#eye doctors holland mi

[stantonopticalholland]

Eye Exams in Holland, GA | Stanton Optical

At Stanton Optical, we offer same-day appointments for our customers. With over 2,000 frames from which to choose, we're sure you'll find what you've been looking for! If not, we'll be happy to arrange a consultation with one of our friendly staff members who are always willing to answer any questions you may have about our services.For an appointment today with one of our optometrists at Stanton Optical, call (419) 359-5416 today!

[frostymuses]

Holland Frost | Bisexual | Science - AI, Bioengineering FC: Sarah Paulson Age: 44  Gender: Female Birthdate: Nov 13, 1978 Hair: Blond Eyes: Brown Occupation: bioTech Scientist, Frost Enterprises

Declassified >> Personalized File >> Database >> Statistics

Dr. Holland Joyce Frost

44. November 13, 1978

Birthplace >> Detroit, MI

Female. She/Her. Bisexual

Affiliated >> bioTech & Frost Enterprises

Artificial Intelligence. Bio Engineering, Experimental Sciences

Face Claim: Sarah Paulson

Hair >> Blond (dyed); natural brunette

Eye >> Light Brown

Height >> 5′6″

Style: Professional > Pant suits. Blazers. Long skirts. Pencil skirts on occasion. Dress suits. Evening gowns to keep up appearances. Diamond and pearl accessories. White and Ice blue garments.

Addictions >> Not an alcoholic but prefers to unwind with at least one drink most nights.

Drug Usage >>  Valium

Familial Files >> known associates

>> Ex-husband >> Jonathan Royce

>> Estranged Daughter >> Miranda Royce

>> Father >> Dr. Leland Frost >> deceased

>> Mother >> Gloria Mulroney >> deceased

Scorpio. Water. Choleric. Neutral Evil.

>> Brutally Honest

>> Unsympathetic

>> Intelligent

>> Prideful

Offenses On Public Records >> Information

Illegal Drug Possession >> circumstances unknown

College Expulsion  >> lab accident >> reinstated

A staunch woman with nothing to hide but her secret push for the power, Dr. Holland Frost echoes her name in frigid ruthlessness. Her days as a top leading consultant on technological and bio-engineering development exceed expectations. Her work dabbles in the highest quality of production, mastering new found techniques in tech science.Holland’s hand in bioTech is still firm despite the rocky post divorce relationship with CEO husband Johnathan Royce. She still seeks to take over the company fully but bides time backing her own studios network of scientific studies in Frost Enterprises. Dabbling in artificial intelligence and human experimentation is unethical itself but a step in the direction of science’s future.  Whether it is a failure in the end is a great question. There is more than meets the eye in what her hands are dirty in but top secret is the clause. Getting her start in the early stages of synthetic cell reproduction, Holland is a formidable scientist versed in perfectionism. In her years she has gained somewhat of a cool reputation. Calculating and precise, the doctor takes everything her hands touch seriously.  At times blood has painted them but Holland never considers what they do murder. Experimentation takes more than blood, sweat and tears. It’s something that paved the way for her expulsion in college, a secret only a handful knew, including her ex husband.

Beginning early on, parents were of money (father was a cutthroat in the business of pharmaceuticals leading to some breakthroughs in civilian medicine) and as any daughter born in the ranks of silver spoons it became easy for her to gain a foothold in bio-engineering. All she had to do is take her family’s name along with her. College owned her time and attention in pursuit of knowledge; she adapted to an environment where men remained the leading power behind technological advancement. Did it stop her from succeeding by any means necessary? Hardly and the difference between Frost and her colleagues all came down to compassion. Hers was severely lacking. To this day many who work with her might say the same thing. Holland experimented early on. It’s what ultimately drove her hand in this modern age but back then it was always an argument of humanity. Holland wanted to pave the way for greater theories. AI was a fascination and the idea that artificial could be infused with that of organic life was too enlightening to pass up. She wanted live specimens. People who craved this to survive, to be cured of disease that needed a boost of a synthetic nature; she thought it would be easy to procure subjects to test her AI experiments on. Holland chose to use a compassionate front to get her way. The only problem is the fact this wasn’t exactly legal. It didn’t prevent her working under the table. During this time she met her future husband, Jonathan Royce, who saw the Holland Frost everyone else saw, which was just perfect for her. She hid her obsessions well even her true demeanor as cold and crass as her unsympathetic views towards other people could be.

Augmentation was the beginning of her downfall at the time. A colleague, Marissa Weller, caught wind of Holland’s suspicious activity. Attending the same courses and studying in the same top level they always frequented the same circles. Holland saw her as a rival but used her when the need arose. Creating a faux friendship on her part, she was none too pleased when Marissa threatened to report her for using live subjects to perform her underground experiments. Holland warned her not to meddle in something no one else understood. Science is about sacrifice but Marissa wasn’t buying it. Before she could alert the dean, Holland rendered her rival unconscious with one prompt dose of Xylazine, a horse tranquilizer that did more than knock her out. Marissa’s heart stopped in the incident. Expulsion was the lowest form of punishment considering Holland was guilty of manslaughter. Her father’s money took care of that but she was ousted by the family for her involvement in human experimentation. To her it was worth it but without finishing her college tenure any dream of entering a fully fledged career was null and void, until boyfriend Jonathan Royce made an offer. Another rich boy but one she needed now beyond a simple fancy here and there. It’s the one thing keeping her afloat in the field and she agreed to marry him. A small price to pay but one that ultimately made Holland bitter. A loveless marriage is an enemy in and of itself. This is a dark period that began and lasted far longer than expected. She quickly grew to despise him despite his family’s connections to Detroit’s leading scientific circles. It was the only consolation but Holland was going nowhere. She fell pregnant. Another hurdle but one she used to gain advantage to permanently seize assets from her husband in case of any accident befalling him. It was in the back of her mind all the time then.

Her pursuit in high tech and AI drew interest despite her record and failings. All it took was curiosity and her theories on synthetic and organic synthesis which she reveled as something that could change the world. She no longer needed Jonathan once she started ingratiating with the big scientific names of her day. They reached out on their own. She took it by the reins and never looked back. Her record still haunted her. The expulsion and its damning evidence would ruin anyone but all things go away with power. bioTech was the first real taste of it and using her husband to work through the ranks on her own merit of work, Holland found she could continue her unethical experiments in peace. However peace was far out of reach in her personal life. Seeking companionship elsewhere away from her loveless prison, she fell for a woman who worked on her level. Quite the scandal if it ever got out but the technician Holland found solace in was nothing but a distraction in the end. It was enough to get rocks off and far better than her so-called husband could offer. When she started using her secret lover to procure her various illegal narcotics to use in experiments and at times for private use, it turned into a business proposition instead of a love affair. It was the end of their so-called marriage.

Little did she realize how her work, this divorce and her distance would destroy her relationship with her daughter. Holland simply dove into her work, never truly having a close bond with Miranda at all but deep down it still caused some grief. Currently her goals are becoming CEO of her ex-husband’s company. She has gone to great lengths to oust him, even to the point of hiring a hit man like Calvin Sterling. 

[arrivisting]

wip amnesty: versailles

Did anyone else watch Versailles?

[crickets, probably]

I loved the first season of that show. The WIGS. The DRAMA. The GILT. It helped a lot that @gofuckinggentle and I watched the first season together in Paris, after a day-trip to Versailles, and in the after-throes of Les Mis/George Blagden passion. It was tremendous fun: the right show at the right place, at the right time, with the right person (<3). Season two was a tragic waste of potential and made me furious, and season three was unwatchable. But I adored season one - it was just the right mix of silliness, EMOTION, history, and fake history. I went off the deep end reading Bourbon history and began a lot of stories set after season one (and then season two happened and murdered them). Here is one:

We're leaving, Philippe said to the Chevalier, and we’re never coming back. He meant it at the time.

There are different types of wounds. Philippe’s no doctor, but he saw enough of them on the field to know; some you live through, and some you don’t. Some heal clean, without needing much fussing. Others need hot iron or tar to stop the bleeding. Still others fester, musket-holes where fragments of grapeshot, mud, and cloth linger; unexpected scratches that suddenly belch pus when you press on the hot and heated skin.

You die fast, or you die slow, or you get better.

At Saint-Cloud, Philippe gives orders to open up only his rooms, and then, after a moment’s thought, the kitchens.

“Are we not planning to entertain?” the Chevalier asks. “Silly me, I packed silk, not sackcloth and ashes.” When Philippe stares at him, appalled, he shrugs. “We’re expecting the king, aren’t we? Sooner or later.”

“I’m in mourning. Tell him I don’t want to see him.”

“That won’t work.”

“I won’t see him.”

“You’ll have to,” the Chevalier says. “I mean, for the funeral–”

“I won’t see him,” Philippe shouts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. When he speaks again, he’s in control of himself. “I only want to see you.”

The Chevalier blinks, then smolders at him. The effect is more affected than genuine, but that’s what Philippe wants from him right now. “Ah. Shall we christen the place, then, my love?”

Around them servants – his servants, not Louis’ - have been opening the shutters, removing the holland covers from the furniture, bringing in armfuls of new linen. They’re all not looking at him so pointedly it feels like he’s being stuck with pins. Someone he pays to attend to the niceties has begun hanging black cloth over the mirrors. Philippe should care about the example he’s setting.

“Take off your coat,” he says, and the room clears. Eventually.

-

Louis doesn’t come to Saint-Cloud. Which is a pity, really. Philippe would have liked to bar him from his rooms with pikesmen. They could see how he likes it.

“You wouldn’t,” the Chevalier says, languidly amused. The way he says it sounds like he’s saying you should.

“I wouldn’t,” Philippe agrees, giving it just the same intonation.

“You should order your mourning clothes,” the Chevalier adds, like he thinks Philippe won’t take offense if he slips it into the conversation in the same careless tone.

“We’re not discussing that.”

 “But you like new clothing–”

Philippe says nothing, but he takes the Chevalier’s chin in his fingers and pulls his face close like he might kiss him just to shut him up. Then he tightens his hold until the Chevalier’s smirk turns into a grimace. “We’re not discussing that.”

“We’re not discussing that,” the Chevalier repeats, and when Philippe lets his grip relax he shakes his head, tossing his long blond curls over his shoulder. After a moment, for effect, he gets to his feet, brushing invisible dust off his cuffs in the way that means he’s piqued and he wants Philippe to know it.

Well, the dust could be real. Saint-Cloud has been shut up for months while the court festered at Versailles in the marshes. Philippe will allow him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“All the same,” the Chevalier says softly. When he speaks that low, Philippe is allowed to pretend not to hear him, and the Chevalier to pretend not to have spoken. “You will need to do something, my darling.”

-

Louis doesn’t come to Saint-Cloud, because he’s too awful to give Philippe the satisfaction of having his entrance barred, or to suffer the displeasure of crooking his little finger and not having Philippe obey. Instead, because Louis is awful, he sends Bontemps himself, and two royal heralds in most stiff and ancient costumes, little portraits of Louis set around their necks.

“Oh,” the Chevalier says, sucking in his breath with intent. “How charming.”

Philippe batts his nose fondly, like he’s chastening a lapdog. “Shall I get you one for your birthday?”

“A necklace, or...?”

“I prefer the one on the left, don’t you? I know how you feel about redheads.”

“Your highness,” Bontemps says, sounding and looking pained and disappointed. Luckily, Philippe doesn’t share Louis’s transparent yearning for a father-figure, so it has no effect on him. If he’s wished that Louis had some similar need for a brother – well, that’s the past, and he left that behind at Versailles. “His majesty wishes you to know that the funeral of Madame will be held this Sunday. You are expected.”

“I am busy,” Philippe says, and gestures at his surroundings like they speak for his overwhelming state of preoccupation.

Bontemps glances at the lake – calm as a mill-pond, a clear mirror for a clear sky – and at the chateau – shut up like an abandoned property, or a house under siege, a house in mourning – and at the Chevalier, who wiggles two fingers at him.

He says, “You must attend, your highness.”

“I must do nothing, unless my brother commands me. Does he command me?”

He wouldn’t dare.

“He does,” Bontemps says.

-

The journey to Paris is miserable. Philippe only manages to vent a little of his spleen by loudly ordering Cosnac to expect his return to Saint-Cloud within the next week. Bontemps, block of wood that he is, doesn’t change expression, but he manages to radiate the tranquil assumption that as soon as Philippe is back in Louis’s orbit, his plans will change.

If Philippe has to spend the next two hours shut up in a landau with his brother’s valet, he’s going to stab someone. “And it might be you,” he tells the Chevalier, who has started exuding an irritating smugness that his sotto voce avocations about the need for action have been proved correct. If he has to spend that two hours with the pair of them, bouncing over the ruts in the dry, cracking road with the Chevalier fondling his knee and Bontemps staring straight ahead, he’ll definitely arrive in Paris in more of a murdering mood than a burying one. “I’m riding.”

“Don’t you think you’re arriving under enough of a disadvantage without arriving in dishabille?”

Philippe ignores him.

-

His thighs are burning by the time they reach the Palais Royal. He’s dusty, the pervasive white dust of the road thick on his boots, but it’s not like he’s going to be receiving in these clothes, in any case. The guards at the Palais are wearing black. He’s going to need to outfit his own men properly. He should have done it at Saint-Cloud.

He hadn’t wanted to bring death into the house where he and Henriette had been young. That’s no excuse for ignoring etiquette.

“My rooms,” he says curtly over his shoulder, tossing the reins of his horse to a waiting groom in the second courtyard. Louis isn’t there to greet him.

He should have draped the damn horse in black; he should have ridden in with a black cloak that covered its hindquarters, a black feather in his hat as long as his arm, and a face nearly as long. That’s what everyone expects from him. Drama.

“Of course, your highness,” the waiting equerry says. Philippe doesn’t know him. Versailles has sucked up all the best personnel from the residences, the way it’s sucked up all the money from Louis’s coffers, all the freedom from France. “My condolences, Monsieur.”

It’s better that Philippe doesn’t know him; doesn’t know any of the bowing black-clad guards and servants and maids he passes as he stalks down the familiar corridors to his own suite. They’d been young here too, once.

 There are white lilies and roses in clusters in their accustomed vases in the first of his rooms. Philippe stops dead for a moment.

They’re fresh; cut this morning, from the perfection of their petals. Their scent hangs heavy in the air, spring itself despite the late summer outside. It’s sweet and thick, and so familiar his throat closes for a moment and his fist clenches on the flower he’d reached out to touch, crushing it.

Did someone have them put out on purpose? For a moment, Philippe wonders. A mourning lady-in-waiting who’d admired his wife, perhaps.

Louis?

He shakes his head, angry at himself for the thought. It’s an order Henriette gave with a decisive clap of her hands a decade ago, and never revoked. Part of the pattern of this place, the pattern they all follow, weaving something greater together. The court hasn’t been at the Palais-Royal since his mother died, but the curtains are still drawn open and closed each day by the staff that remain, in case Louis should come: the gardens cared for, the flowers placed in his rooms as part of the usual preparation for Monsieur’s residence.

-

“There you are,” the Chevalier says, sounding aggrieved. “Do you know, I had to be quite firm with the guard on your doors before they would let me pass? You shouldn’t have ridden ahead like that and left the poor old fellow and I in your dust – Oh, good, you’ve found something suitable.”

Philippe turns around. The long black train of his mantle swirls around his ankles. “I’m being thrifty,” he says, the word in his mouth an unpleasant thing. “Am I quite out of fashion?”

The Chevalier smiles. “You look magnificent,” he says, and touches Philippe’s cheek with a fingertip. He smells like musk and ambergris, the scent of him usually enough to make Philippe’s stomach warm, his cock stir. Strong, powerful. Male. “Down to your shoe buckles. Jet?”

“Black diamonds,” Philippe says, giving him an appalled glance for the suggestion. “Oh, of course; you weren’t here for Mother’s funeral.”

“This is what you wore then?”

“I didn’t have time to order new clothes,” Philippe says, and the Chevalier glances at him, but forbears to mention the past three weeks at Saint-Cloud, enough time to turn out a full trousseau for even the least endowed of heiresses. “That will have to be attended to. There will be –” he swallows – “Ceremonies. Formal visits of condolence from members of the family, dignitaries of the court.”

“And then the funeral,” the Chevalier says. His eyes have gone soft, honey-hazel, salt-caramel. Henriette’s eyes were darker. 

“And then the funeral,” Philippe says, and closes his eyes. Admitting that feels like one of Louis’s victories; a humiliating defeat. A painful thing, lodging in his throat like a stone. It was easier in Saint-Cloud to pretend that Henriette was still at Versailles, where he left her. Alive, only in the next room. He doesn’t want the Chevalier to look at him like that.

“I’ll be by your side,” the Chevalier says, and his voice has gone soft, too. Gentle. It’s not a common tone for him, although he’s not incapable of careless kindness when it suits him. Genuine tenderness is rarer still.

“I shouldn’t have brought you,” Philippe says, and opens his eyes. “You can’t be by my side. Not for this.”

The Chevalier looks like he’s been slapped. “Philippe –”

“We have to be serious. I have to be serious.”

“I only want to help–”

“You can’t.” Philippe smiles, unhappily. “This time is for family.”

“God help you, then,” the Chevalier says, in a tone Philippe's more familiar with, and takes a step back.

-

Henriette is dead. His wife died in Louis’s bed, the way she lived, choking on black bile and her own blood and then the air itself, thick with the smell of lilies.

-

As soon as Philippe is officially in residence, the visits begin. They continue with monotonous regularity for the next three days. Philippe is scrupulously well-behaved with most of the useless courtiers, lies rolling around their mouths like marble. There are a few who look genuinely sorry. He’s icily, regally Bourbon with the ambassadors from Spain and from Venice and from Genoa, from the German princelings and Scandinavias. With the cardinal from Rome. He’s a little less well-behaved with the two-tongued lying bastard from the Netherlands who condoles with him, saying how the stories of Madame's beauty and grace gone before her; what a loss she must be to France!

"She is a great loss to me," Philippe says. "She had already brought the greatest possible glory to France."

 "Truly, your highness," the Dutchman says, and turns the sweaty colour of one of his pale cheeses. Philippe can only hope that he reports the conversation to his master verbatim. If William of Orange doesn't understand his meaning now, he'll understand it soon. 

"Philippe," the Queen says, and kisses his cheek. Of course she looks good in mourning. She's Spanish. She's at her most comfortable in a black mantilla and clutching a crucifix. 

Marie-Therese fills the formal role of queen admirably in court ceremonials, but she draws back her dignified skirts from the day-to-day of the court, the theatricals and the dances and the back-biting. It was Henriette's responsibility to be the female energy of the court, at the heart of each banquet, dancing the lead of each masque and court ballet. Louis overflows with meaning, produces it in excess, and one wife alone isn't enough to channel it for him, to fill all roles female for France the way Louis fills all male roles.

It'll be the Montespan's job, soon, if Philippe knows his brother - and he does. The women themselves are interchangeable to Louis. The work goes on.

"Sister," Philippe says, and kisses her cheek in turn. The lace of her veil is gritty under his lips. 

Marie-Therese regards him soberly when he draws back. She doesn't like him. Philippe's always known that she doesn't approve of him, even before she made it clear in the regency conseil chamber.

She looks tired. Her face is drawn more tightly than usual, her dark eyes heavy. It would touch Philippe, if he thought it was truly for Henriette. "My husband sends his regards."

"Funny, then, that he sends them through you," Philippe says.

Marie-Therese stares at him. People think Louis has poise, but he's easy enough to upset if you know his weak places and aren't afraid to put your fingers in them - which, in all fairness, most people are. Louis has nothing on his wife. "He has been otherwise engaged."

"I do believe I could put money on just how he's been engaging himself," Philippe says. "How is dear Athénaïs?"

"She is well," Marie-Therese says. "And the Chevalier de Lorraine?"

 "Prostrate with grief."

"Henriette is a great loss." 

"It was her left side," Philippe says. "I was trying to help. It was her left."

Marie-Therese’s face, still and regal as a wooden Madonna, doesn’t change. He can’t read in her face whether she believes him or not. He wants to shake her until a real emotion comes out. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

“You of all people should know better than to confuse the king with God,” he says.

-

 “Your highness,” Masson says. Her hands are clutched behind her back. She really is absurdly plain, brown from the sun and strained from whatever books she spends her time on. The male attire makes her look plainer. “Monsieur.”

There’s some kind of irony in the fact that Louis has made a pet of this girl dressed in boy’s clothing, but treats Philippe with such colossal scorn over his female finery. What’s her actual name? He can’t ask her that. Louis has forbidden it. The king states she is a man, and – voila! She is a man.  “Monsieur Masson.”

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” Her eyes are earnest and blue in her simple face. Far too earnest for Louis’s court. “The damage done by the poison was simply too much. I wished so much – but I did all that could be done for her highness.”

“I’m sure you did,” Philippe says lightly. He holds his hand out to her to be kissed and looks pointedly to his left. “I thank you for your service.”

She doesn’t move.

Honestly.

“Etiquette,” Philippe says, “for male members of the King’s household, states that you go to one knee when dismissed by a son of France, mutter ‘It was my honor, your highness,’ kiss my rings, and get to your feet in one smooth motion. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Come now.”

“I came to make my report to you,” the boy-girl says, hands still clenched behind her. “About Madame la Duchesse’s death.”

“I was there. I know what happened.”

“Yes, your highness,” Masson says. Her eyes are still too sorry. He remembers them from that night.

What a horrid, intimate vigil it had been.

Henriette’s left hand in his, her blood gurgling in her throat; Louis on the other side of the bed, holding her right. She’d reached for him first, of course. Philippe had been the afterthought, her gesture to him the last attempt in a lifetime to balance the equation belatedly.

“You left the court after her highness’s death -"

 “I was there while she was alive.”

“Yes, your highness. What I meant is that you were not there to receive my report on her death.”

“You report to Louis.”

“I must also report to you.”

“Well, that’s a new line,” Philippe says. He recrosses his legs, one gleaming shin in its black silk stocking replacing its partner in the ascendant. “I assume he told you to come here today. When is my dear brother planning to make his own sympathy call?”

Masson says nothing. What can someone outside their particular knot of Bourbon blood and loyalty and fear say? It’s best to say nothing at all. Philippe would approve, if he didn’t read her adamant loyalty to Louis into her strained face.

Louis trusts her. How unfair that she seems to be worthy of it.

 “Well?”

 “I conducted the autopsy on Madame la Duchesse, on the king’s orders. The stomach was flooded with a fermented bile, and the organs of the abdominal cavity were in an advanced state of gangrene –”

“Stop,” Philippe says. 

He’s going to be sick. The room swims. His shoe-buckles glisten up at him, the dark diamonds in their silver settings performing marvelous feats of multiplication, dividing into twos and fours and eights.

Masson is holding his arm and saying, “Keep your head low, your highness. Take a full breath. And another. Do you have any scent?”

He needs her to stop touching him. No wonder she came into his apartments with her hands behind her back. Those hands had cut Henriette apart and opened her for study, had exposed the shadowy places in her heart, the secrets and the sadness. 

Masson’s advice helps, and after a few lungfuls Philippe has a hold on himself enough to wave her aside. “Finish your report. It was poison?”

“Antimony,” Masson says. She’s still too close, still watching him as though he’s her patient, but she drops back into her report. “As we had suspected, but my tests have now confirmed it. She would have felt pain in her right, your highness, as well as her left. I could not have saved her once the poison was ingested.” That helps, somewhat; and not at all. “That is my private report, known to the king and the queen, and to Marchal and Louvois. His majesty has had it given out that her highness died of a colic in an attack of cholera morbus.”

“Of course he has.” Louis can’t be blamed for it if Henriette died a natural death. “He sent you to tell me this.”

“He wished you to know.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

Masson is still looking at him with earnest, diagnostic eyes. Philippe offers his hand again, in distance and in dismissal, and this time she manages an almost acceptable bow before leaving.

-

[naturallytom]

Wasn’t Expecting That (Tom Holland x reader)

a/n: please listen to Wasn’t Expecting That by Jamie Lawson while you read!! lyrics are in bold + italics, also this was slightly inspired by the fault in our stars !! 

warnings: fluff, angst (a lot of it), mentions of cancer

please leave feedback!!!

masterlist & tom holland taglist info in my bio!!

_______________________________________________________________________

It was only a smile but my heart it went wild

To everyone else, the way you and Tom met wasn’t special. You were looking at the ice cream flavors in the grocery store, eyes concentrated on the containers of the delicious frozen treat as your brain tried to think through which one to buy. Tom saw you when he got to the ice cream aisle and was immediately captivated by your beauty.

“What’s your favorite?” He asked, before he could think of what he was doing.

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his soft brown eyes as you smiled softly. “My favorite’s strawberry cheesecake. But they don’t have that so I’m looking for another flavor I like. Problem is I like all of them.” You chuckled, smiling at him again. Tom felt his heart flutter in his chest at the simple gesture.

“I like mint chocolate chip moose tracks. Can’t go wrong with that one.” He replied.

“Well then,” You giggled. “Mint chocolate chip moose tracks it is.”

Just a delicate kiss, anyone could’ve missed

Tom first kissed you after your first date. He took you to dinner and a movie and while you tried to pay for the movie, Tom wasn’t having it. He insisted it was his treat. Even after dinner Tom knew he loved you. It wasn’t something he could explain- he just knew it. He couldn’t help but steal glances of you while he drove you home after the movie. The moonlight outlined your face just right and Tom could’ve sworn you were an angel. Pulling up to your apartment building, Tom parked the car before opening the car door for you and walking you up to your apartment like a true gentleman.

“Well, uh, this is me.” You said softly, rocking gently on your feet. “I had a really nice time tonight.”

Tom nodded and smiled. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything, but moved towards each other slowly until Tom finally broke the silence when you were chest to chest. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, nearly whispering. You simply nodded in response as his hand came up and cupped your cheek and pressed his lips to yours.

It was a soft, delicate kiss. His lips were soft against yours and you could both feel the sparks that ignited from it. When you pulled away, Tom’s forehead rested on yours as he laughed breathlessly and mumbled “that was nice.”

You couldn’t help but smile and nod in agreement.

Did I misread the sign?

Your hand slipped into mine

For your third date with Tom, he took you to the zoo. You mentioned you liked animals and your favorite to see are penguins so Tom bought tickets to the zoo, eager to see your eyes light up when you saw the penguins. Prior to the date, you had told Tom about your battle with thyroid cancer when you were nineteen and explained that it could come back at any time, afraid you’d scare him away. Tom listened to your every word and when you finished, he couldn’t stop telling you how strong you were and how he’d be with you through it all, no matter what. And that’s when you knew you loved Tom. When you arrived at the zoo, you couldn’t stop smiling at all the animals, while Tom couldn’t help smiling at you. He was completely enthralled by your smile and the way a small sparkle appeared in your eyes. When you finally reached the penguins, you instinctively grabbed Tom’s hand, lacing your fingers together.

“Look at them, Tom!” You said excitedly, turning to him, your hand still laced with his. “Aren’t they the cutest things you’ve ever seen?” You cooed while watching them waddle around.

Tom could only nod and smile softly. What he wanted to say was that yeah, the penguins were cute. But they were nothing compared to you. It was then you noticed you were holding Tom’s hand, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

“Sorry.” You said softly, moving to untangle your fingers from his. This time he grabbed your hand softly, keeping your hand in his before you could remove it.

“I like it.”

You spent the night in my bed

You spent the night in Tom’s bed after you had been dating for four months. He invited you over for a movie night and though he wouldn’t admit it yet, he was overjoyed when you accepted his not-so-formal invitation.

Though the movie was packed with action and comedy, you were falling asleep on Tom, your head on his chest, legs draped over his lap. Tom’s heart beat faster when he looked down and saw you peacefully curled up against him. He turned off the tv, picking you up bridal style, pausing when you stirred.

“Tommy?” You mumbled, half asleep.

“‘S me, love. You wanna spend the night?” He whispered, smiling when you nodded sleepily.

He brought you upstairs, where he helped you change into one of his shirts before you curled up in his bed. Climbing in next to you, he couldn’t help but stare at you sleeping peacefully, your chest rising and falling evenly.

Before he fell asleep, all Tom could think about was how in love with you he was and how lucky he was to call you his.

It was only a word, it was almost mis-heard

I wasn’t expecting that

Tom was at the doctor’s with you when you got the news. Not the good kind of news that most couples hope for, it was the gut wrenching, soul sucking news that the cancer was back. Neither you or Tom were expecting it. The two of you had just gotten engaged and were trying to plan a wedding when it all happened.

“I’ll give you two a minute before we talk treatment.” The Doctor said softly, leaving the room and gently closing the door.

“If,” you sniffled, still clutching Tom’s hand. “If you want to go, you can. I won’t blame you if you do.”

There was nothing that could’ve prepared Tom for the news. He felt numb as the doctor spoke, but your words tugged on his heart. Broke him out of his trance.

“No.” Tom shook his head. “‘M not leaving. I promised you I’d be here for you every step of the way. I still mean that.”

You said nothing but gripped his hand tighter as the doctor reentered the room, a silent sign of the strong bond you shared.

A month turned into a year

I wasn’t expecting that

Tom didn’t break his promise. You were both relieved when the doctor estimated a month of treatment, but weren’t surprised when it turned into a year of treatment. Tom was by your side the whole time, always supporting you in any way you needed.

And when your year of treatment was over and the doctor announced you were cancer free (again), Tom was the first person to remind you of how strong you were and tell you how much he loves you.

Isn’t it strange how a life can be changed

In the flicker of the sweetest smile

We were married in spring

You know I wouldn’t change a thing

Without that innocent kiss, what a life I’d have missed

If you’d not took a chance on a little romance

When I wasn’t expecting that

You and Tom got married in the spring. It was a small wedding, with only your families and a few friends in attendance but you and Tom loved it. He couldn’t help his tears when you walked down the aisle in the beautiful white dress you had picked out with the help of your mom. There wasn’t a single dry eye in the chapel when Tom said his vows.

Your first dance with Tom was magical. It felt as if no one else existed but you two. As the two of you danced, Tom couldn’t help but think about how his life changed for the better. If you hadn’t given him a chance, what a life he would’ve missed.

Time doesn’t take long, three kids up and gone

As time went on, you and Tom had three beautiful girls. Amelia, Delilah, and Harper. Tom adored all of them, he would do anything for them (and you). When they were babies, Tom would stay in their rooms and rock them back to sleep when they woke. If they needed to be fed, he’d bring them to you who adored them just as much and Tom would watch in awe as the loves of his life interacted.

When they were toddlers, Tom would play princesses and dress up with them, having tea parties whenever they asked.

When they went off to Uni, he cried with you three separate times, each time one of them left. He couldn’t be prouder of the young women they became.

When the nurses they came, said it’s come back again

I wasn’t expecting that

Then you closed your eyes, you took my heart by surprise

When the nurses told you and Tom the cancer was back again, but stronger than before, neither of you were expecting it.

“What about treatment?” He asked, only pausing when you grabbed his arm gently.

“Tommy, it’s okay. I’ve lived my life with you. I don’t need it.” You said softly, Tom’s heart breaking.

“Sweetheart-” He started but you shook your head.

“It’s okay.”

Tom still didn’t break his promise. He was by your side the whole time. So were your daughters. But one night when they weren’t home, it got particularly bad and Tom drove you to the hospital. You stayed through the night and through the next day.

It was the next night when you were laying in the bed, Tom right by your side, holding your hand. He was rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, something that always comforted you.

“Tommy? I think it’s time for me to go now.” You mumbled, smiling softly at Tom, who held your hand tighter, beginning to ask what was wrong.

“I love you and our girls forever and always, Tommy.”

Then you closed your eyes, and Tom felt his heart clench inside his chest while tears streamed down his face as he watched your chest rise and fall for the last time.

I wasn’t expecting that

_______________________________________________________________________

tom holland oneshot tags + mutuals: @boredombesson @spidermansmj14 @calum-hoodwinked-me @karlitabi-rrito @tomhaz @i-ship-it-okay @holland-osterfieldx @you-makemethisway @xxtomxo@shadowyartcutebiscuit @spideyyypeter @xxxxdelenaxxxx @tomzfrog @sparklyhomeworklovecloud @sunshinehollandd @spiderboytotherescue @upsidedownparker @parkerpuffwrites @hollandroos @loverholland @lavenderholland @spideypeach

[belfromhell]

@flying-toes and @leslipigeonoficial tagged me on this. Why am I doing it? I truly don’t know, but I love their blogs (go and follow them, now!) so I’ll do it with a smile on my face. (Btw sorry if there’s grammatical mistakes, english isn’t my first language).

Ps: @flying-toes is the one of the best persons I’ve met in this page, she’s so funny and sweet all the time! Ilysm girl, thanks for listening and care, ¡te adoro, eres genial!

rules: answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people.

I tag: @rubbersoles19 @fandom-weirdness-for-life @punk-rock-princess-626 @xjustahoneymoon @astronautswife @honeybun-holland @gweniings @mermaid-with-flowers-in-her-hair @s-sun-kissed @petersyoink @havikenhayes @pocketandheart @flylikeajetpack @lawryn-w @allisondra @danceratthestillpoint @tomhollandhollaatme @cassieandra0721 @dorkiustothemax @thebreenutgallery

I love lots of blogs but my memory is just shit so I’ll tag my last 20 followers instead.

the last

1. drink: a very strong lemonade. Basically a lot of lemon juice, a tiny bit of water and almost no sugar. LIKE THE REAL MACHOS.

2. phone call: My mom? I wanted to know how make chicken soup but we ended talking about my new neighbor and her annoying chihuahua. Never got my soup, though.

3. text message: a friend. She’s with her boyfriend’s family so basically she’s having a mental breackdown cause the mom of the boy hates her, lmao.

4. song you listened to: OMG NOOOO HAHAH. “Abrázame muy fuerte” by Juan Gabriel (we miss you mi amor :c).

5. time you cried: last night? I’ll be honest with you guys, I was reading a very emotional fanfic, it’s just science. I couldn’t help it.

6. dated someone twice: My ex, I think. Idk, I’ll date him again soon probably. I’ll use him to get free food and a Netflix account >:v

7. kissed someone and regretted it: LAST MONTH AND SHE’S MY EX LMAO. What can I say? She’s very nice and persuasive o-o

8. been cheated on: Never.

9. lost someone special: My great-grandmother passed away five years ago. I haven’t lost someone special since her, thank God.

10. been depressed: My life consist on been depressed and and angry 24/7

11. gotten drunk and thrown up: Last week. I FINALLY GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL FUCKERS. (By fuckers I mean my teachers, I love you all okay?)

3 favourite colours

12. Black

13. Blue

14. Red

in the last year have you

15. made new friends: Yep. Some thanks to other friends, some others thanks to my habit of losing important stuff.

16. fallen out of love: No, I still love the same guy, so ???

17. laughed until you cried: Yesterday, my friend’s mother put INTENTIONALLY soap in his eyes.

18. found out someone was talking about you: YES, I WAS WAITING FOR THIS QUESTION. Last month, some girl was talking shit about my whole classroom, just because we are genious and her classmates are total toddlers. It was graduation practice, AND MY PALS AND I WERE CONGRATULATED, NOT YOU SMOL LIL SHIT.

19. met someone who changed you: I’m always making friends. On web sites, on the street, everywere, so I’m always changing cause all of them teach me something everyday, even if they are just being themselves. Watch and learn.

20. found out who your friends are: I’ll just say yes while I keep my eyes shut to avoid cry.

21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: yeah, me and my friends still play 7 Minutes in Heaven, so imagine how that turns out.

general

22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I’ve had the same Facebook account for five or six years now, and I’ve being in lots of fandoms. So, to make it short maybe I know five hundred of the three thousand? My school was really big and I’m just a sucker for friends and new people. 

23. do you have any pets: Nop, my last pet was a cat called Noah but she run away. But I have lots of plants, does they count?

24. do you want to change your name: Nop, I’m Karla Belén and that’s how family calls me, but other people call me just Karla or Belén or derivations of those two. My closest friends call me Kiwi or Kabe. My teachers used my last name and all my doctors call me Belito. I love my name cause some people has take their valious time to make nicknames or they call me in a certain way cause maybe a thing I’ve made reminds them of something specific and I’m okay with that, so no, I don’t want to change my name.

25. what did you do for your last birthday: I was at my uncle’s house, the whole day we traveled with my parents to the capital, and when we arrived my aunt had cooked fried chicken. It was very simple but my dad let me drive a little bit and my mom was in a good mood, so it was really cute.

26. what time did you wake up: I stay till one am reading fanfics, so I usually wake at ten or eleven am.

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: Talking with @flying-toes​ about my horrible life decisions.

28. name something you can’t wait for: Start college on September, if they answer my call this Monday. The rest of the MCU movies. Dinner.

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: Five minutes ago? She’s staying with me this days, but nah I don’t care really.

31. what are you listening to right now: I’m watching Parks and Recreation actually, so I’m listening to their voices?

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: Yes, my friend’s brother is called Tomás, but we call him Tom cause Tomás sounds really pretentious.

33. something that is getting on your nerves: My family, the college applications THAT HAVEN’T BEEN ANSWERED, not having money to waste in shits and stuff.

34. most visited website: AO3, Instagram, and Tumblr.

35. hair color: Black.

36. long or short hair: Both, I like long hair to make braids but I like short hair cause is easy to comb. Now I have it long but that may change next week if I feel like it.

37. do you have a crush on someone: TOM HOLLAND’S GOT MY HEART AND MY SOUL AT THE MOMENT.

38. what do you like about yourself: I’m determined, I like to think that we should all be aware that we are part of a larger project and we must do something about it, but something good, something that helps the rest and make the stay in the planet more enjoyable. I am committed and fight a lot for world problems. I go out to protests and stuff, but I hope to be a politician someday to work for people who are forgotten by people with power.

39. piercings: Nope, just normal earrings holes.

40. blood type: I truly don't know, I think I’m O-, or some weird thing cause the only time i’ve need blood we had to look for a donator cause my family isn't compatible.

41. nickname: Kiwi, Kabe, Belu, Belito, Flaca, Nena.

42. relationship status: Trying to return with my ex but failing.

43. zodiac: Capricorn.

44. pronouns: “she” “her”.

45. favourite tv show: Parks and Recreation, maybe.

46. tattoos: A little moon on my right hip.

47. right or left handed: right.

48. surgery: twice.

50. sport: HA! Noooooo.

51. vacation: My grandparents house is my perfect vacation place.

52. pair of trainers: Converse or Vans? I don’t care about shoes, honestly.

GENERAL

53. eating: I eat everything except for sardines.

54. drinking: I drink everyting.

55. I’m about to: Read some Spideychelle fics?

56. waiting for: UPDATES OF MY FAVORITE FICS. And the damn college card.

57. want: Love.

58. get married: I’m still a baby, but I really want to get married someday.

59. career: I just graduated high school, soy un Bachiller de la República del Ecuador :D, but I want to be a lawyer.

WHICH IS BETTER

60. hugs or kisses: Hugs.

61. lips or eyes: Eyes.

62. shorter or taller: I don’t care, but I prefer taller people cause I’m a little tall and people is dumb about it.

63. older or younger: I don’t care x2. Age it’s just a number, I’m still pretty inmature but I’ve know people of my age that is very responsible and older people that needs to get back to their parents house. 

64. nice arms or nice stomach: Nice heart? I like a nice body, but I don’t care x3 about aparience. If something or someone is cute, I like them. If they have fit bodies is cool, and is also cool if they don’t.

65. hookup or relationship: Relationship.

66. troublemaker or hesitant: TROUBLEMAKER AS FUUUUUCK. I have some strong opinios about delicate stuff and usually I get into trouble defending it.

HAVE YOU EVER:

67. kissed a stranger: Yeah, drunk or high.

68. drank hard liquor: Yeah, since I was fifteen probably.

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: Never, I can’t live without my glasses so I never leave them, at any moment.

70. turned someone down: Never.

71. sex on the first date: Never x2.

73. had your heart broken:It’s still broken but I'm pretending I'm fine reading lots of fanfics and going to the dentist.

74. been arrested: Once but I escaped before they called my parents or asked my name. I’m not proud of it but well...

75. cried when someone died: Yeah.

76. fallen for a friend: Yeah :(((

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

77. yourself: Sometimes, when I’m sure that things will go okay, and if I’m not I just stay positive.

78. miracles: I don’t know, I’m not a religious person. But I think that sometimes things are meant to be and happens in weird ways that can be considered as miracles.

79. love at first sight: No, that’s bullshit.

80. santa claus: Nop, here in Ecuador we don’t believe in that. It’s something that foreign brought like a comercial thing.  

81. kiss on the first date: It deppends.

82. angels: Maybe.

OTHER:

84. eye colour: Dark brown.

85. favourite movie: El 49. In 1949 a earthquake shake and destroyed my city. Help was sent from all the country and from close countries but it never came. People with power taked those things and made total empires using all the provitions. But my city didn’t give up. People that lost everyting worked harder that ever and the next year the city was reconstructed and since that year we celebrate on February the FFF (Fiesta de las Flores y de las Frutas) that means Flower and Fruit Festival. I love that movie cause reflects all the pain of those poor citizens but the determination of the ambateños (My city is called Ambato, do the math). 

IF YOU GOT TO THE END YOU HAVE A LOT OF FREE TIME. THANKS FOR READING! If you think we have something in common you should send me a message. I’am always willing to talk or listen.

:D