legs like a kid. You smiled over at him as you put the top on the pie, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I did a damn good job. And you did alright as well, I suppose,” he glanced over to you with a cheeky smile. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, moving to put the pie in the oven, “wow, thanks.”

He laughed, before hoping off the counter and moving to wrap his arms around you, “but on a more serious note, baby... thank you. You really made this Halloween special, despite all the crazy shit going on. Thank you.”

“You deserve it,” you hummed, and he grinned, before leaning down and capturing your lips with his. It was one of those kissed that made you want to melt, a kiss that just had such an overwhelming feeling of love. You whined whenever he pulled back, making him laugh and kiss you again.

“What are we gonna do for dinner?” He hummed against your lips, and you smiled softly, ‘hmm, I don't know. What would you like?”

“You,” he mumbled, before kissing you deeply again. You couldn’t help but giggle into the kiss, “you can’t eat me.” He pulled back from the kiss, brows raised, “you wanna bet?

Thirty minutes later

“The pie’s gonna be burnt!” You huffed as you ran into the kitchen to turn off the oven. Matthew scoffed, following you, “that was the last thing on your mind about sixty seconds ago.”

“So help me god, Matthew,” you grumbled, but you were smiling. Luckily, the apple pie wasn’t burnt... well, it was golden brown. Definitely crispy.

“I’ll make dinner,” Matthew kissed your head before going to the fridge. You began to protest, which he knew you would do, so he was quick to press his lips against yours to silence you, “no arguing. You planned out an amazing day for us, the least I could do is cook dinner. Go put on the tv and pour yourself a glass of wine.”

You grinned and kissed him quickly, before pouring yourself a glass of red wine and going to the living room to do as he said. You weren’t usually one to follow orders, but when he used a certain kind of voice, you really didn’t have a choice.

“How does chicken stirfry sound?” He called from the kitchen, and you sighed happily at the thought of it. This was something you could get used to. And if tonight went well, then you would be.

“Sounds amazing. Anything you cook is always amazing,” you called back, flicking through the channels on the tv before settling on old sitcom reruns. Feeling cozy, you moved from the sofa so you could light the fire. Since it was November at midnight, it was understandably cold, so the small wood burning stove would help keep you warm, and plus, it adds to the whole cozy feeling.

“We’re having dinner a lá couch tonight, milady,” he sat beside you on the couch, handing you a plate as you smiled, “sounds good to me. This smells amazing.”

You pecked his cheek, before quickly digging into your dinner. As the night moved on, you felt like you were gonna lose your dinner, as you grew more and more nervous about popping the question. You were never really one to stick to tradtion and definitely not the rules, but neither was Matthew. Still, you asked his mom for permission to marry him. Cheesy, yes, but in reality you just wanted an excuse to tell her that you were planning on doing it, and to get her help to pick out a ring.

“What’s on your mind?” Matthew asked softly as he played with your hair. Dinner had been finished, and now you both sat, cozied up on the couch with the fire roaring, and your head on his shoulder. You sighed softly, before smiling, “honestly, you.”

“Me?” You could hear the smile in his voice, “what about me?”

“Everything about you. You occupy my mind, 24/7, 365 days a year. You’re the best part of my life, Matthew. God, I’m so ridiculously in love with you.”

His other arm wrapped around you, hugging you so tightly you thought you were gonna break. “I love you too, pretty girl. More than you’ll ever know. More than I can ever put into words.”

“I should’ve planned this out better,” your mouth spoke your thoughts before your brain could shut you up. He pulled back to look at you, “hmm? Plan what?”

“This,” you wriggled out of his hold, sitting on your knees beside him as you pulled out a ring, “this is as close as you’ll get to me getting down on one knee, cause that shit is corny.”

His smiled slowly began to grow again, “Y/N... are you for real? Are you really...?”

“Proposing to you? Yes. Which I know is backwards, or whatever, cause I’m the girl. But who cares? I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and, well, I was tired of you sitting around on your ass and figured that one of us should make the first step,” you smiled, making him grin as he leaned in and kissed you slowly. He pulled back after a minute, and before you could say anything, he got up off the sofa and walked away.

You couldn’t help but raise a brow, “well that’s not a good sign.”

You watched him crouch down beside the fireplace, and from one of the many nooks and crannies in the house, he pulled out a small box, before returning to beside you. You scoffed a laugh as you saw the ring in the box, “you’re joking.”

“Halloween is more my thing, and I know how much you love Christmas, so I figured I would do it closer to then. I’m kinda glad you did it before I could, because I would have royally fucked up. And you made this the best day ever,” he said. You leaned over and kissed him passionately, somehow ending up on his lap whilst you two locked lips.

You pulled back, breathless, but grinning like a fool, “well, not to be hasty, but I’m gonna need an answer. Matthew Gray Gubler, will you marry me?”

His grin made the butterflies in your stomach flutter, smiling as he pecked your lips and responded, “absolutely, Y/N Y/L/N..... hmm, Y/N Gubler... that’s something I can get used to.”

You giggled as he pulled you closer, and you held out the ring to him, “I think you mean Matthew Y/L/N.”

Matthew slid the ring on, before taking your hand and sliding on the ring he bought got you, “honestly, I would be fine with that. I don’t really care. I’ll do whatever makes you happy. Whatever makes the world know you’re mine.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly, as he nuzzled his face into your neck, “you’re so sweet. God, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he mumbled, and you ran a hand through his hair, “not fair. I love you most.”

“Nope. I love you most,” he grumbled, pulling back to look up at you. You folded your arms and looked down at him, “no. I said it first.”

“Too bad. My love outbids yours,” he shrugged, and you gasped, “no it doesn’t.”

“Yeah it does,” he sighed nonchalantly, smirking slightly up at you. You scoffed, “prove it.”

Famous last words.

#mgg #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #Matthew gray Gubler #mgg blurb #mgg fluff #mgg smut #mgg fanfiction #mgg x y/n #mgg x reader #mgg gifs #mgg angst #mgg fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

[freddiesaysalright]

Peace Like A River Part 1

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee. 

Word Count: 3.4K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural @someone-get-a-medic @bensrhapsody @deakyclicks If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I had like the snippet of an idea for this and then needed more for a plot, but I think I’ve finally got it together lol. Hope y’all like it!

Part I here we go!!!

Grinning, you read over the letter once more from backstage. His words in that graceful, loopy handwriting warmed you from your heart to your toes. You sighed contentedly, stuffed the paper into your back pocket for luck, and waited for your cue.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Y/N Y/L/N!” the host cried. 

You shook out the last of your nerves and walked out on the stage, waving and grinning at the huge crowd that stood and applauded for you. You had never done a show for an audience this large and it was both intimidating and exhilarating. 

“Thank you!” you said, as you waited for them to stop cheering. “Thank you. Thank you all for coming. Really, I appreciate it because whenever I have to go out and do things, I think about killing myself.”

A nervous titter went through the crowd and you smiled again.

“Seriously, I do. I’ll think about killing myself over nothing. Like, the other day, I was in the car on my way home from the store and my sister called me and asked me to stop by her place and help her and her husband move furniture. And I actually thought ‘If I crashed my car right now and died, I wouldn’t have to go move any fucking furniture.’”

They laughed.

“It’s crazy, I know, but I casually think about it any time I’m even minorly inconvenienced. But what stops me from doing it - like, my next line of thought - is something equally meaningless. Like, in that scenario with my sister, the thing that held me back was like, I thought ‘But fuck, Bohemian Rhapsody is coming out in like two months and I really wanna see that.’”

A couple cheers came through the laughter and you smiled.

“Oh, we got some Queen fans in here tonight?” you said. 

More cheers.

“Yeah, cheer, clap, fuck yeah!”

A swell of shouts and whistles went through the crowd and you joined them.

“Fuck yeah, y’all were raised right,” you said when it settled down. “Queen is a great band. Just four sexy dudes making banger after banger. They’re legitimately my favorite band. I’m not gonna lie, they really got me through some shit, but we’ll come back to my trauma later.”

You paused for a small bit of laughter.

“Now normally, I don’t like when comedians talk about Queen. And by that, I mean, I don’t like it when comedians talk about Freddie Mercury,” you said. “And it’s not for some pretentious reason like they’re not real fans or something. It’s literally just that when people joke about Freddie Mercury, they joke about the same two things - his teeth and his sexuality - two extremely fucking boring things to joke about.”

You took a sip of water.

“Not only are they boring, they’re just rude. Like, these are things this man was born with and couldn’t change about himself - he had no control over that. What he did have control over - the fucking ridiculous lyrics of Under Pressure.”

A giggle went through them. You smiled.

“I’m serious. Have any of you ever looked up the lyrics to that song? Most of it doesn’t really bother me, it’s just those weird scat-like shit Freddie does between verses. Like, they have these great, meaningful lines followed by Freddie going ‘Um, bah, bah, bay.’ What the fuck?”

They laughed.

“That shit is in the official lyrics of that legendary song and I think about that every goddamn day. That and fucking ‘dee, dah, day - ok!’ Shit like that is how you know these dudes were on drugs. One of those guys came up with that, pitched it to four other people - if not more - and they all went ‘fuckin genius’ and bam! Under Pressure is one of the greatest hits of all time.”

They laughed harder.

“I guess I’m not as disturbed by that as I am by the fact that the people ate it up like they did. It’s one thing for those guys to say it’s genius, but then for us as the public to say it as well just fucks me up. The first time I heard that song I was like ‘what the cinnamon toast fuck am I listening to?’ Shit was weird.”

You took another drink as they laughed. 

“But honestly, I don’t understand why people go for Freddie’s sexuality when there are clearly much more roastable things to talk about. I don’t care how rich and famous he was, if you’re a straight white guy making fun of gay brown guy for being either or both of those things, you’re punching down, dude, and that’s not comedy, that’s just being an asshole.”

For that, they applauded. You continued on through your set, and this audience was great for you. They were responsive and you held their attention throughout. You were almost ready to close the show.

“I always like to end my shows with the most important person in my life,” you said. “I’ve talked about her already tonight, and she’s my daughter, Violet.”

The tech guys put a picture of her up on the projector behind you. You beamed at it. 

“That’s her. She’s three years old and she’s my everything. She’s the reason I get on stage and in front of cameras. She’s the real reason I don’t crash my car to get out of moving furniture.”

With one final laugh, you bid them goodnight. You took a little bow at the roar of applause and smiled widely. You said a few more thank yous before the spotlight dimmed and you walked off stage to the sound of cheering and clapping. It never ceased to amaze you how far you had come. 

Someone took the mic for you as your assistant approached. She was a recent hire, and something you initially resisted. But now that your name and brand had grown, you really did need the help. Her name was Stacy, and she was incredibly efficient. You liked her, as did Violet, which sold you on hiring her.

“Great show,” she said with a smile. “Vi is asleep in the green room. We’ve got a couple VIP guests for you to meet before we take you both back to the hotel.”

“Alright, lead the way,” you replied.

You followed her to another room backstage where you saw a group of men. Most of them had their back to you, but one face, you recognized. Gwilym Lee, who you considered a friend, even though you hadn’t spoken in a while.

Before you had really thrown yourself into standup, you did a bit of acting. You and Gwilym shot a pilot of a sitcom that unfortunately never aired, but while filming, you had become really close. You even felt like he was flirting with you a few times, but back then you were nowhere near ready to start a new relationship, so you’d kept things strictly platonic. Nowadays, you mostly liked each others pictures on Instagram as your main form of communication. But life was busy for both of you. You were on tour and he had gone on to films.

You started to smile but then froze when the man next to Gwilym turned his head. You grabbed Stacy’s arm harshly.

“Holy shit is that Brian May?” you wondered.

She chuckled. “Yeah! The VIP guests are Queen and the cast of Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Shut the fuck up!” you cried. “Really?!”

“Yep,” she assured you. “Go on in and say hello.”

Your stomach dropped with nerves. Again, you shook yourself free of them and donned your stage personality. Slipping into that mask was where you were most comfortable. While you talked about the things you had endured in your comedy, there it was lighthearted, and you did not have to face it head on. You could throw a joke out and dodge it. 

“Well, hello!” you said brightly as you entered the room. 

They all turned eyes on you and smiled as you were introduced. Brian May and Roger Taylor were without a doubt the most thrilling to shake hands with, but Rami Malek, Joe Mazzello, and Ben Hardy were also exciting. When it came time to shake hands with Gwilym, you offered a warm, friendly smile. 

“It’s great to see you again,” you said. “It’s been two years or so now?”

“Just about,” he replied. “You were wonderful.”

“Thank you!”

“Gwil was the one who convinced us to come tonight,” Joe explained. “He said you were hilarious on set when you filmed before.”

“That’s sweet,” you replied. “It is a shame that show never took off, it was a good one.”

“I certainly loved it,” Gwilym said. 

You chatted with them for a bit. They all were calming to be around. Brian and Roger were complimentary of your bit about Under Pressure, which eased some of your nerves about the set. Even though you were, you didn’t feel like you were putting on a show for them. In minutes, it felt like they were your friends. 

The door opened shortly after and in walked Stacy, hand in hand with your very sleepy daughter. She clutched her stuffed dog close to her chest as she ran right to you and crawled into you lap. You wrapped your arms around her and held her close, kissing the top of her head. She eyed the guests warily. 

“What are you doing awake, sweetie?” you asked gently, stroking her hair. 

“She woke up for a little while,” Stacy explained. “I tried to get her back down but all she wanted was Mommy.”

You smiled. “That’s okay. You can have Mommy whenever you want her.”

She snuggled into your chest, turning her face away from the strangers. 

“You don’t want to say hello?” you wondered, and she shook her head. You looked at the guys. “Sorry. She’s kinda shy.”

“That’s alright,” said Brian. 

“She’s grown up,” Gwilym said. “Last time I saw her, she was just learning to walk.”

“Oh, yeah,” you remembered. “She actually walked right into you during a scene.”

You both chuckled at the memory.  

“The director was almost mad, but she was so cute,” he continued. 

He knelt down in front of you and gently touched her arm. She turned her face to just barely peek at him. 

“Hi, Violet,” he said sweetly, smiling at her. “It’s been a while.”

Her brow furrowed. 

“You were still a little baby,” you explained to her. “But you’ve met Gwilym before.”

She relaxed and looked between you and him. 

“Daddy?” she questioned. 

You stiffened and cleared your throat uncomfortably. Then shook your head. 

“No, baby,” you told her. “No Daddy.”

She pouted at you and then hid her face again. You looked apologetically at Gwilym, who shrugged it off. He started to get up, but hesitated to pick something up off the ground. It was your letter that had been in your pocket. He held it out to you. 

“Is this yours?” he asked. 

You quickly took it, your face flushing with embarrassment. Even though there was no way he knew what it was, you still felt really shy about the whole situation. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, not meeting his eyes as you stuffed it back into your pocket. 

“A letter?” he questioned. 

“Just some particularly touching fanmail,” you lied. 

“Not enough people write letters anymore in my opinion,” said Roger. 

“Why sit and write a letter when you can send a text?” Ben replied. “It’s much faster.”

“Yeah, but I sort of miss the anticipation involved in letter writing,” Brian said in agreement with his bandmate. 

You continued to visit with them as Violet slowly fell asleep again against you. For a while, you felt Gwilym’s eyes on you intensely. His expression was odd. It appeared he thought he knew something more about you. It made you shift in your seat a few times before at last, he seemed to let go of whatever question was burning in his mind. 

They visited for about another half hour before you really did need to get back to your hotel, and so did they. You said fond farewells to all of them, reassured them that you would see the movie, and then it came to Gwilym. 

“We’re in New York for a few days,” he said. “Let me know if you’d like to get coffee or something and catch up.”

“That would be great,” you replied with a smile. 

You gave him a side hug since you had Violet on your hip, sleeping soundly. Her stuffed dog slipped from her hand but Gwil caught it before it hit the ground and handed it to you. 

“Can’t have that,” he said lightly. 

“Thank you,” you returned, taking it. You looked at all of them. “Have a wonderful night, guys. It was so great chatting with you.”

They all bid you one final farewell. Gwilym was the last to leave and you shared a lingering look with him before he closed the door. You continued to stare at the spot where he disappeared, realizing now how much you had missed him these last couple years. 

“Ready to go to bed?” Stacy asked. 

With a yawn, you nodded, and she ordered an Uber to take all three of you back to the hotel you were staying in. It wasn’t far from the venue, since you would be doing three shows there this week before moving on Boston. Stacy eyed you with an odd smirk as you stared out the car window. Finally, you looked at her. 

“What is it?” you asked, a bit snappier than you intended. 

“You and Gwilym Lee seemed to have a little something going on,” she said with a sly smirk. 

You rolled your eyes. “We just knew each other a couple years ago. Besides, you know I’m...involved with someone.”

“Ah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes now. “The ever elusive Dear Friend.”

“Hey, if anyone’s elusive, it’s me,” you said. “I was the one who made the arrangement what it is.”

“Y/N, you write letters to some mystery man,” she replied. “He could be anyone. Gwilym Lee is a real person and right in front of you.” 

“Dear Friend is a real person,” you argued. “I’ve just never met him.”

“And yet you’re convinced he’s your soulmate,” she returned. “I just don’t get it. How can you fall in love with someone through paper?”

“You don’t understand,” you said. “You’ve never read his letters. He’s so...eloquent and smart. And I can be myself with him. I can share my deepest thoughts and desires without any fear of judgement. He does so with me as well. It’s a real connection. The strongest I’ve ever felt with anyone.”

“You don’t know anything real about each other,” she insisted. “Not your names, not your jobs, where you live-”

“Those things don’t matter,” you cut across her. “The real stuff is deeper than that. And that’s where Dear Friend and I meet.”

“Whatever,” she said dismissively, weary of having this discussion yet again. “You’ve got your family reunion on your last day in town. I suggest you find a man in person to go with you. If you show up without someone again, I think your mother will actually lose her mind.”

You considered this. She was right, your mother absolutely hounded you about your romantic life since Violet was born. You told her you weren’t ready since your marriage had left you so scarred. You didn’t tell her about Dear Friend, though, since you knew she could never understand something like that. Plus, you had only been corresponding for a year.  

“I think Gwilym would go with you,” Stacy said, nudging you with her elbow. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of hiring some actor to be my boyfriend,” you replied. “I don’t want to expose Gwilym to my family. He’s been nothing but nice to me.”

She chuckled. “At least take him up on the coffee. I really think you should explore your options in case this Dear Friend isn’t who he says he is.”

“I will take him up on the coffee,” you assured her. “But it’s not a date. In the meantime, find some poor struggling actor to go with me and get my mother off my back.”

“I’m on it,” she assured you, already looking through her phone to get started. 

You reached the hotel at last. You took Violet to your room, bidding Stacy goodnight as she went to her room next door. You tucked your daughter into bed and kissed her on the forehead before heading over the desk. You pulled out the letter from Dear Friend that was still in your pocket and read it once more. Then you pulled out your stationery and pen to begin your reply. You were halfway through your letter when you remembered Gwilym. 

You opened your phone and pulled up his number, which you had from your days of being coworkers. You opened up a text to send to him and found yourself blanking on what to say. You had written paragraphs to Dear Friend, but when it came to asking someone to get a simple cup of coffee, you had no idea how to phrase it. It made you all the more certain Dear Friend was your person. Words came easily when talking to him. 

You went with your stage personality. You sent a casual, “Is tomorrow too soon for that coffee?” with a silly emoji. Then you returned to your letter. Gwilym texted back almost right away and suggested meeting around nine in the morning, which you agreed to. Then you finished writing your letter and sealed it in an envelope for Stacy to send off in the morning. 

The letters always took some time. One thing you knew about Dear Friend was that he was from the UK. The PO box you sent the letters to was in London, but you could also tell from the way he spelled things. You often teased each other about these differences. So of course, they took longer to send and receive. But, you agreed with Brian May that the anticipation of getting one was one of the most exciting parts of the experience. 

Another benefit of him being across the pond meant that your opportunities to meet were few. In fact, you hadn’t had one since you started writing. It was a bit of a relief. You knew you loved Dear Friend, but keeping him at arm’s (well, ocean’s) length felt safest. And after your brutal marriage to Violet’s father, Henry, being safe was of top priority for you. And yet, the desire to be with Dear Friend grew daily. It just terrified you to face the reality of it. 

The next morning, you dropped the letter and Violet off with Stacy while you went to meet up with Gwilym. You went to a local coffee shop and ordered. You paid, and he protested, but you insisted, and assured him that he could get it next time. You grabbed a table and started talking. You told him you were still living in Los Angeles and that you were mostly doing shows out in California. You tended to avoid New York, since Henry and his friends and family were still there and he was still an NYPD officer. You couldn’t avoid it on tour, though, nor your family reunion. You told Gwilym about the reunion, but not the part about you ex-husband. 

“You’re hiring someone?” he asked, baffled. “A stranger?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Some guy that was rejected from Broadway or something. I’ll pay him, and we’ll come up with a story for my mother, and then the next time I see her I’ll tell her how we tragically broke up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll do it for you.”

You blinked. “You really don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “We’re friends. I know meeting strange men is difficult for you.”

Gwilym knew that Henry had abused you because you talked about it in your sets. You never got into gruesome detail, although you had confessed a few things to Dear Friend. You talked on stage about not dating because of what you had been through. It was extremely kind of Gwilym to offer this, and you weren’t sure how you could thank him. Your comedian mask slipped on again. 

“I’m not sure I can afford your rates, Mr. Lee,” you teased. 

“How much was my coffee?” he returned. 

“Five dollars,” you told him. 

“Well, it turns out, for friends, I offer a discounted price of five dollars,” he joked. “So, consider it payment for the coffee.”

Your brow furrowed. “Are you sure about this?”

“Really, it’s fine,” he reassured you. “It’s just one day.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” you said, seriously. 

He raised a curious eyebrow at your tone. 

“I mean, it’s just one of the nicest things,” you continued, blushing once again under his gaze. “You’re a very generous person, Gwilym.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or you’re just still getting used to kindness.”

You smiled, unwilling to go any deeper. 

“Let’s chalk it up to a combination of both,” you said lightly. 

You finished your coffees and headed to the door. He had to go to an interview and you were going to take Violet around the city since the weather was nice. As you hugged goodbye, you smiled up at him. 

“See you Saturday?” you asked. 

“Saturday,” he affirmed.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x you #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap boys #borhap imagine #borhap cast imagine #borhap boys imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #Queen #queen imagine #Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #brian may x you #joe mazzello #roger taylor #rami malek #ben hardy #peace like a river series

[caredogstips]

5 Great Thinker Quotes You’re Using Wrong

Nothing obligates us appear smart like repeating something an actual smart being formerly did. Why bother coming up with your own droll reply, when you’re pretty sure you formerly read about something Winston Churchill may or may not have said to some other dick, course back in the working day? Or perhaps “its been” Oscar Wilde. Or maybe nobody actually used to say at all, and you’re just mincing up half-remembered takes in your foreman. You check their own problems: Some of the more popular quotes from some of the most famous geniuses don’t actually aim what we believe that they do. For illustration …

5

Murphy’s Law( “Anything That Can Go Wrong, Will Go Wrong”) Was Just A Dig At His Own Bumbling Assistants

You know Murphy and his damn Statute: “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” In other statements: The universe is always out to got to get. It doesn’t trouble if you plan ahead and preparations for all contingencies — something will always go wrong and bolt you over. Yep, the fundamental rules of the universe are why our last camping expedition was just going shit; it’s not because we strategy it at the last second and produced nothing but a Taco Bell combo box.

What It Actually Necessitates:

The original signify was more like, “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong … when you’ve got these chuckleheads for assistants.” The Murphy in Murphy’s Law wasn’t some historic genius or ancient philosopher, but a U.S. Air Force engineer called Edward A. Murphy. His evidence was provoked by a military venture committing a rocket-powered sled, apparently designed as a way to capture and relish a particularly elusive roadrunner.

US Air Force * Holds up signed that replies “Yipes! ” * Murphy was tasked with installing sensors of his own design on the sled, to evaluate its speeding, but once the test was ended, the sensors hadn’t weighed shit. Murphy blamed the failure on his assistants, pronouncing TAGEND

Nick T. Sparks Murphy’s Employee’s Law: “[ shrug ]. ”

“If there’s any room they can do it wrong , they will.” Yes, the original form of this popular proverb was just a passive-aggressive boss chewing out his employees( for something that might have actually been his flaw ).

As the sled venture prolonged, other members of the team distilled Murphy’s phrase to a more familiar species( “If anything can go wrong, it will” ), and give it serve as a remember to make their patterns as idiot-proof as is practicable. Murphy’s Law was never meant to imply there’s a sitcom-like regulation that the universe is out to get you. Just that your boss thinks you suction. Of trend, this is all evidence of another universal rule that generally holds true: “Shit rotations downhill.”

4

“Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History” Was A Plea To Get Well-Behaved Women Some Recognition Already

One of many beads of wisdom assigned to Marilyn Monroe, the word “Well-behaved ladies seldom[ or rarely] acquire history” is most often used in one of two ways: A) as a announce of encouragement for women to stand up, get noticed, and carve their place into the annals of biography, or B) as an excuse for used to go and getting hammered. After all, Monroe, bless her being, was pretty good at both those things.

What It Actually Entails:

It is necessary that well-behaved women seldom obligate biography … but they should . You’ve probably already predicted that the matter is paraphrase wasn’t actually from Marilyn Monroe — it was reproduced 14 years after her death by historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. In 1976, she produced a scholarly essay documenting the eulogies of colonial females, which voices almost as merriment and sex as a Marilyn Monroe flick, sure. In her analysis of those eulogies — often the only the recording of these women’s lives — Ulrich manufactured the following see TAGEND

Laurel Thatcher Ulrich If you can’t to be dealt with when they’re polite, you don’t deserve them when they’re slightly more polite .

Ulrich’s message wasn’t “fuck the rules, ” it was more “can I get a little adore for all my virtuous sisters in the house? ” Her work is all about celebrating the ordinary people who gradually enact societal change over the decades, but are forgotten by biography since they are do it quietly. In her work A Midwife’s Tale , for instance, Ulrich combed through the( at first glance, unusually dull) publication of an average 18 th-century American midwife — uncovering the previously unknown economic and cultural rights wallop of midwifery in the country. For speciman: How many of people know “midwifery” was a word? We sure didn’t.

Unfortunately, Ulrich herself is pretty well-behaved, so people will probably resume ascribing her terms to more “unruly” women.

3

Charles Darwin Said “Science Has Good-for-nothing To Do With Christ” So They’d Stop Bugging Him About Religion

We can simply portrait it: Sir Charles Darwin was maybe taking part in some scorching conversation about progression with a cluster of religious zealots, when they asked about to explain how his dumb ape hypothesis jived with the Bible. And Darwin shut them all down with his famed, history-changing zinger: “Science has nothing to do with Christ.”

What It Actually Means:

Darwin didn’t hate religion — he just didn’t feel qualified to write about it. Harmonizing to his son, ol’ Chuck would get words from people expecting him about ethical and spiritual topics he simply didn’t suffer qualified to discuss. In 1879, at age 70, he replied to one such note like so TAGEND In other words: “What are you asking me for? ” He never set out to disprove the existence of God, and didn’t even consider himself an atheist TAGEND

So, how did Darwin earn his religion-hating honour? Blame his crony, T.H. Huxley. After On The Origin Of The Species was engraved, the British Association for Advancement of Science regarded their annual fit at Oxford and invited the clergy, since the two groups had been friendly up to that detail. Some clergy members hugged Darwin’s theory, some had skepticisms, and some were openly unfriendly. Bishop Samuel Wilberforce was one of the latter — he flat-out expected Huxley if the gorilla he condescended from was on his father’s back, or his mother’s.

Huxley shot back by saying that he would rather be related to apes than a humankind who employed his offerings to obscure the truth. Happens went downhill from there. Darwin, nonetheless, had the good sense to be sick that week and stayed out of the combat, which specified the colour for the progression debate in the 19 th century: Chuck would stay home and work on his volumes, while T.H. loudly antagonized creationists in his call. Others have since taken up that baton — you know them as “most of Reddit.”

2

The Concept Of “Invisible Hand” Was Coined By Someone Who Actually Believed In Government Regulation

We’ve all was right here: You leave a quick provide comments on a picture of puppies wearing bowties, and next happening you know, you’ve been sucked into a days-long dialogue about financials. And at some place in that dispute, someone perhaps mentioned the “invisible hand” — the idea that even if corporations act like avariciou dickholes, the market will ever deal with them by itself, without Uncle Sam butting in. Predatory banks will eventually lose their clienteles. Non-abusive contractors will get more project. Capitalism is just best available, you guys.

This notion was first described by 18 th-century philosopher Adam Smith, who is considered the leader of modern economics( and examined precisely looks just like you just imagined, right down to the wig ). Smith fanboys like Milton Friedman have expended his ideas to explain why the government shouldn’t govern business, or tax the rich, or bother with commie bullshit like aid — exactly sit by, and give the invisible hand sort it all out!

What It Actually Necessitates:

You know who was a big fan of taxing the rich to help the poor, though? Adam Smith TAGEND

That’s Smith himself in the very same work where he justifies his invisible side intuition, so it’s not like he got softer with age or something. Smith knew that the free market had its restrictions. He exploited an entire section of his most famous run, The Wealth Of Nations , to explain the areas where “just let them do whatever they want” is not available — public works, the legal plan, education, and health care. Sure, he disagreed with rehearsals like prescribing tariffs, compensation caps, or setting monopolies, but these are not exactly radical standings. Pass a company a monopoly and before you know it, a cluster of drunkards dressed like Indians are dumping the produce in the Boston Harbor.

To sum up, Smith would have hated privatized health insurance, did not believe in trickle-down financials, and spurned the flat taxation. The invisible side can steer us, but when it is necessary to absolutely free markets, it’s not leaving out any glad endings.

1

Karl Marx Said “Religion Is The Opium of the Masses” Because Opium Is Awesome

Karl Marx is the poster boy for atheism.

The German philosopher and granddaddy of communism furnished a perfect slam-quote to explain why religious parties were such mindless dolts: “Religion is the opiate of the masses.” This short but persuasive suppose has inspired countless jumpy t-shirts and skeleton-filled signs. So, Marx clearly meant that he considered religion kinfolks akin to mentally impaired, unproductive drug addicts laying on their own squalor, right? There’s no other explanation here.

What It Actually Intends:

First of all, if the current state of widespread pharmaceutical drug addiction has shown us anything, it’s that opiates are the opiates of the masses. But, maiming social question aside, check out the context in which Marx said that TAGEND

Marx said some pretty nice situations about belief and its role in culture, before angsty college minors wanting to make their parents feel stupids at Thanksgiving started quote-cropping him. Marx announced religion “the heart of a heartless world” and “the spirit of a spiritless situation, ” praising its ability to help people get through a tough life. He experienced empathy for the persons who seek refuge in belief , not disdain. If he saw you exploding extinction metal at carolers, he’d call you a thoughtless dick.

Instead of abolishing religion in his red utopia, Marx talks about wanting to create a macrocosm absolutely amazing that people don’t feel they need it anymore. It’s almost like he’s speaking in a way that won’t alienate the great majority of the person or persons likely to be reading his wield. He doesn’t even appear to use the word “sheeple! ” Go figure.

Tim Lieder’s story has appeared in Lamplight, Shock Totem, and Daughters of Frankenstein: Lesbian Mad Scientists( published by Lethe Press ). His latest wrote narratives are in Sugarplum Zombie Motherfuckers. He too owns Dybbuk Press, through which he’s produced nine titles including King David and the Spiders from Mars. Stephan Roget infrequently tweets over at @StephanRoget, where he’s largely just excited he didn’t have to use an stres. Check out his most recent articles here . For other far-famed sayings you’re totally botching, check out 6 Famous Literary Quotes Everyone Expends Exactly Incorrect and 5 Classic Movie Quotes( Where We Wholly Discount The Context ) . Subscribe to our YouTube canal, and check out Iconic Pop Culture Moments You Remember Wrong, and other videos you won’t assure on the site !

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