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linkfms · 4 years

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☠️ * what is up, party people ! i’m jojo ( she/her ), 23, and in the pst timezone. it’s been a while since i’ve been in a group so... pls bear with me. anyway, under the cut you’ll find more info on resident emo boy: link ! i’m so excited to write with u all, and, if u ever want to plot give this a lil’ like or send an im over @ yea right#4256 !

lincoln “link” seong was spotted in the fashion district adorning prada combat boots, with some airpod pros on. they’re most likely listening to when you were young by the killers. you may know them as @hyperlink or as that jeon jungkook lookalike. their twenty - fourth birthday just passed. while living in tribeca, they’ve gained a bit of a reputation. they’re known to be erratic but on the other hand vehement. wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines. ( cis male & he/him )

↳ THE BASICS: STATISTICS.

full name: seong hyunjae ( 성 현재 ) / lincoln seong.

nickname: link, and will probably only answer to link !

age & date of birth: 24 & november 21, 1996.

hometown: born in busan, south korea, but moved to jefferson, connecticut in 2006.

current location: tribeca, new york.

education: completed high school and attempted first semester of university, but decided to pursue music instead.

occupation: drummer for indie/alternative rock band, my time ( sound is similar to bands like the killers, the 1975, and paramore ). also is an affiliate with an esports organization ! doesn’t play competitively, but streams and creates content for them weekly.

sexual orientation: pansexual & panromantic.

gender & pronouns: cisgender male & he/him pronouns.

↳ THE BACKGROUND: BIOGRAPHY. ( tw: mentions of alcoholism & abuse )

seong hyunjae ( later given the english name lincoln seong... thanks linkin park ! ) was born in the heart of busan, south korea. his parents married at the age of 21, due to the cultural expectations of having a child born out of wedlock. while things seemed to be smooth sailing for a while, the couple realized the real struggles of adulthood. financial issues came into play. stress from working multiple jobs every single day took a toll on their mental health, as well as their relationship with each other. link’s mother began to develop an alcohol addiction, and her abusive behavior came following after. their home was falling apart, with four-year-old link falling asleep to muffled screaming and glass being thrown on the next room over. his father was able to withstand it for a while, but he drew the line after coming home from work to see large cuts on the side of his son’s thigh, and a bruise forming across his cheek. that was when he knew his wife was dangerous. so, one night when lincoln’s mother as at work, he packed his belongings, grabbed link, and left without looking back.

for a while, it was just the two of them. they found ways to make it work, and despite the fact that it was a constant struggle, his father never wanted link to lose his childhood. in fact, his father gave him everything he could give — but most importantly, as cheesy as it sounds, his unconditional love and support. as someone who lost his own parents young, he made sure that link would never feel like he’s being deprived of that, ever. they created this tight-knight bond because of that, which can’t ever be broken. and now, link’s fondest memories always involved spending time with his father. one favorite memory of his involved morning jam sessions after breakfast. link’s father was previously a lead guitarist in a garage band with a few of his high school friends, so while he was playing riffs on his electric guitar, eight-year-old link would be banging the coffee table with plastic straws.

when link was about ten, he and his father sold all of their belongings and moved all the way to jefferson, connecticut for a job offer that he couldn’t refuse. fast forward a few years, and he’s a teenager in high school. growing up link was more of an introvert, and would spend his time in the computer lab playing video games or browsing in online forums. he was a regular in this my chemical romance forum ( under the username @hyperlink ), and made a lot of his lifelong friends over there. one of his online friends jokingly suggested one afternoon that they should start a band over their nightly skype call, and while it was initially shrugged off as dream more than an arm’s reach away, my time was born. link had to endlessly plead his father to buy him a secondhand drum kit off of craigslist for christmas. but once he found it under their tree that year, it sparked this drive in him to learn and practice nonstop.

their first official band practice happened a day after link’s high school graduation ( which was also the first time everyone saw each other in person ! ), and they spent that entire summer making music. at first, link only thought of it as a hobby... since, he was attending his first year of university that fall. but after playing their first few shows and making all these memories, he couldn’t keep the band in the backburner. he dropped out not too long after to pursue his music career full-time. moved out, spent the next few months working long shifts at the local amusement park, and shared one two-bedroom apartment with his bandmates. one of their songs went viral one crazy night, and the next thing they knew, they were being signed into a record label. now ? they’re one of the biggest alternative/indie rock bands out there with multiple platinum records, sold out world tours, and millions of streams each year. their time finally came.

↳ THE INSIDE LOOK: PERSONALITY.

link definitely... gets babied a lot ( by his bandmates and his fans ), and he uses that to his advantage :] because of that he gets away with a lot of things, but it’s usually with things that are small like eating the last slice of pizza and it would be justified with “ no he is a growing BOY he NEEDS it ! ”

that being said, he eats nonstop. the guy carries a sandwich bag full of cheerios wherever he goes. his friends know that if they can’t finish eating something, they can always donate it to link for a good cause.

when my chemical romance announced their reunion tour in 2019, he threw his phone across the room and cried. my chemical romance ( with green day and linkin park as a close second ! ) are his all-time favorite bands, and a lot of my time’s sound is heavily inspired by them.

when i tell u that this man is so chill, i mean it. like things could LITERALLY be on fire and he’d be like “ just throw some water on it it’ll be fine 😎 ” ... he’s not the type to worry about things, and is more of a go with the flow type of person. he doesn’t even need to be zooted to be like this. KJFGDG

being in the band and a part of the entertainment industry caused a small shift in his personality. maybe he just blossomed ? who knows ! but because he’s been exposed to the rockstar life, he was able to open up more. he’s always seeking thrills, big or small, and won’t have the time to think about the consequences for his actions.

because the my chemical romance forum that was once his second home shut down, he’s since moved on to reddit. social media isn’t really his thing ( and his fans always get mad at him for posting a selfie once a month then dipping ), but catch him on subreddits making comments or starting fights for the sheer entertainment of proving someone wrong.

this might sound bad but... he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that he isn’t ? financially struggling anymore ? even if he’s already bought a house and two luxury cars for his dad, he still gets ticked off if he sees something small like an APPLE that is marked a dollar and a few cents over the usual. he catches himself using things until they’re ABSOLUTELY worn out, and still leeches off of his bandmates/friends when he can. <3 also, if something is broken, he’ll be the type to figure it out and fix it himself.

people... don’t exactly remember the last time he’s slept. it could be the insomnia ( it’s definitely insomnia, thx childhood trauma ! ) but it’s almost gotten to the point where he’s afraid to fall asleep on his own. he’ll always try to find ways to sleep in someone’s company, even if it’s just him crashing on a couch while someone is watching tv right there. if he’s alone though, he’ll always try to find ways to distract himself like stream for 10 hours straight.

speaking of trauma... he’s also scared of relationships. after witnessing the way his mother treated his father, he’s cautious of history repeating itself... but with him. so whenever he catches himself even falling for just a little, he dips.

his life revolves around the 4 m’s: marvel movies, minecraft, music, and my chemical romance. that’s it.

a link 😏 to his pinterest ! also, i don’t have any wcs, but if we plot, i promise i’ll use my big brain to brainstorm something with u. <3

#wealthyhq:intro #the way i spent too much time writing this.................

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banalbones · 4 years

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The Petite Prince: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Princes Don’t Need Help

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8

SideStory

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil is spending time with said child, and said child likes Logan’s Crofter’s.

Words: 2179

Ships: Familial everything, except roceit. Eventual familial roceit

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2 @fanforeveruniverse @i-cant-find-a-good-username

_________________________

Virgil was content.

After hours, hours of searching for the precious little bean, here he was in the emo’s arms.

Finally.

The small royal giggled as Virgil made a silly face at him.

Scary reputation? Who’s she.

The baby reached up and tugged at the anxious side’s hair, marvelling at the pretty purple color, pulling at his own chocolate curls in comparison.

“Woah!”

Virgil felt his heart melt as the petite prince tugged his hair again, happily beaming and showing off his gap tooth.

He knew that the others were watching the exchange, but, for the first time in his ‘life’, didn’t even care.

Then Roman’s face scrunched up in concentration, and he let go of the emo’s hair.

“Liv’ roo!”

Virgil smiled softly.

“The living room?”

“Liv’ roo!”

So. Cute.

___________________________

Okay can I just interrupt for a second?

You already have, but go on.

Why do you all keep emphasizing how cute he was?

Because I was absolutely adorable.

Because he was absolutely adorable.

…

Fair enough.

___________________________

Patton was still chatting with Logan, about brownies and endorphins and all the like, but he still felt sad.

Patton was the literal dad of the group, and yet when one of his kiddos turned into a literal kiddo, he could do nothing about it. Well, for now at least.

Logan had told him that Roman had most likely felt extremely overwhelmed, causing him to regress further, and therefore should not be exposed to one of the main reasons he had felt overwhelmed by for a bit.

The logical side had faltered near the end, which the moral side took as a good sign.

Maybe he doesn’t think I’m too big a ‘main reason’.

Patton held on to this hope.

Because any hope, no matter how trivial, was hope.

____________________________

Remus really hadn’t wanted to give his little bro over to Virgie, and was considering to just, well to just not, but the look that Nerdy Wolverine had given him had convinced him of doing otherwise.

Whatever. I guess they still think I want to kill my brother.

Which he didn’t.

But again, whatever.

The Duke ignored the sting that the thought had left.

Whatever.

____________________________

Back in the living room, Roman was grinning wider than ever.

It was working! There was waaaay less sad, and even better than that, he had helped.

Ooh, look at the pretty lights! And the pur-pur hair! Wait, he had already seen the pur-pur hair. It was still pretty though!

The room was being decorated with nice bright colors and fairy lights. Big him (and Little him) loved those!

“So. What d’ya wanna do?”

Roman turned and looked at Virgil, a tad confused, before shrugging.

“You choo!”

Big me never got to choose. Wow! Fluffy blankets!

The little prince missed the shocked face Virgil had worn at his response, and his confused face before that.

“Disney?”

“Yeah!”

_________________________

Why had the bean looked so confused when I had asked him what he wanted to do?

That was a question that would surely echo throughout Virgil’s mind for the rest of the movie marathon, and most likely after it as well.

Looking to the adorable little royal, Virgil smiled an anxious smile.

I hope he’s okay.

Virgil looked at the wide green eyes, engrossed in whatever the Disney movie at the moment was. He was so small, but that was to be expected of a now fifteen month old baby.

The paper crown slipped down over the prince’s eyes, blocking his view of the film. He huffed and pushed it back up with his tiny hands.

“Need a little help there?”

Vigil was still smiling as the bean harrumphed, rather dramatically.

“No.”

“You sure about that? The crown keeps falling.”

“No.” he retorted, stubborn as ever.

The crown fell again.

This time tears filled the prince’s eyes and he pouted angrily.

“Stay!”

Virgil reached over to fix it, only to have his hand swatted away.

“No! Prin’s don’ nee ‘elp!”

Princes don’t need help? Well that doesn’t seem… healthy. What if the bean isn’t healthy?! Well, its obvious he’s not- he is regressed, but what if- I should probably try to stay calm. For his sake.

It was funny, the literal embodiment of anxiety trying to be calm.

The crown fell again and tears rolled down the youth’s cheeks.

Virgil wrapped his arms around the bean, attempting to comfort him. He did want to find out what the small royal had meant, but he couldn’t bear seeing an upset little royal.

The bean must not be sad!

And so Virgil kept hugging the little prince, trying to ignore the phrase.

Princes don’t need help!

Great, two things that would probably haunt him forever.

_________________________

Roman dried his eyes in VeeVee shirt, already regretting the tears.

He was supposed to make them happy!

Sad=bad!

And so, the petite prince took a deep breath, and cuddled closer to Virgil.

_________________________

Both boys had forgotten about their movie marathon by now, content to just cuddle there forever, but then the baby prince had an idea, an idea that would hopefully make VeeVee happy.

The hoodie itself was reeeeeally nice and soft and fluffy and warm, and the prince wasn’t even wearing it!

If it was that nice on the outside, what it be like on the inside?

And so Roman had two options.

Option one: snuggled inside the jacket against Virgil’s chest,

Option two: snuggled in the hood.

It was a very hard choice to make, but the small royal eventually clambered to the top of the emo’s head, getting ready to drop down into the soft embrace of fabric.

Virgil was extremely confused throughout the whole of it.

Roman giggled, and then he was laying in the warm, warm hood.

Oh look! Pur-pur hair!

And so the prince was cosy and the emo was amused.

“Adorable.”

_________________________

Logan walked into the kitchen the next morning, ready to enjoy his sweet, sweet Crofter’s, when a giggly Roman and a smiling Virgil entered the room.

Now, this would not have struck Logan as odd if it weren’t for the fact that the tiny prince was sitting in the anxious side’s hood, his little arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck.

Logan.exe is experiencing a malfunction. Overload of cuteness has temporarily shut down subject’s brain.

Now, Logan wasn’t a robot, or anything of the sort. He was a metaphysical human being. But in that moment he just ‘couldn’t’.

This is odd, I’ve seen and identified the child as ‘cute’ before. Why am I so overwhelmed by the cuteness now?

Virgil must’ve noticed Logan’s mini meltdown, as he snorted and said “You good there teach?”

“How is he so adorable?”

Virgil was about to respond but got interrupted by the little prince.

“Mama!”

Logan.exe is experiencing a malfunction. Overload of cuteness has temporarily shut down subject’s brain.

Twice in a minute. That was most certainly not normal.

But it wasn’t necessarily bad, either.

________________________

Roman, even as a baby, loved attention, and teasing people. So when he noticed he had a chance to get attention and mess with Mama, of course he would do it.

His spot in Virgil’s hood was very comfortable though.

It could wait until after breakfast.

The little prince hugged Virgil’s neck tighter, and pointed at the jar of Crofter’s next to Logan.

Well, he could still mess with Logan from up here.

________________________

You were literally fifteen months old, and yet you still felt the need to be annoying?

Hey! I didn’t want to be annoying, I just wanted to mess with you.

Sure.

And also eat your Crofter’s.

As you would usually say, heathen.

________________________

“You shouldn’t be eating this. Too much sugar could be detrimental for your teeth.”

Logan, in the end, gave in to the whims of the adorable little child and let him eat the jam.

…

Logan and Virgil were mostly silent throughout the meal, happy to listen to the small royal’s babbling.

And then there was a tug.

The left brain boys had completely forgotten about Thomas.

Virgil looked to the logical side, panic evident in his expression.

“What the fuck do we do?”

Logan had on a similar expression.

“The more pertinent question is do we tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“About Roman. He doesn’t know that sides regress.”

“He doesn’t!?”

“No.”

“How come I thought he did?”

“You were usually the regressed side.”

“That doesn’t mean anythi-”

Another tug.

Roman let out a whimper.

One of them had to go, but the other had to stay with the prince.

“Roman can’t sink down, he isn’t touching the floor.”

“Guys!”

They heard Thomas’s voice this time.

And so, in a heat of the moment decision, Virgil gently but quickly lifted the bean out of his hood, handed him to Logan, and sank down.

“I’ll come up with an excuse!”

_________________________

Logan sighed, and looked to the petite prince now in his arms.

“No he won’t.”

The scaled-down side nodded his head in agreement.

Logan smiled at him and with a quick flick of the wrist, summoned a book.

It was a small picture book with a few words littered throughout.

The nerd knew that normal fifteen month olds would not be able to read at all, but they weren’t exactly real, and so didn’t follow the ‘natural process’ of aging accurately.

Roman squealed as the book landed in front of him, a golden light illuminating his tiny features.

Wait a… gold light? Where is that coming from?

Very odd.

A few moments later the princely side, after being few pages in, started humming.

And then there were birds.

And rabbits.

And squirrels.

And deer.

Where are all of these coming from? Should I be concerned?

Logan stared incredulously at the child, who didn’t seem to notice his new company.

Curious.

…

And then the humming stopped.

Logan, who had summoned his own book to read, looked up to see a frown on the youthful side’s face as he seemingly struggled to read a word.

“Do you require any assistance?”

The royal shook his head fiercely.

“No! Prin’s don’ nee ‘elp!”

Oh. Oh dear.

“Why not?” Logan decided to say, in a deliberately soft voice.

“B-b-bi’ me!”

Big him?

Logan was tempted to get another side’s help, but decided against it.

He could help the child himself.

“You should never be ashamed of needing help, Roman. Everyone needs it sometimes, even me.”

Roman looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“Rea’y?”

Logan smiled.

“Yes, your highness, it is true.”

The miniscule royal frowned.

“Bi’ me ner g’elp…”

Logan was having a tough time translating.

“Big you never wanted to get help?”

The prince shook his head.

“Go’ elp.”

“Big you never got help?”

Roman nodded.

Did he not?

“How come?”

“Asd, bu no.”

“He asked but no?”

The royal nodded again.

That is quite concerning.

“No’n elp ‘im, so no nee’ elp!”

Logan really needed a dictionary.

“No one helped him, so ‘no need help’?”

“Ee d-d’ided no nee’ elp.”

“He decided he didn’t need help?”

“Ya!”

Well.

Logan definitely needed to have a long, possibly uncomfortable discussion with the rest of the sides.

As Virgil would so eloquently put it, ‘We fucked up.”

_______________________

In Remus’s room, the day before…

Remus had joined the conversation with Logan and Patton after Virgil and his RoBro left.

He had also found out everything that had happened.

And he was not happy.

_______________________

Janus was happy.

Very happy, in fact.

The slimy snek boy knew it had literally been a day since it happened, but still.

He had gotten accepted!

He had revealed his name!

And it was great. Extremely freeing to know that he finally had nothing more to fear.

Except Roman. Except Virgil.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

He was Denial after all.

No one has spoken to you since then. Not even Patton.

He pushed those away too.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

You were too harsh.

He forced out a smirk and ignored it.

All he did was call your name stupid.

Happy. Happy.

He didn’t even mean it. You know when people are lying, and he was.

Happy.

He didn’t mean it, but you did.

Jesus Christ Superstar!

All Janus wanted was to be happy and feel nice feelings after being accepted!

These thoughts were pushing through an indestructible wall of denial, something only Remus could d-

Remus.

You and I are going to have a problem.

____________________

In Remus’s room, the day before…

Patton had been happy to chat with Remus as well as Logan, (or so he told himself) and so when the Duke had asked what had happened with him and Roman, he had been fine with telling him.

Well, would have been.

Logan had interjected before the moral side had had a chance to open his mouth, and Patton inwardly shrugged and listened.

It seemed so much worse when you put it like that.

And so when he had seen Remus’s stormy expression, he had been worried.

Well, shit.

______________________

Thank you for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

Another competitor has joined the arena!

Also before you say (if anyone was going to say anything) ‘oh my god! Patton swore!’ I personally do hc Patton as someone who swears. Not like ‘oh god’ or anything like that, but since Thomas swears, I think all of the sides do.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders sides #tss #the petite prince #roman sanders #baby roman #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #im probably going to add remy #not as a side #but you'll see

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maybankiara · 4 years

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PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

10: BAD DAY, HUH?

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 3k

a/n: ah. the bittersweet taste of our own flaws. -- probably addie in this chapter tbh. basically marianne being very british and making addie Question Everything, as best friends do

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

Virgin Mary | 3:47pm so the gang is planning a night out this week, you free saturday?

Me | 5:07pm why this saturday? Me | 5:07pm is it someone’s birthday?? Me | 5:07pm pls say no

Virgin Mary | 5:08pm Tom’s is in two weeks and you better not forget that

Me | 5:08pm ffs marianne i won’t

Virgin Mary | 5:09pm you better not bitch I need your help with the present Virgin Mary | 5:09pm can’t give my boy anything less than perfection

Me | 5:10pm wow what a way to not put pressure in your about-to-burst-from-stress friend

Virgin Mary | 5:11pm you mean my overdramatic friend? Virgin Mary | 5:11pm get your hole and you’ll be fine

Me | 5:11pm MARIANNE

Virgin Mary | 5:12pm BITCH WHAT Virgin Mary | 5:12pm you need to shag Virgin Mary | 5:12pm when’s the last time you got your hole

Me | 5:13pm I’m busy okay i don’t want a boyfriend rn

Virgin Mary | 5:14pm so that’s totally why I’ve been hearing about Holden for the past three months 👀

Me | 5:15pm you do realise we work at the same place right Me | 5:15pm i can’t just hook up with a guy i have to see every day for at least 8 hours

Virgin Mary | 5:16pm fucking hell you’re a tuff nut

Me | 5:17pm go make me some tea pls Me | 5:17pm I’m home in 20 and I’ve got some late emails

Virgin Mary | 5:17pm whatever bitch Virgin Mary | 5:18pm you’re a freaking workaholic Virgin Mary | 5:18pm shag Holden

Me | 5:19pm shut up Me | 5:19pm ur blocked ❤

Virgin Mary | 5:20pm so are you free on saturday or not? Virgin Mary | 5:33pm ur cancelled❤

◇

The music coming from their apartment is loud enough that Addie hears it as she walks up the staircase. She can’t distinguish the song, but the beat’s there, and she’s either imagining Marianne singing along, or it’s actually happening. One is just as likely as the other.

It gets louder when Addie walks through the door, and she figures it’s safe to assume it’s her friend rather than her imagination. The door closes behind her, sound swallowed by whatever rock song Marianne is blasting through the speaker – this is what Addie is used to.

She leaves her purse on the drawer at the side of the hallway, one that’s filled with trinkets they’ve got nowhere else to put, and she hangs the raincoat right next to it. Her shoes are the next to come off – the loss of the three inches that the burgundy platforms come with comes as soon as she steps out of them. Her feet are grounding her on the floor, now, and a moment’s break is all she gives herself. It’s peace after a tedious day of relentless work; it’s the calm from the scent of cinnamon candles, Earl Grey tea, and the dish Marianne is making that smells very Italian – this feels like home.

Addie makes her way to the kitchen. Her roommate is singing her heart out to music coming from the speaker on the round table, stirring whatever’s in the pot in front of her. Marianne doesn’t notice her come in, so Addie walks over to the speaker and tunes it down, low enough for them to talk.

‘Honey, I’m home!’

Marianne turns around with a big smile on her face. Her ginger hair is pulled into a high ponytail, loose from what Addie assumes must’ve been a kitchen concert. This is paired with sweats and a loose crop top, and Marianne’s demeanour is enough to tell her she’s ready to tackle the weekend ahead of them.

‘Honey, welcome home’’ She points behind Addie. ‘There’s your tea. I’m making lasagna and it’ll be ready in about half an hour.’

‘Shit, I've actually been craving that today.'

The girl goes back to stirring the pot, swaying her hips to the tune of the music. ‘Sixth sense, Addie. Bruce Willis had it right.’

‘I told you that movie creeps me out!’

‘It’s a masterpiece and you’re a pussy.’

Instead of a reply, Addie huffs with an eye roll, taking a sip from the cup. It’s midnight blue with a quote from one of the books Marianne likes, imported straight from the British Isles. The colour is faded on the holding part of the mug, but it remains the girl’s favourite mug despite a variety of prettier, newer mugs she’s acquired over the time.

Marianne is simple. She’s got things she loves and doesn’t stray from that.

They chat for a bit, Marianne preparing the lasagna to go into the oven and Addie drinking her tea. Addie learns that the firm Marianne is interning for has gotten a new project for a family home on the outskirts of Atlanta and the interns are being allowed to try out their hand at designing it, and the firm will end up critiquing their work and possibly giving one of them the chance to have their design turned into reality.

It’s an exciting thing – the most Marianne has gotten in the past three months of working there.

The lasagna is put into the oven and Addie announces her shower time, and promises Marianne she better tell her about her day after she scrubbed off all that reminds her of the office. Taking her contact lenses out and getting into the shower after a long day is the one feeling Addie cherishes more than just the arrival home in itself. Her showers are long, with steam rising and fogging up the blurred glass sides of the shower and the mirror in the bathroom.

When she gets out of the bathroom, she’s wearing an outfit that mirrors her roommate’s. Her hair’s wet and wrapped into an old T-shirt, basking in a curl-defining product she got the other day. She’s got a facemask on, too, and Marianne sighs at the sight of it.

‘Bad day, huh?’

Addie walks up to the counter beside the oven, taking out some cutlery and begins to set the table. ‘I envy you. All your bosses are so self-absorbed that they don’t even notice you guys. Mine are self-absorbed and narcissistic, so we get all the work nobody can be fucked with.’

Marianne taps on the table with the fork she’s just been given. ‘No swearing, missy.’

The brunette raises an eyebrow, trying to figure out if her roommate is joking. Then she remembers her resolution from a few days ago -- “I will swear less because I’m not a fucking sailor.” “That’s a quarter in the jar, Miss.”

‘Whatever,’ mutters Addie. She places the last of the dishes on the table and plops into the chair across from her roommate, resting her head in her hands. ‘I’m so tired of Harrington. The divorce isn’t going well because his ex has actually got a brain, which he hadn’t anticipated, and now he’s literally just throwing the worst shit at us. And to complete it, Patty is just being her regular cruel self.’

‘That’s horrible.’ Marianne scrunches her nose. ‘That’s also three quarters now.’

‘I’m allowed to say shit!’

‘Well, you’re the one who decided to swear less.’

‘Saying shit isn’t swearing. It’s basically a normal word.’

The look Marianne gives her is full of friendly scorn. Addie sighs and fishes three quarters out of her wallet that’s on the table—she can’t believe saying “shit” alone cost her two quarters—and throws them into the jar that's on the part of the table closest to the wall. There’s hardly anything in it, but Addie reckons that’s more because of the fact that she’s hardly both home and awake anymore, as opposed to her not swearing a lot.

Marianne walks over to the oven, checking the lasagna. She pulls the door open and hot air fills the small space, alongside the smell of a beautifully done Italian dish – or Addie is just really hungry.

‘Patty made Holden and I work on a budget plan for some Grubson’s subdivision upstate. We did budgeting. He majored in finance and I majored in economics and we’re doing damn accounting.’

‘You’re interning for a law firm,’ notes Marianne, putting oven mittens on. ‘You shouldn’t expect to do exactly what you want to do.’

Addie’s lip curls into a bitter grin. Her friend is right, and she knows it and she hates that this is what her career has come to -- wasting her actual talents because the industry is shitty as it is. She’s got to put in triple the effort her white male colleagues do, and even then, her brilliance is hardly registered.

The lasagna is on the table. Marianne gives each of them a piece and Addie fills their glasses with some Coca Cola-ripoff they got at Tesco. The music from the speaker changes to something more dinner-appropriate.

‘This looks delicious, Marianne.’

‘It better be. Took me nearly three damn hours.’

Both girls blow on their slice before taking it, and both of them still end up having to half-blow through the food while it’s in their mouths, bursting into laughter as they watch one another struggle.

‘I don’t know what’s your excuse,’ says Addie, having finally swallowed the piece, ‘but mine is that I’m absolutely starving.’

Marianne pretends to chuck some food at her. ‘My excuse is that I invested a lot of time in this.’

‘Fair. It’s amazing.’

At this, the girl beams with happiness, and Addie can’t hold back a smile even as she struggles through the heat of another piece, her stomach grumbling.

‘Anyway, it’s shit. It got so bad today that I ended up spending nearly all of my time with Holden— No, hush, I’m not having it— Seriously, Marianne, we’re literally work colleagues!’ Addie sighs in exasperation, one finger raised in the last effort at getting her friend to stop nagging her about her colleague.

Marianne pouts, then gives away an innocent shrug. ‘All I’m saying is that there’s something there.’

All Addie can do is roll her eyes and focus on the plate in front of her. Her fork pierces through the lasagna with a little too much force than warranted, and the brunette concludes that’s enough to show how irritated Marianne got her.

Despite her hardest attempts at denying it, Marianne’s kind of got a point. Addie’s been at the internship for over three months now and it’s not like she has gotten close with anyone – at least, not enough to call them friends. Her career and education have always taken the priority over friends and temporary relationships, and it’s never hurt her in any way. Sure, she might’ve been lonely from time to time, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t end up with great friends, regardless.

With the internship and a Master’s degree to work on, Addie doesn’t really have time for personal connections that won’t last.

Addie shakes the thought out of her head. The lasagna bit is steaming in her mouth and Marianne rolls her eyes, but it eases the tension between the two.

‘There’s nothing between us, Marianne,’ says Addie, once her mouth isn’t burning anymore. ‘We’re a good team. Patty and Harrington noticed that we get more done than any other teams.’

‘So there’s work chemistry. You don’t have that with just about every other person, Addie. Especially not you.’

Especially not Addie, who likes to have her work done at specific times of the day, filing it in a specific way, handling her responsibility like a drop of water. Again, Marianne’s got a point.

‘Plus, he’s pretty good looking.’

The memory of showing Marianne pictures of Holden makes her chuckle. ‘You flipped out. I was scared for Tom.’

‘Please,’ scoffs Marianne, waving her hand. ‘There’s no one better than Tom. But after I spent a whole month listening to how well you’re getting on with this Holden guy, how much better it’s to work with him than other people, how much he’s helped you join the group… How else was I supposed to react when I found out that he’s a hot piece of blonde-hair blue-eyes?’

‘I just…’ Addie’s fork moves some of the lasagna around the plate. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think he’s hot.’

Marianne huffs. ‘All I’m saying is, don’t write him off.’

‘I’m not writing him off. I just don’t have the time to focus on anything romantic right now.’

‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ Marianne finishes the last of her slice and puts her fork down, leaning back in the chair. ‘Addie, you’re the most organised person I know. You never have a problem making it to any of the things our group organises, so why do you always say you don’t have time to hang out with people from work?’

For a few moments, the only sounds in the kitchen/dining area are whatever’s coming out of the speaker, Addie’s work scratching the bottom of the plate, and her chewing.

She knows Marianne’s got a point, again. It’s starting to annoy her.

‘Things are good the way they are,’ she finally says, the admission heavy across her lips. ‘I get closer to any of them, it’ll become more difficult to point out what they’ve done wrong, or do my own work if I want to know about their day. It’s already difficult enough with Holden, and we’re just friends.’

‘That’s different. You want to shag him.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Are you seriously trying to deny the fact that you’re attracted to someone who looks like a damn nineties movie star?’

Addie grunts, burying her face in her hands. ‘Fine. He’s hot.’

There’s a pregnant pause and when she finally dares look at Marianne, the girl has a tired smile on her face. She knows this look -- a combination of I told you so and I could be your therapist, you don’t need to pay for one.

‘What.’

Marianne taps her hand, her smile widening. ‘I know your career means a lot to you, but you’ve got to loosen up. You’re going to burn out.’

‘Everybody burns out.’

‘Yeah, but you’re gonna do it at, like, thirty.’

Not dignifying this with a response, Addie rises to her feet, taking her plate and Marianne’s, then stacks the cutlery on top. She’s acutely aware of Marianne waiting for a reaction, even if she doesn’t want to give her one. Instead, she gets to washing the dishes. Running water drowns out the tension easily enough for it to slip into the back of her mind.

She hears Marianne’s chair let out a squeak a moment later. Her ginger hair appears in the corner of Addie’s eye, and she sees her put the uneaten half of the lasagna into the fridge, wrapped up in aluminium foil. When finished, Marianne rests against the counter with the small of her back.

Neither of the girls says anything. Addie is trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that’s trying to convince her Marianne is right.

She sets the washes dishes aside, letting them air dry on the dish rack.

‘All I meant was that you could go out with them, for a change, not turn your life upside down,’ says Marianne. ‘Just think about it.’

Addie presses her lips together. ‘Okay. I’ll think about it.’

‘Great! Anyway, you need to come out with us on Saturday. Leanne spent fifteen minutes of our coffee date today just freaking out over the fact that you met Drew Starkey.’ A beat. ‘She binged Outer Banks yesterday.’

‘I can’t believe my life is finally interesting to you guys.’ Addie puts away the last of the dishes and wipes her hands with a kitchen towel, smiling. ‘All it took was meeting an actor.’

Marianne pushes herself up on the counter, grinning like a fox. ‘It’s not just that you met him, Addie. It’s been three months and you still talk.’

‘Not really. We haven’t talked in’—she counts the days in her head—‘about two weeks.’

‘Oh, so you haven’t talked since he read your essay and shared it to his hundreds of thousands of followers and said how much he liked it?’

‘Nope.’

The sigh Marianne lets out is pure exasperation. Addie walks out of the kitchen and the girl follows suit, bringing the speaker along. Both of them plop on the couch as they usually do for half an hour after dinner, before going each to their own studying sessions. Deciding to room with Marianne, who’s currently also doing an internship and a Master’s degree (in architecture), was one of the best decisions Addie has ever made.

Except for the times when Marianne is awfully nosy for a Brit – must be the French part of her.

With her legs criss-crossed and an arm draped over the back of the couch, Marianne is in her element. ‘That is not your average celebrity interaction.’

‘I know.’

‘So you’re telling me you’re not trying to get on that?’

‘On what?’ asks Addie, feeling her irritation levels steadily rising again. ‘Jesus, Marianne. I’m not trying to get with every guy who’s good-looking and nice to me. We share some opinions on social media and whatnot, he agreed with them. It’s not that big of a deal.’

‘So you’re saying you wouldn’t shag him if you had the chance?’

Addie looks away. Her cheeks are hot and body is on fire, and she’s had more than enough of Marianne’s attitude today, and that’s on top of already having had a pretty fucking shitty day in the first place.

‘You can’t be ser—’

‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

She grabs her phone and, absentmindedly, checks her Instagram notifications – none. The feeling in her stomach intensifies and she opens up her work group chat instead, and curses herself for hoping that maybe there’d be a specific person in her messages.

Maybe Marianne isn’t that far off.

◇

11: WELCOME TO MY LIFE

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby @taiter-tots @sacredto @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @sacredto @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129 @starlightstories

#drew starkey #drew starkey fic #outer banks #obx #phone swap series

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aspiratixxn · 5 years

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Wiggles and wriggles and wounds, oh my!

Summary: Tony really wants to say fuck but he can’t in front of one insistently wiggly red spider boy.

Warnings: Blood and injuries.

Word Count: 1877

Notes: For @jalapenobarnes‘s writing challenge! I know I just signed up but I sort of just churned this out because it was fun to write and because I’m avoiding my two other fics heh. My prompt was “I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”, which just screamed Tony attempting to parent injured Peter.

🚫 Starkers don’t interact 🚫

“Will you PLEASE STOP THE WIGGLINGS.” Tony can’t curse because Peter is a child and he’s really trying to cut the habit for the press, but he so wants to say fuck right now. Like really, really wants to say fuck.

The cause of said desire is of course one grievously injured Peter Parker, who’s normally fluffy hair is slick with red and he wheezes with every breath. The wheezing is less concerning when it’s because Peter’s laughing at his own stupid jokes, coming out in a pour of words.

“B-but Mr. S-Stark,” he giggles, “I’m a SPIDER! We wiggle!” And to prove his point, he wiggles a little bit even though it makes him wince from all the gashes on his body.

Tony has been blessed with multiple kids in his life. But between Harvey, Morgan and Peter, he can finally feel his age catching up with him.

To combat the raging headache beginning to bud in the back of his head, Tony does a categorical assessment of the situation. Peter’s spider suit is torn to pieces pretty much. It’s not really salvageable so he’ll strip it for parts for the next suit. Friday and Karen do a scan and reveal some pretty heavy bruising and fractured bones but no internal bleeding or compound fractures (thank fuck). Peter’s weirdo heal factor is already plugging itself in so those will be gone in a day or two. Peter himself on the other hand refuses to stop talking or moving for even a minute and he’s babbling something about how spiders spin their webs and how they walk and how their legs bend. Who knows who spider’s legs bend?? Peter Parker that’s who.

“I am. Trying. To stop. The bleeding! So, if you’ll just be a good little spider and lie still for your flies or whatever you drain the goo out of, that’d be amazing. Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful.” Tony has never felt more grateful that he has an entire med kit packed into his suit as he’s spraying Neosporin on basically every inch of Peter’s body. If he could, he might be tempted to slam dunk the kid into a whole pool of the stuff. There is to be no infections on his watch. Not after the shit he experienced in Hong Kong a few months ago. That was absolutely horrible for a regular person, who’s to say what it’ll do to Peter who can’t take painkillers or antibiotics?

“Ewwww, goo? Goo’s gross. I mean I know spiders dissolve the guts of flies and other various small insects, and sometimes male spiders but like, what do you think it’s like to just slurp goo every day for food?” Peter makes a face, interrupted briefly by the sting that the spray brings. “But I guess it’s the buggy way since flies do it too. Hey Mr. Stark, did you know that flies secrete enzymes through their feet and they drink through their feet? Or that butterflies eat flesh? Did you know that?”

Deep breaths Stark.

“I did not but you know what, of everything I sure am glad you weren’t bitten by a butterfly. Or a fly. Or any other enzyme foot secreting insect.” It’s onto the wrapping even though the worst of the lacerations are already starting to look a little better. Tony whips out a sleeve of gauze and several rolls of bandages to begin wrapping around the more severe oozing cuts, mostly located on his arms and legs though there’s quite the nasty one on his chest. Peter snorts as he begins, fingers fumbling just a bit. He’s really not good at this. His forte is more like slapping on an Avengers band-aid on Morgan’s everyday scrapes, bumps and bruises. Pepper’s the real patcher-upper. She’s off in Thailand right now though, enjoying some mangoes and a very stubborn board of directors, insisting on cutting all funds to the avengers/S.H.I.E.L.D initiative.

“It’s not enzyme foot secretions! It’s an enzyme secreting foot!” Peter huffs. “And I mean yeah this spider stuff is pretty cool y’know especially for sneaking out and stuff like walking on walls is the bomb diggity but wouldn’t it be cool if I could fly?! Imagine that!!” That’s one arm down.

“First of all, spider boy, as long as you’re not secreting enzymes on the carpet it’s fine. You know how Pepper gets about her rugs.” Peter nods solemnly, apparently remembering the Jell-O goo incident on her nice Persian rug. “Secondly, have you been sneaking out? You know how I feel about you breaking curfew young man.” And it’s a pretty generous one in his mind, at the exact stroke of midnight. Hey if Cinderella gets that much then it’s good enough for his little pumpkins to roll home and go to sleep. Peter shrugs and suddenly has the urge to look at everything else, the smoldering buildings and piles of debris, instead of meeting Tony’s eyes. He’s even mumbling YMCA to keep from saying stupid things. Oh how they grow without his notice. He sighs, thinking he’ll have to update the protocol again. Or possibly reinstall it, given Peter’s previous compulsions to just uninstall the fucking programs. Having finished the other arm, he moves onto the quickly wrap up the bits and bangs on Peter’s legs. “Third, who says bomb diggity anymore? You’re way too young to even know that term.”

“What! No way Mr. Stark, some of my favorite stuff to say is like, bomb diggity and radical! It’s a renaissance of 90’s slang.” And there’s that big, toothy smile he gives when he’s trying to butter up and get himself out of trouble. Ha! Tony’s installed a Notepad of things Peter does that are bad protocol to make sure he and Pete have some talks about things like this. Sure his old man brain might get flooded with other stuff but ever faithful Friday will remind him of it later.

The last bit requires Peter to strip off the remnants of his suit, which is going to be a bit of a problem considering Peter has a case of the jelly limbs right now. As in he’s so exhausted and beat up that his body has effectively said nope! to any form of movement that isn’t wiggling in place and being pushed around gently. So it’s the old scissors trick (not a trick) and Tony just uses some super duper ultra sharp scissors to gently cut through the wires and fabric of Peter’s suit. Peter moans a small complaint (I liked this suit Mr. Stark) but Tony’s more worried about the still dribbling tear that crosses his chest.

Peter heals like there’s no tomorrow, something that Tony only wishes he could have sometimes. But still this one looks like it might scar, especially given the kid’s habit of picking at scars. But for now all he can really do is wrap it up and-

Boss. Friday’s soothing voice chimes up and as soothing as he’s made it out to be, after radio silence all this time Tony nearly shits himself. It appears that Mr. Parker will need stitches for this one.

Aw, fuck.

Well Tony is garbage with a needle and thread so there’s no way he’s going to be doing those stitches. In fact Peter is normally the one sewing so this poses a slight problem. He doesn’t want to move the kid, who’s mumbling now about 1950’s fashion (again, who knows about these things?? Peter). And forget ambulances since they take forever to do anything and that’s not really Tony’s style in the first place.

There’s a nearby clinic, about a quarter mile away boss. Ah Friday, ever so helpful lovely Friday.

A quarter mile isn’t that bad, he reasons to himself. Even he, with his emaciated lungs, can get that far without the suit so it should be a cinch to do it in the suit right? Even with a hundred sixty four (that’s 164) pound child in his arms.

Now the real question is how to get Peter there. He’s started to sing drinking songs (he’s not even old enough to drink yet why does he know these??) and is kind of waving his arms around. Well, it’s probably not because of blood loss because Karen, and by extension Friday, would’ve let him know. The easiest thing to do would just be to scoop up the lil spider and princess carry/fly him there and pass it off to a real professional. But a part of Tony really hesitates because what if that hurts him? He’s not really known to fly slow so what if the jet propulsion opens up new words or the turbulence in-flight causes him to shift shards of bone from his fractured humerus or what if! Peter decides to start dancing to his singing!

There’s a twinge behind his eyes and he groans, pressing the heel of his palm into them. Okay. So logically none of those things will happen. Peter’s a sturdy kid. But also, Tony’s not really well versed on all this stuff. He almost tells Friday to flip a coin, carry or fly him there, but his rational brain finally takes over. It kicks his parent panic to the corner and makes him scoop up Peter, delicately of course, and take a low flying (above tree tops because they’re not getting whacked on the way to the doctor) course to the clinic, where the nurse’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She stammers her way through the paperwork process. Peter is seen immediately by an older physician, who simply collects him and brings him back without much fuss.

Which leaves Tony to deal with the flustered nurse who literally looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle on the floor. To be fair it is 3:47 AM so this is probably a little extreme for night-time injuries. Tony mindlessly scrawls information on the papers passed to him, wrinkling his nose at the insurance one.

Strictly speaking Peter isn’t part of his insurance. But Tony quickly dismisses that, telling Friday to make a note to add him to the policy. Easily done, considering this is Tony Stark they’re working with.

The physician comes back out and ushers Tony into a room where Peter has finally knocked out, snoring on the cot like he wasn’t just painting a random street corner iron red. Tony has the good sense to sit down and try to untense his shoulder as the physician goes through lists of care items and thing, prescribing antibiotics which Tony knows won’t work. He just listens anyways, thanking her for her care and services. She says that he can take him home but in a car, not flying across the city in a suit. Probably a good idea.

He gets Friday to call Happy who is obviously very not happy about being woken up at this god forsaken hour of the night. He still grumbles that he’ll be there in ten, twenty minutes and hangs up and Tony groans once more, that headache bursting into a full-blown migraine. And he doesn’t have any ibuprofen because he forgot to restock it.

Under his breath, in the weird yellow limelight of the fluorescent bulbs above, he finally mutters a vehement, “Fuck.”

#Tony Stark #Peter Parker #irondad #marvel #mcu fanfic #blood tw #injury tw #saranschallenge #jalapenobarnes

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btsybrkr · 5 years

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Here’s A List Of Things I Hate

I've reached something of a mental block recently when it comes to writing. I think it's because, despite sometimes coming off like I'm mocking things or just being a general smart-arse, I usually write about things I genuinely love. I love The Apprentice. I love Come Dine With Me. I love the idea that the Saturday night schedule, currently occupied on ITV1 by The Masked Singer - a horrifying cross between The Voice and a recurring nightmare I had between the ages of 6 and 8 - might one day be livened up by a post-apocalyptic The X Factor-style talent show in which we choose the next Prime Minister from a roster of Average Joe’s that just feel like giving it a bash.

I usually have lots to say about things I love, but recently, for some reason, I’m struggling to even think of anything that I love enough to write about. Maybe I’m being dragged down by the fact that this January alone seemed to last three long months, or perhaps because January itself included ‘Blue Monday’, the so-called ‘most miserable day of the year’. Maybe it's neither of things, maybe I’m just suffering from a bad case of The Realisation That We And Everything That We Do Are All, In The End, Meaningless, And That Every Day, We Are Collectively Hurtling Closer And Closer Towards The Endless Void And There Is Nothing That Any Of Us Can Do To Stop It. There's probably a snappier name for that, but you know what I mean. In any case, I’m just finding it much easier to think about things I hate recently.

Anyway, what do we do with these feelings of negativity to get rid of them once and for all? We express them. So, for anyone willing to read it, here’s a list of things I hate.

Stephen Mulhern

ITV mainstay Stephen Mulhern arguably belongs on television - not for any positive reason, just because it’s only the barrier of television between him and the viewer that allows him to appear as a cheerful friendly presence, rather than an insufferable know-it-all prick, whose repeated condescending glances to the camera during interviews with rejected Britain’s Got Talent contestants just wouldn’t fly in real life. I mean, really, imagine you were having a conversation with someone, and they reacted to something you said by looking off into the distance, à la Fleabag, with an expression that quite clearly reads “This person is an idiot!! Laugh, everyone!! Laugh at the idiot!!” You know what, Stephen? You’re the idiot. But I won’t laugh at you, because then you might think that you’re funny, and I’m just not having that.

Coleslaw

I saw a tweet years ago that said “what was the first person to milk a cow thinking?”, and honestly, it raises a very good question. I can only imagine that there was some perverted ulterior motives at play, for someone to not only milk the cow’s udders in the first place, but then to drink it, at a time when that just wasn’t done. They must have been a pretty nefarious character, it almost doesn’t bear thinking about. Instead, I’d like to question the motives of the even dodgier character who first looked at grated carrots, cabbage and onions, and thought ‘You know what might really tie these bland individual tastes together? Mayonnaise. A fuckload of it.’

You know what, though? It's not the existence of coleslaw that confuses me the most about it - it's the popularity of it. It has pride of place on the table at every family buffet, it’s disappointingly included in otherwise-appealing wraps in the Boots meal deal fridge, and it's an option on the menu in a shocking majority of takeaways, despite the fact that nobody has ever emerged, staggering and bleary-eyed from Walkabout at 3:30am and thought ‘I could absolutely murder some coleslaw’. Most annoying of all is the way some restaurants chuck a bit of paprika in the mix and use it as an excuse to rename it ‘POW POW GROOVY SLAW’, or something equally ridiculous. Why are we trying to sex up a bowl of vegetables covered in mayonnaise? I can't think of anything less sexy, and I don't particularly want to try.

Let's face it, coleslaw has long overstayed its welcome. It's the last stubborn hanger-on from the pages of stomach-churning 1970s dinner party cookbooks (probably found somewhere between the recipes for spinach and tuna pie and a boiled, unglazed joint of ham suspended in gelatine), and it's time we admitted that and stage a renaissance for the real king of the veg/mayo combo. Rise, Sir Potato Salad - your rule has begun.

Facebook

I recently deleted Facebook off my phone, and immediately noticed an improvement in the overall quality of my life. I promise I don’t mean this in the typical ‘phone bad, book good’ way that fake-’woke’ holier-than-thou characters preach about (usually on Facebook itself, ironically). I still happily waste away hours of my life on Twitter, and Instagram, the latter of which arguably has the most negative influence on my brain out of all the social networks. The thing with Facebook is that it doesn’t necessarily have a negative influence on my brain, so much as it has no influence on any part of me whatsoever. Facebook is a vacuum. It's completely, entirely pointless. In fact, it’s where ‘point’ itself goes to die.

Considering there’s probably no two Facebook users out there with the exact same friends list, I'm willing to bet that everybody’s News Feed looks eerily similar. Every scroll through is the same - a former workmate announcing a pregnancy, someone you forgot about from school sharing a vague, ‘deep’ quote about their hurt feelings, an elderly relative you didn't realise was racist until literally right now, when they began sharing posts from a page eloquently titled ‘MUSLIMS!! it is TIME to go HOME so we can have BRITAIN BACK’, or something along those lines. If you ever have nothing better to do - although, I'm sure there is always something, anything, better to do - just set a timer, open up Facebook, and see how long it takes before you come across a single thing that genuinely resonates with you in any positive way at all. I just redownloaded Facebook to try it for myself, and it took me 46 minutes.

Sound like a lie? Well, to be fair, it is. But there's more truth in that than almost anything you'll see on Facebook.

Those Slush Puppy Straws With Tiny Spoons On The End

Plastic straws are on their way out, and quite rightly. The Sea Turtle Conservancy estimate that around half the world’s sea turtles have ingested plastic, and straws are believed to have accounted for a lot of that. With everything you read or learn about the effect of straws on the environment, it's surprising that it's taken this long for us to do something about it.

With that said, it's not just the turtles that are benefitting from the rise of the paper straw - I'm pretty pleased about it as well. Why? Because using paper instead of plastic might mean that we stop manufacturing those evil straws with tiny spoons on the end of them.

Yes, evil. How many times have you been enjoying a Slush Puppy on a hot summer’s day, only to realise you can't get to the bits at the bottom of the cup, because your straw inexplicably has a spoon on the end of it. What's that for? A Slush Puppy is a drink, and spoons are for eating things with. “It's for eating the delicious bits of vaguely-flavoured ice after you've sucked up all the syrup”, you might say, but then why? Mojitos are made with crushed ice, but you wouldn't go up to the barman and go "excuse me, mate, you forgot to give me a spoon so I could eat all these delicious bits of vaguely-minty ice", would you?

Anyway, you can't suck up all the syrup in the first place when the bottom of your straw just isn't a straw. This a problem we usually solve by holding the cup above our mouths and giving the bottom of the cup a gentle tap, usually sending the rest of it falling out of the cup and all over your face, shirt, anywhere but your mouth, faster than you can say “I can't believe I’m 23 years old and writing an angry blog about straws with tiny spoons on the end”. Another solution we often resort to is turning the straw upside down, which, in my experience, always leads to cutting the roof of your mouth on the tiny spoon that you were never going to use in the first place. No wonder it took us so long to show a bit of sympathy for the turtles - we've been ignoring our own straw-related injuries for years, probably just because we think it makes us look hard.

As far as I'm concerned, spoons are for food, and straws are for liquids. That's why, whenever I order soup in a café, I always ask for a straw. Yes, I get looks from the other customers, but I'm sure they aren't looks of amusement or confusion - everyone else just wishes they'd thought of it first.

Ladybirds

Ladybirds aren't cute. They are not ‘nice’ bugs. They are beetles, in a quirky disguise, who can also fly. With all that in mind, why are we taught to like them? Why do people spot one land on your clothes, or in your hair, and cheerfully announce “oh, there’s a ladybird on you!”, as if you’ve somehow been chosen by the ladybird and should feel honoured. Get it off me now, because I don’t know what it’s going to do! Don’t tell me that it’s ‘harmless’ and that I’m ‘overreacting’. We thought that cigarettes were ‘harmless’ before the mid-60s, cheerfully puffing our way through life, with one in each hand at any given moment, as we watched our darling babies speak their first words, which were usually something along the lines of “alright, mate, 20 Sterling Dual, please” - but then we learned. We learned that they weren’t as harmless as we first thought. And believe me when I tell you that, one day, we’ll reach the same conclusion about ladybirds. Just as soon as we find out exactly what they’re planning.

In fact, where have they gone? I haven’t seen one for a good while. Surely, they’re holed up in a specially designed lair somewhere, millions of them, carefully planning their next move in their efforts to overthrow the human race. Planning and watching. We may not be able to see them, but I’m willing to bet they have eyes on us. You know when you’re alone and you get the feeling there’s something or someone else present? It’s ladybirds. I’m sure of it. We need to watch our backs.

I’m not really sure where my fear of ladybirds has come from. Perhaps it’s down to a dream I’ve been having at least three times a year since I was a teenager, in which I’m leaving my Nan’s house and spot a ladybird the size of a Golden Retriever out in the alleyway, just sitting there, still and silent. I run around the corner to one of my friend’s houses, to warn him of the arrival of our ladybird overlords, but the entire front of his house is covered in millions of the things. I shout his name, up at an open window, and he replies that he’s coming down to open the door to me, but when he does, it isn’t him at all - it’s just a 6ft tall ladybird. I usually wake up in a cold sweat at that point, but when I try to go back to sleep, I can feel them crawling all over me.

I know I sound insane, but I promise you, I’m not - I just don't trust them, and I think that’s understandable.

Hate

If there's one thing I hate more than all the above, it's the very concept of hate itself. I don't just mean in a political or universal sense - although, I do agree the world might be a far better place if we all just hated each other a little bit less - hate has an effect on all our personal lives, too.

I'm really trying to make the most of my early twenties, and that means conserving what little energy I have left after I'm done working, drinking, and crying - just the usual daily activities that we all partake in - to be a little more productive. I can't be using that energy up on hate. In fact, in a scientific study that I've literally just made up, it was found that feeling hatred for even one fifth of a second uses up three times as much mental and physical energy as smiling at sixteen angry strangers, half of which are making fists at you. You can't argue with those sorts of statistics.

Anyway, I'm hoping to return to talking about things that make me feel a little more positive next time, because, besides anything, it's just nice to be nice, isn't it?

Not to Stephen Mulhern, though. He needs to learn his lesson.

If you like seeing me talking shit, but would rather it wasn't so bloody long, you can follow me on twitter here.

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hollands-poppet · 6 years

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Don’t Make Me Choose// Chapter 4

Mob!Tom Holland and Mob!Harrison Osterfield AU series

A/N: YOU GUYS! IT’S LITERALLY BEEN MONTHS SINCE I’VE POSTED! I’VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS CHAPTER FOR SO LONG, I THOUGHT I WAS NEVER GONNA GET IT OUT! BUT I’M SO HAPPY THIS IS COMING OUT. I LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH THAT I’M TRYING MY BEST TO FINISH IT. -AMY

Word Count: 4.3K 💛

Warnings: angsty, alcohol abuse, italics is flashback, I didn’t proofread this at all

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

playlist💛

For the past couple of weeks, Haz has been nervous to even be around his best friend and Y/N. He was nervous about randomly getting killed by his best friend because of what happened between him and his wife. The kiss that was shared between them was sacred at this point.

Harrison had spent the next couple of weeks Taking care of the hits that he was assigned and also going to therapy. I’m top of that he was stressed out that Y/N was going to tell Tom about what happened between them. But she also spared his life by not talking about it out loud in the kitchen a couple weeks ago. He knew that she wanted to protect him just as much as he wanted to protect himself.

It was wrong, the kiss was wrong. The thing that makes him question is mind is that he didn’t initiate the kiss itself. Y/N did. But she was also emotional and she was just acting on those emotions. Right?

Harrison type away on his laptop as he took notes on inventory that Tom needed that night.

And suddenly you got that it’s only always gets right underneath his throat. The itch that only meant that he wanted alcohol in his system. Fuck, he missed drinking so much. He licks his lip as he craves the taste of work on his tongue, and that’s when he remembers about his secret stash. And suddenly it’s like he became parched, he wanted some liquor.

He got from his office desk and started to snoop around his office. Harrison remembered hiding it in one of the cabinets when he hears someone clear their throat.

“I already threw out the booze, mate.” Tom remarks as he pulls out a post it note and begins to scribble some important things down. While the brunette is still looking down at his pen and paper, the blonde brings his hand into his palm and squeezes it tightly. His support group said it would be normal to want to relapse but it didn’t mean he should.

Before Tom rips the post it note from the stack, he looks up and notices that his friend is lost in thought and decides to break him out of his train of thought, “You alright mate? You’ve been acting strange lately..have you relapsed?”

And to be quite honest, Harrison wanted to relapse so fucking bad. To Haz drinking alcohol and the fact that he didn’t have it anymore was like taking him away from someone that he loved. Not like he wasn’t already experiencing already with an actual person but alcohol sure came close to that, it numbed so much pain and he really did love it.

In Tom’s defense though, his best friend was acting quite strange and it was a mixture of things. It was Harrison trying to build back everything from giving into his addiction. If he could he wouldn’t have picked up that old fashion that one night at the bar that Bella had bought him. That’s where his problem really began because that same night he witnessed Tom and Y/N have their first kiss.

Their first fucking kiss really triggered Harrison and the more he drank that night it helped him forget. Well, at least temporarily just like everything he tried to drown out with his booze.

Haz clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck with his palm, “No, mate. I’ve just…”

I’ve kissed your wife.

And then Haz couldn’t even finish his sentence because he really did almost let it slip. He just took a seat in the chair in front of Tom’s desk and he buried his face into his palms. It was like all these loose ends he thought he had cut off were coming back but he never tied them, just simply put them to the side.

Tom got up from his desk because he knew that his best friend was feeling some type of way. Little did he know that his best friend had a deeper secret than he knew. He makes his way to the blonde’s side and rests his palm on his shoulder, “Listen…” There is a beat and a sigh escapes his mouth before he continues, “I’m not being hard on you just to be an asshole...I’m honestly only protecting you from hurting yourself again.”

I’m still hurting.

Haz stops bouncing his anxious foot as he notices his friend’s genuine concern for him. It made him feel only worse about picking up drinking so heavily but he knew his best friend had his best interest in mind just as he always has. That’s why he also can’t help but feel even more terrible for doing this to Tom.

And thats when Tom’s conscience begins to bug him because he didn’t notice the signs sooner. The brunette clears his throat as he adjusts his tie, “Haz, I just want to tell you something.”

Once the blonde hears those words, his palms begin to dampen in sweat because he thinks that Tom is suspicious. He thinks that Tom knows about what happened between him and Y/N but he could just be paranoid. Unless.. Y/N happened to spill the beans about what happened between them but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with him the last interactions they had, he knew she was trying to protect him.

Tom leans forward from his desk and crosses his arms, “You know about Y/N…”

And Haz begins to pray in his head, he really thought Tom was going to shoot his brains out right here and right now. But that wasn’t going to happen, in fact the lead monster wanted to apologize to his friend.

But before he could, there was a knock on the door that almost startled Haz to immediately to jump up from his chair.

“Who is it?” Tom asks as he heads towards the door.

“James, sir.”

James was one of Tom’s main bodyguards, he was around but not really because he was always out on watch. And this was one of those moments that the head mobster knew it wasn’t good that he was knocking on the door. If he was, that meant bad news.

Y/N stares at herself in the life size mirror in her walk in closet, a beautiful off- the-shoulder sequin dress hangs on to her body tightly as she looks at herself over the shoulder.

“This dress is pretty basic compared to the one last year, Bella.” She says as she turns back at her friend who is sitting on the floor next to the 12 other dresses she’s already tried on.

“Well, this is all that Donatella was able to send in.” Bella purses her lips as she pulls out her phone, knowing that Y/N was going to make a request.

Y/N looks back in the mirror and contemplates the dress, “Can you see if Dior could possibly make something custom? Per the request of Tom Holland.”

And this was always the perk that Y/N loved about being married into the mob, her husband’s name could get her anything she needed.

Bella smirks as she begins to write it into her notes, “I’m sure they won’t mind doing this favor for Mrs.Holland.”

For some reason, that stung Y/N so much because she knew that she had cheated on her husband not too long ago. But why? Out of being upset? Or did she really truly love Haz? Was at an act out of spite for her and her husband’s pointless fight?

She didn’t know and she was on edge because she knew Bella and Haz had a thing or something like that. So, she didn’t even feel comfortable telling Bella anything and let alone Robyn because she would definitely spill the tea.

Y/N had to keep this secret to herself, and as insane as this sounds she knew she loved both of them...if that was even possible. But she couldn’t figure it out, she could never because it would only put her and Haz in danger.

It’s not like she didn’t love Tom, it was just another side of her emotions that she would never explore and maybe it was for the best. The universe brought her and Tom together for a reason.

“Y/N?”

And then Y/N is snapped out of it by her husband’s voice, and he is also accompanied by Haz who she has been trying to avoid since that night. The brunette makes his way towards her, “So, we’ve got a problem.”

Before he continues, he stops about in inch and inspects the dress for a quick second, “Is this the dress you’ll be wearing to the ball?”

Y/N lets out a small smile and turns back to the mirror, “No, it’s just not the vibe this year to be honest.” And she crosses her arms, biting her bottom lip in disapproval.

Tom creeps up behind her and wraps his arm around her waist, his fingertips slowly rubbing across her arms, “You still look gorgeous in it, darling.” His lips kissing her shoulder and his Chen resting right by her neck, it felt nice. This moment reminded her why she fell in love with him, his charm was everything.

She closes her eyes for what feels like forever because she’s so caught up that as soon as she opens them eye contact is made with Harrison. She could see the bitterness in his piercing blue eyes, his jaw clenching in jealousy.

At that point, Bella felt some time of need to excuse herself and even thought to take Haz our if there, “Harrison, can you help me with something?”

The blonde is knocked out of his trance by his on and off lover, “Yeah, no problem.” But he did have one, at least not with her.

Within seconds they were gone from the room, eye contact not being broken between Y/N and Haz til he was out of the room. Tom was too busy caressing his wife to even notice the eye contact in the mirror.

Y/N turns around still in Tom’s embrace, her hands crossing behind his neck with her fingers intertwined. “You said there was a problem, love?”

Tom leaves a kiss on her forehead and lets out a sigh, his lips pressing together tight.

“Remember that guy I dumped in the river about a few months ago?”

Y/N rolls her eyes and nods, “I mean, not my favorite memory but yes I do.”

Tom sighs as his hand starts to move up her waist, “Well, we unknowingly killed the son of my main enemy, love.”

Y/N pulls away, her hands still resting on his shoulders, “So what does that mean?”

Tom moves a hair strand out of her face and behind her ear, “It means that we need to be extra careful because we’re being watched. Harrison will be with you 24/7 when I’m not.”

Y/N immediately froze, she hasn’t been alone with Harrison for a long time..not since.. not since that kiss. It was going to be weird, so fucking weird.

“Are you alright, love?” Tom asks, he doesn’t even know what Y/N could even be worried about.

She bites her bottom lip, “you know, I can take care of myself.” And Tom knew that, he knew had married a tough, independent woman but he couldn’t take chances right now especially with a mob potentially just as dangerous as his.

“I know that darling but we can’t take the chance, I can’t risk losing you.” His hand caresses her cheek as he pulls their noses together, “I would never forgive myself if I lost you.”

Tom and Y/N’s eyes are locked as they both stare in deep into each other’s eyes. And this is how Y/N knew she was in love with Tom, the way he showed his love and the way he made love. She was a part of him now and if he she died, he died with her. She becomes a little choked up as she takes a small breath, “When are you gonna let me take care of you, hm?”

His hands pull her in closer, his grasp deep around her waist causing a chill down her spine, “Just promise me something, yeah?”

Y/N nods while their foreheads still touch, “Anything...what is it?”

“If anything happens to me, promise me you won’t mourn over me? You’ll move on, and even if I’m gone-”

In a second Y/N pulls away, the romantic moment over from the minute that Tom started speaking his thoughts, “No, nothing will!” Her voice rising a bit than before, “How can you say something like that?”

Tom runs his hand through his curls as one hand lays on his hip, “I just want to prepare you for the worse..you’re married to-”

“I know who I’m married to, and the person I’m married wouldn’t say these foolish things.” She begins to sob as the thoughts of even losing her husband flood her mind, she couldn’t believe this.

As she begins to release the water works, he approaches her “I’m not saying it’s actually going to happen, just if it does happen.”

Y/N stares at the ground as she contemplates his words, he was right. She knew who she did marry, a mobster who chased and was always being chased and being his wife came with that burden.

“No ifs, okay? Just don’t do that to me.” She moves into his arms again, “you can’t..you just can’t.”

Tom kisses her forehead and lifts up her chin, “I’ll never leave you.” His lips meet hers for the first time that day and they stay together like that for a moment.

Y/N and Tom made love that night, it was actually quite needed for both sides. And in fact, Y/N knew it was what she needed, it was more than confirmation of who she loved but it also opened her eyes to a lot of things.

And that first thing was talking to Harrison, and the thought of confronting him made her stomach turn every time because they were best friends. Although he was technically Tom’s best friend, there were times that Haz had been there for her when Tom wasn’t.

Not to make Tom sound like an asshole but just for random things for when he wasn’t there like taking her to the market, fixing up her makeup when it smeared or even just waking her up when she slept into late.

They got along so well and Y/N just shakes her head at the thought of even jeopardizing their friendship and lives for a second of lust. She runs a tube of a nude lipstick across her lips, her hair slicked back into a ponytail with a green dress that Tom picked out for her.

She didn’t have any other reason for getting ready was other the fact she was going to have tea and she planned to drink tea with Harrison. She needed to talk to him but she was so nervous that she needed some tea to calm her.

Y/N gets up from her vanity chair and begins to make her way out the door and the down the stairs. The outfit that Y/N chose to wear was a bit more than just casual but it was also besides the fact that always wanted to look good. She also wanted to live up to her husband’s style, and she really made an effort to look just expensive as him.

Anyway, she continued her way down the stairs and looked around below her, in search of her friend. Y/N could feel her palm sweating as her had slid down the banister, she knew what had happened between them was triggering this random sweat.

Haz casually sat in the garden of the Holland residence which he just so happened to live in and it wasn’t because he couldn’t afford his own place but he could never genuinely enjoy living on his own. The constant being called upon by Tom for jobs and quick hits always brought him back to his friends mansion. The two eventually came to an agreement for Harrison to just move instead because he was always there about 23 hours of the day.

Haz sits in his thoughts as he overlooks the sunflowers that are spread out over the green, full of life garden. He remembers so vividly the day that the sunflowers were being planted.

“But darling, sunflowers? It’s a little…lame.”

Y/N twirls in her nightgown that is covered by her robes followed by a silly eye roll, “But they represent happiness, Love.” She smiles as she gives a glance at her husband as she looks back at him from over her shoulder, the sun highlighting her cheekbones just perfectly.

Haz watches the two communicate from the distance, he could tell that his best friend was not vibing with the girly flowers but the blonde wasn’t opposed to them. He thought they quite nice actually, he continued to watch.

The brunette scratched behind his ear, “It’s just not my style.” Tom says as he begins to pull a cigar from his pocket, the disappointment that Haz could see from the side of her face as her back was faced to Tom really struck a chord in his heart. He knew that if he were husband that he would just suck it up but his friend was very opinionated.

“Mate, they’re already planted..you should just leave them.” Harrison interferes, causing Tom to stop lighting his cigar and staring back at his friend. Almost like a death stare and it was because no one ever talked back to him.

Tom locked his jaw and blew out a puff of smoke, “So, you think we should keep these flowers?”

Haz gulps as he looks at Y/N who is now staring back at him, and now back at Tom who is waiting for an answer, “I mean//everyone can use a little happiness sometimes...it could be good for your home.”

He takes a look back at Y/N who has a small smile across her face, she was happy that Haz had defended her flowers.

“Beautiful aren’t they?”

Haz turns around the moment that he hears the familiar voice that makes him melt each time, she sounded so perfect. He swallows nervously as he responds,”Very.”

Y/N smiles at his response and walks toward the table with tray of tea with milk and sugar, “Can I sit?”

He nods as the awkward silence continues to grow heavy in the air, he clears his throat as he tries to break it, “Please...sit.”

Y/N smiles as she sets down the tray of tea and

takes the seat across from him, “I remember the day you defended those flowers..” She pours herself a cup of tea as she reminisces about the memory, “They really do bring happiness, don’t they?”

Haz smiles as he adjusts his turtleneck and nods, “Yes.”

Y/N can tell that he is nervous so she decides to just come out and say what she feels. She sets down the pot of tea and intertwines her fingers, “Harrison, I know what happened between us was-”

His blue eyes widen because even mentioning anything out loud jeopardized their lives, “Y/N-”

“No, let me finish. I wouldn’t be talking about this if I knew it wasn’t safe.” She remarks and she was right, now that he was with her 24/7 until Tom would arrive that means right now they were alone. All the security would travel with Tom and Haz would stay behind except for some security who would guard around the mansion.

“I hate that it’s weird between us. We used to be really close and I really want to be there for you as a friend.” She sighs as tears begin to rise, “I really wanted to be there for you when you fell sick from your addiction but I just pushed myself away but I’m ready to put it all behind us and be friends again.”

Harrison could see the apologeticness in her eyes, and even in her tone. He wanted nothing more than to move on as well, “Thank you.. I really appreciate that, Y/N.” They both smirk as a tear rolls down her eyes, “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one feeling that way.” He says as he reaches for the tea.

The silence is no longer heavy, the energy is

right as the two adults make their teas to their liking. Y/N stirs her tea as the wind blows through her ponytail, “So..what’s new?”

Haz takes a sip of his tea and sets it down, “Oh you know, just the casual support group meetings on top of work but it’s been okay...Bella and I have been getting close again which…” They both make eye contact, Y/N has always know about Haz and Bella having a thing and how Bella has never been able to lock him down.

“I’m happy about.. Bella has been good to me while I have been recovering.” For some reason that stung Y/N, she didn’t realize that she could’ve been there for him whether they were together or not.

“That’s good, Harrison. I’m happy to hear that she’s been there for your recovery.” Y/N smiles as she takes another sip at her tea.

The blonde smiles, “Thank you..but what about you? Anything new?”

Y/N runs her tongue across her bottom lip as she nods, “I’ve pretty much adjusted to married life..I’m honestly just scared that something is going to happen to us..to all of us.”

He sits up straight as he leans in, “What are you talking about? I’m here to protect you, Y/N.”

She nods her head as her smile turns into a frown, “I know but I’ve heard you and Tom talk and…” she take a pause as she feels her throat begin to burn from wanting to cry.

The two make eye contact, he notices her eye color begin to pop as the red from her tears begin to flood her eyes.

“It sounds so awful but it sounds really bad this time.” Y/N sobs out and immediately rests her forehead on her palm right after, “I’m just scared.”

Harrison looks down at his tea and then back up at his friend who he knows is scared shitless. His instinct is to bring his hand to her face and lift it from her palm. Her cheek rests in his palm as he wipes a tear that run down her cheek, “I- Tom and I are not going to let anything happen to you.”

Y/N lets out a hopeful smile and she doesn’t know what happens next but maybe she worked herself up with her emotions that she suddenly becomes nauseous and a bit dizzy.

“What’s going on here?”

The two turn from their positions to find Tom walking toward the both, and Haz’s hand immediately moves away from her face.

Y/N gets up from her seat and walks towards her husband, “Nothing, love. Harrison was just saying my face looks a bit pale..” she leans into give Tom a hug and a kiss, “I’m feeling a bit woozy so I’m going to go lie down.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Tom asks as he brings his hands to her cheeks. She nods as she kisses his nose, “Yes, love. I’ll be upstairs lying down.”

She walks past Tom and even looks back to wave at Harrison which brings the brunette to look back at the blonde. For some reason, Haz begins to sweat and he knows it’s because he is getting nervous, he’s always felt that Tom suspected something.

Tom take the seat that Y/N was before and if Haz were to know the truth, he hasn’t suspected anything. But he did want to reveal something to his best friend.

“Listen Haz,” he blows out another puff. The two make eye contact as the wind blows through there stiff, gelled hair. “I just want you to know that, I never intended to marry Y/N.”

Haz’s heart stops dead in his tracks as he hears his friend fessing up. He decides to take another sip at his tea, not believing what he is hearing right now.

Tom continues as the sunflowers in the back move slightly as the wind blows, the aesthetic helping the energy stay calm. The brunette clears his throat as he looks at the flowers, not being able to keep eye contact with his own best friend.

“I know you wanted her first and I just never thanked you for letting me keep her.” Tom confesses as he looks back at Haz who is already choked up.

This was a lot for for Harrison because his best friend usually never fessed up to anything. It was almost a healing process for him as well, a huge open wound that is healing slowly. It was a big deal for both of them because of the fact they have been on different wavelengths and it was like Tom wanted to fix that.

Harrison cracks a smile, “Thanks man. And I’m sorry for being a mess and thank you for being there for me.”

Tom sets down his cigar on the tea plate and nods his head, “Before we all get mushy, we have a problem..”

A/N: AHHH!!! SORRY IF THIS IS ALL OVER THE PLACE! BUT pls let me know what you think is going to happen next!! feedback is always helpful, so please message me or whateva!! I love you guys! Goodnight/Goodmorning! -Amy💛

p.s not everyone that is on the taglist asked to be tagged but if you want me to remove you let me know!!

Taglist: @ladybirduris @thedaydreamingwriter @a-walk-in-silence @tomhaz @mischiefmanaged49 @tomshufflepuff @smexylemony @musicgirl234 @spidey-pal @greenarrowhead @superheros-and-others @captainbuckyy @kawaiigothfishpasta @hollandechart @thollandx @glader-witch-wolf @amren-rhyssecond @peteryesparker @hazhasmycoffee @the-queen-procrastinator @hollandroos@spiderboytotherescue @hotsterfield @thedaydreamingwriter

#tom holland #mob!tom holland #y/n x mob!tom holland #tom holland x y/n #Harrison osterfield x y/n #Harrison osterfield blurb #harrison osterfield imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland angst #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fanfic #mob!harrison osterfield #y/n x harrison ostefield #mob!tom x Y/N #y/n x mob!Harrison osterfield #y/n x Harrison osterfield #y/n x tom holland

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anythingstephenking · 6 years

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The Morally Grey Mile

Strap in for another grim tale. At least men are the ones getting fucked in The Green Mile, amirite ladies? No, still not cool? Ok then.

I suppose it is a disservice to call The Green Mile solely a “grim” tale, but because the core story focuses on an innocent man headed to the electric chair, it is pretty damn grim. If you haven’t read the book you’ve seen the movie but spoilers anyway - the innocent man dies and it sucks for the reader. It’s certainly more complicated than “bad wins” but a real bummer all the same.

Backing up a bit. The Green Mile was King’s first attempt at a serialized story release. In the book’s forward, King tells us it’s story of inception. Through a series of fortuitous events and a conversation with business associates about Charles Dickens, King concocted the idea to release a story in a series of “chapbooks”. Apparently Dickens released some of his stories that way, and they were so fervently popular that a band of dingdongs pushed each other off a dock and drowned while awaiting a shipment of Dickens into Baltimore Harbor. I imagine if the Harry Potter books were released that way I would have ended up in the harbor too. No judgement, zealous Dickens readers, I get it.

Logically, if it worked for 19th century Dickens, it would surely work for 20th century Stephen King, right?

(cue Mr. Burns fingers).

A single book released in installments monthly, garnering 3-4x the cost of a single paperback. Good for you SK, good for you. Cause turns out, the constant reader ate it up and bought ‘em like hotcakes.

Cause that’s the thing - this is a really really good story. Not because it’s beautifully written like Cujo or Firestarter or mind-bending like The Dark Tower books, but because it is a real page turner. I credit the format for that - you can tell it was written in a plot-driven, cliffhanger kinda way. In the same way serialized TV (before binging took this joy away) would leave you wanting more week to week, The Green Mile leaves each installment in a way where you can’t imagine not picking up the next one.

Per my contractual agreement with myself, I am required to reach each and every page of this story, but I’m a strange bird and the rest of the world isn’t a weirdo like me. At the end of the day, the narrative structure here really works and I plowed through all 6 installments in a day or so. Those reading in real-time (and not binging like me) waited a month between each publishing, from March through August 1996. There was no dock delivery in Baltimore in 1996 but I imagine if there was, the crowd waiting for each would be large.

So the narrative approach works, but what about the story itself? My analysis comes back slightly muddy but mostly positive despite some hard to swallow flaws.

I can’t claim to know what death row would have been like in 1932, but I’ve watched enough PBS documentaries to know what it’s like now. The group held at Cold Mountain are described as killers, yes. As rapists and wife beaters and arsonists. But they also come across like a rag-tag group of buds that should have their own reality TV show. One of the prisoners, Del, raped and murdered a young girl then accidentally killed a bunch of other people trying to cover his tracks by setting the building on fire. But he’s got this cute, somewhat supernatural mouse named Mr. Jingles that does tricks. Ain’t it cute? Then he fries and literally catches on fire in the electric chair.

I understand the intention of the tale - humanity lives in all of us. Empathy shouldn’t be reserved just for some. Death is final and it comes for all of us. What I struggled with was trying to understand if this was blatant reference to King’s personal stance on the Death Penalty (against it, obvs) or something more subtle. Should we take away that killing is wrong no matter what? Or that there is more nuance at play here?

Because there’s more happening on the green mile than just murderers dying (no matter how dramatically) in the chair comically nicknamed “ol’ sparky”. We’ve got John Coffey in chains, convicted of raping and murdering two 9 year old girls. JFC. I just can’t.

But he did, and he will die for his crimes. Here’s where the controversy around this novel begins. John Coffey is a large black man with magical powers. Spike Lee specifically calls out King publicly for this “magical negro” trope, which honestly I can’t disagree with. Dick Halloran from The Shining and Mother Abigail from The Stand fall neatly in this bucket as well. But even as I type this I know I am cherry-picking; I’ve read plenty of King stories with mystical beings and they’re mostly white (or more often other worldly). But King’s repeated use of the n-word and other racial slurs in his writing is real cringeworthy. As I move further towards his 21st century writing I keep hoping this will stop. It hasn’t yet, as of 1996. But King and writing about race is an entirely separate post for another day.

Back to The Green Mile; we learn that John Coffey has special healing powers when he cures the head guard, Paul Edgecomb of a UTI by grabbing his crotch. Normally this type of behavior will get ya thrown in the hole, but Paul’s so grateful he lets it slide.

Once we learn of the healing powers of Coffey, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to solve the mystery. While getting arrested he cries “I tried to stop it but it was too late.” Everyone involved in the investigation assumes he means he tried to stop himself from murder but couldn’t; anyone with half a brain can deduce that someone else killed the girls; he tried to heal them. He was too late.

We’re set off to learn who really murdered the girls, but this revelation takes a backseat, at least in my mind. For me, the big mystery is; will John Coffey get executed? I’ll be honest, I hadn’t seen this movie, so I didn’t know. The phone the governor used to phone in stays-of-execution was mentioned early, so my Chekhov’s Gun senses lead me to believe it was possible. Why bother if not? Well the phone is mentioned at execution time, only to say it won’t ring. And of course it never really was a question - Coffey is a black man in the south, convicted of murdering two girls in 1932. Of course no one’s coming to save him. It’s sad. Real sad.

We’re given solace in the fact that Coffey claims he’s ready to go - his powers are too much and he’s tired. This is a nonsense cop out that provides relief to all those that understand the truth, allowing them to go on living, loving their wives and kids and casseroles. John Coffey should not have died. The end.

Things are wrapped up in a bow with the end stories of everyone involved and their timely and untimely deaths. I guess that’s it; life sucks, then you die; death can come for you in any way, without discrimination.

I earmarked what is one of my favorite lines I’ve encountered so far in King’s work.

“We had once again succeeded in destroying what we could not create.”

Executing anyone (murderer or not) takes a toll on most of the prison staff. I just loved this so much on so many levels; they are men without the ability to create life; they are not god; they are mortals stealing mortality. So beautiful.

So, it’s no stretch to call this the brother of Shawshank, but at least we get a female character in Paul Edgecomb’s wife. I don’t remember her name so that’s not great. But she was a woman and she at least was there, so it gets knocked up a few rungs from Shawshank IMHO.

I’d have to say this is one King novel that really perplexed me. I suppose I got into the routine of enjoying typical good-vs-evil tales where the good guys eventually overcome. For me, The Green Mile wasn’t green at all but a wavering shade of grey I still can’t see properly.

(Side note: As I sat down to write this, I thought to myself “I’m not sure what I’ll say about The Green Mile.” Turns out, quite a bit, this is probably one of my longest entries. Who knew?)

8/10

First Line: This happened in 1932, when the state penitentiary was still at Cold Mountain.

Last Line: I know that, but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile is so long.

Adaptations:

Like it’s brother Shawshank Redemption, I had never seen this movie before. It made it’s run through awards season in 1999, mostly for Michael Clarke Duncan’s portrayal of John Coffey. Who later tragically died of a heart attack with his girlfriend Omarosa (of Trump WH fame) which I didn’t know, but good golly, that is another sad story for another day.

Listen, this is a highly regarded movie that’s on many top lists, so I won’t stab into it too hard. But it is SO LONG.

Frank Darabont got his panties all in a bunch when folks told him a 3 hour running time was too long, claiming that if 2 hours was the correct length of a film that cinema classics like Lawrence of Arabia were invalidated. Well guess what? I’ve seen Lawrence of Arabia, and yes that shit is too. damn. long. As is The Green Mile.

One would think that with 3+ hours of material, the character development would be on point. It’s not really; the prisoners are mostly glossed over (even more so than in the book) as lovable murders. Wild Bill is the exception (overacted by Sam Rockwell), and he serves as the sole real “bad guy”.

Edgecomb and his other prison guards are painted as saints (again, minus one guard who takes on the “bad guy of the good guys” role). If the book was grey the movie is much more black and white. Tom Hanks for president for sure, the guy is a national treasure. But they were one step away from giving him an actual halo. As someone complicit in the murder of an innocent man, I just can’t declare his character for sainthood. The real Tom Hanks, a million times yes. Paul Edgecomb? Nah.

The movie is fine. I approve of Darabont’s relationship with King and have thoroughly enjoyed their previous collaborations. I was sad to see that he let his film rights to The Long Walk expire last year, picked up by New Line and James Vanderbilt (of Vanderbilt fortune... old money... sigh) who penned Zodiac, which leaves me slightly hopeful but assume it’ll trickle back into development limbo for the remainder of eternity.

I’ve already finished my next read, Desperation and after I slog through the 2.5 hour ABC miniseries (UGH) I will keep trucking. New Year, more pressure placed on myself to plow through the back half of King’s bibliography.

#book review #movie review #the green mile

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tiredstarryeyes · 4 years

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2011

This is incredibly long overdue. I’ve been meaning to post this for a while now, but fear has always stopped me. It’s a relief to finally feel and hear my voice, regardless if it’s only in written form. Warning: Mention of DV, suicidal thoughts, and depression.

When I was 18, I had a roommate that was in a physically violent relationship. I heard, and at times witnessed these acts, for roughly a year and a half.

I had just moved to Sydney to start my journey as an Actor, and I was scared shitless, broke as hell, and so naive it was pathetic. After a mere few weeks, I was all of sudden thrown into the deep end of adulthood, and faced with the choice of standing up for myself and this victim. It really didn’t hit me at first. The weight of what was really going on. It’s a part of my life that I’ve not talked about, a trauma that eventually chipped away at my psyche, and turned my mental state into mush. It’s safe to say because of this, I now have a love-hate relationship with my past, as it’s something that I will always be in therapy for, but I’m not ashamed to admit the struggle. I’m not the only one in this world who has been through something like this, and definitely not the only one who has been through depression and trauma.

The reason I stayed, was because coming home and starting again, would mean that I had failed. My biggest fear in life. I had planned to move out of home since I was 15. Worked at a crappy part time job for over 3 years and saved every penny I made. People at the bank knew me by my first name, praising me for being so diligent with my money. I auditioned for a school and got in, so did my best friend at the time with hers, respectively. Everything about the plan was put into motion, and then here we were, ready to start our new lives. Thinking back on it, I was just young and dumb and selfish, yet understandably, I was also in shock. Having been so isolated and protected from the harsh realities of the world, then immediately faced with this type of responsibility, I simply could not cope. I’m ashamed to admit I sat in mostly stunned silence until it was over, then just went to sleep. I remember everyone waking up the next morning, exchanging awkward small talk, ignoring the bruises, and pretending nothing had happened. The repercussions of telling my family, and sticking up for myself and this girl all at once, stuffing up my best friends plans as well, was seemingly too much to bare. I had no experience in the latter, so I drowned within the uncertainty of it all. I think I was in denial as well, but I really had no idea what to do, so I simply did nothing.

Sadly, because of this, all good memories of my first apartment, my early 20’s, and living out of home for the first time, are tainted with sounds of screams.

Before I sound like more of a wet blanket, I know that everything happens for a reason, and I’ve made this part of my journey the reason for my strength and resilience, and that’s something to be proud of.

As they they say with trauma, the mind may forget, but the body doesn’t. The PTSD, PTD, anxiety, depression, and emotional triggers that came from this experience, didn’t just go away once I left. Doors were slammed in my face, things were thrown, people were slapped and beaten, furniture was pulled to pieces. It took five years to talk about it without crying, and I still do to this day at times. It’s a trigger for so many things, and I still feel guilty over it. I think I always will to an extent, and I’ve had to work really hard to be at peace with that. If it had affected me this badly to just see and hear it, I can’t imagine what internal struggle and pain was inflicted to the person at the other end of those fists. The aftermath seamed worse than the actual event, and that was a hard thing to accept. I walked around angry for too many years. Too much time wasted hating the world for what was happening to her, how I couldn’t just get over it once I finally bit the bullet and crawled back home. Rather than enjoying my life, like so many people told me to do, I know I let the experience, and my reaction to it, rob those years from me.

I eventually did call the police after a few months, though.

I asked her one morning if she was scared. She said yes. So I kept going with the questions. I asked her if she wanted it to be over. She said yes. I asked her if she wanted to leave this person. She said yes. I asked her if she was afraid. She said yes. I asked her how long it had been happening. It was way longer than I expected or could wrap my head around. I told her that I had heard everything and that I was scared too. She said she was sorry and we both hugged and cried and fell to the floor. I’ll never forget that moment. Two bits of broken pieces finding each other on dirty carpet. A mess of feelings. Both numb and drained at the environment we were in, feeling stuck and desperate to get out. I made a pact with her and told her to scream for me next time things got heated, and when she did, I ran in and got her just as I had promised. We waited in the dark and I called the police. A few weeks passed, and we went to court. I was standing there in front of the double doors, ready to go in, my scripts clutched to my chest for the acting class I’d have to attend afterwards, (because I moved to Sydney to become an Actor, and a court hearing wasn’t going to stop me. That was my thinking process while in the midst of losing my god damn mind, naturally.) standing there willing to testify for what was right, was one of the scariest moments of my life, staring at the judge in the court room, full of other people who didn't give a shit if I was having a meltdown or not, including the police officers, though are we surprised?

Then, sadly, nothing really came of it. Except my $30 check for making an appearance. The officer then gave me their business card and told me to send them an email if I needed anything. Like a fucking email was going to stop someone from getting beaten up? But lol ok you do you boo.

Relationships like that are messy and complicated and don’t make sense unless you’re in it. I get it now in retrospect, as I’ve put up with bad behaviour and my fair share of narcissism from men, so I get how hard it is to break things off.

Boy, do I get it.

I’ve spent the last 9 years of my life putting myself through therapy because of what I didn’t do, because I didn’t reach out, living in fear. When I couldn’t stop ruminating over the guilt and self loathing and self pity of not making better choices, not feeling I was smart enough, good enough, worthy enough of anything in life because I let this happen.

One night, thinking about what happened in that room, I drank too much wine, blacked out, and told my doctor I wanted to go on antidepressants the following morning. I was sick and tired of not feeling like these thoughts were coming from my own brain. It didn’t feel like mine and I didn’t feel like me. I was on them for 8 months.

I can’t deny I’ve never thought about not being here either. What this world, my family, or what my friends would do if I were suddenly no longer here, had started to cross my mind a lot in those days. I don’t have those thoughts anymore, but I have had them clear as day, and it has to be said.

I remember the moment it felt like my thoughts were finally back to how they were before it all happened. That moment in the movie when the character is called too adventure, before it all goes to shit? That alive, happy person full of hope and ambition. I wanted to be her again, and I finally started to recognise the old me in this moment.

I remember breaking down in the shower at the gym, during the fourth day of taking Citalopram. Sobbing happy tears because I finally recognised this thing in my head that was making me think and navigate my consciousness again. Like I had woken up from a bad dream. I literally felt the imbalance of chemicals changing over in my brain, re-wiring itself so I could finally function again.

This memory, is why I am who I am, and I wear my mental illness that at times seams non existent, but at other times is emotionally and physically debilitating, really fucking proudly, and everyone else can as well. Apparently 1 in 7 people in Australia suffer from depression sometime in their life, so this is not a rare occurrence, just a rare conversation topic to be had because of the stigma against mental illness.

It’s 2020. Let’s change that.

I write this because these dark parts are the realest, rawest bits of myself that I relate too more than anything else. They give me strength and drive and motivate me to always do better for my past self who hated herself too much.

Also, not a lot of people may fully understand the fact that I have depression and anxiety, without really knowing the extent, nor how it came about. I guess it’s because I lost my younger years to this very rough and draining experience, so I think I’ll always appear young at heart and seam more innocent and plain than I actually am, as I’ll always feel like I need to make up for all that lost time. Watching everyone else live through their early 20′s so positively. Because I never did, and this may possibly be my anxiety talking, it may affect how people perceive me. In the Acting world, seaming younger than I am has worked to my advantage, but in reality, people may misunderstand and judge me for it, too. I just hope this post will help make people understand why I have not had certain experiences, and to not judge other people if they have been through the same. There is always more to a person. To sound cheesy as fuck, we are all just the tips of the Icebergs above the water, and you may never know what's been endured beneath the surface of someone, or why they are only showing you certain parts of themselves because there’s not a simple answer for it, and that’s not a bad thing. They are not lazy, boring, or inexperienced. I am not an open book, and I don’t care if you can’t find the patience to try and understand why.

Depression, to me, feels like this:

It’s like a dark storm cloud that follows you over your shoulders everyday. I can’t sense it on the good days. But, when it’s there, I struggle to see through the fog and it’s like I’m suffocating or choking. When it’s triggered and starts to rumble, all of a sudden you can feel it tingling down your spine. It’s similar to a foreboding like feeling that is all encompassing and knocks you around, mentally and physically. It’s like a presence that gets more difficult and heavy the longer I ignore it. I usually have an inkling that something has been triggered, even if it’s not obvious right away, and I soon come to know that I have some work to do for myself over the following weeks when I have this certain feeling.

If I don’t have the time to reflect however, (in my case, I was filming for my first TV show a few months ago, and didn’t want to focus on anything but the work, and boy did I pay for it afterwards) the storm always becomes louder and I become more lethargic or more sensitive or angry, and it feels like my limbs are constantly dragging me towards the ground. I’m exhausted when I wake up because my anxiety hits me at night and I can’t sleep. And then the cycle repeats itself and I am, a mess. It can be a very temperamental thing when you’re out of your routine. It’s also hard sometimes to differentiate between having off days and feeling down, which is fine, but then if I’m waking up and realising it’s been a week and I can’t stop crying, that’s a warning sign I’m on the precipice of an episode. I know then that this is the beginning of just a bad few weeks, and I need to figure out how to get out of this dark place in my mind.

The last few months, it’s been my anxiety that’s gone and unsettled me to my core, and after a few sessions of therapy, some Valium, keeping my boundaries up, I’ve mentally been able to reset myself, and can look at life more clearly for what it is.

This year has been stressful for the entire planet, but I think it was probably a mixture of self doubt, paranoia, staring at the age of 30, maybe, and feeling more isolated than I actually am because of covid. Many reasons I’m sure I’ll figure out later, but I stopped crying a few weeks ago, and don’t feel down anymore, so it’s going to be a good month rather than a hectic one. There’s also a lot to look forward to as well now, and positive thinking is feeling less like a chore. (You know you’re out of the storm when feeling happy ain’t draining! Am I right!)

One thing that has helped is the BLM movement here in Aus, and connecting more to my heritage. Unpacking my childhood in relation to that is going to take a bit more strength, but I know more about my people at this point in my life then I ever have before, and it’s helped shaped my identity and made me feel more closer to myself. I know now, it may always feel like there are missing links to an eternal puzzle that may never be completely put together, or understood. But, I know that's not my fault. It’s because of what this country did to my people. Their voices were taken, their lives erased and destroyed, and thus, were not given to me to learn about and pass on like other generations had the privilege of doing.

I feel like we are louder and stronger than ever before, but that’s probably because we have had no choice and have never given up.

At times, all I can do is read about them online, listen to my friends stories who have lived with culture around them, watch our movies, read our books, and feel something I cannot name. That’s not to say I have not experienced racism. I have, and do and always will, and I already feel fear for my future children because it is inevitable. But, I find comfort from the fact that I know this essence of myself has been, and is always going to be there inside me to help make me strong. No matter who I am or what I become, my Aboriginal identity will always be something I can treasure and protect and claim no matter what someone may think of me. I can talk to my ancestors however I want, defend my people whenever I want, because it is no one else’s journey but my own.

#depression #warning #anxiety #wordvomit

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bladesmcna · 7 years

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Time for me to meta about everything the Keith video touched on. PSA it’s a long read. It’s just over 2k words. Also psa DO NOT REBLOG.

I’d like to start off this with a song lyric that I feel really resonates with keith.

Have you ever felt like nobody was there? Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere? Have you ever felt like you could disappear? Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

I’m going to start from the beginning of Keith’s life because frankly, that’s where all of his problems started. Keith has never canonically mentioned his father other than in the blade episode so there’s not much to go on there. BUT now that he’s mentioned his mother leaving him we can infer that Keith has abandonment issues. He blames the way he is now on the fact that his mother left him. His biggest question is WHY she left him. What did he do wrong? Why didn’t she love him? It’s all these questions that he’s asked himself for years now.

The next point I’d like to move on to is the abandonment issues that came along as a result of his mother leaving him. Now while I hc that his father died ( the show could prove me wrong but whatever ) and then Keith was shipped off to the Garrison instead of going into foster care that’s another issue of Keith being alone. His father left him by himself, no other family to contact. Instead they shipped him off to the Garrison where he tried to bust his ass to make something out of himself. He needed to prove to himself that even with all the shit he’s gone through that he could be more than his parents deaths.

I’d also like to point out how Keith is never taught any coping mechanisms on how to deal with loss or anger or anything that could make him uncomfortable. He’s literally been shown to lose his cool and get angry the second he feels uncomfortable. Why? Because he doesn’t have any other way of dealing with. It’s not like he wants to get angry all the time he just doesn’t know how to control it. He gets worked up and then can’t stop himself until it’s too late and then whenever someone such as Shiro or Lance call him out and ask him to calm down he’s calm almost immediately, why? Because he never intends to get that angry in the first place. After being called out about it it’s just another slap in the face that he can’t control himself or his emotions because he never had someone there to teach him.

This is where I wanna bring Shiro into the picture. They obviously knew each other through the Garrison ( my ships aside here ) they were most likely friends before Shiro went off to Kerberos. So not only had Keith finally made a friend, but he then had to watch them go off into space and then be reported missing. There’s another instance of loss in his life and he doesn’t know how to cop so what happens? He drops out because of disciplinary issues. Aka he couldn’t keep his temper in check because again, he bottled his feelings until the point where he was a human catalyst and exploded.

After dropping out Keith had basically no where to go so he found himself in an old shack. Where he got to stew on his feelings alone for a few months. This is when the realization that everything in his life as amounted to nothing hits him. His parents are both gone, his one and only friend is presumed dead in space and he dropped out of a top flight school where he was at the top of his class only to end up ALONE. Out of the 3 canonically relevant people he’d ever been close to in his life, all of three of them had left him. That’s when the depression hits him harder than before. He struggles waking up every day he struggles taking care of himself. His hair grows out he forgets how to interact with people. He doesn’t know how to function as a person anymore.

After awhile it was too much for him. He feels like he never deserved a chance to be born with in the first place because whatever high being there is out there ( I personally don’t think Keith is religious ) gave him this sort of life even after he busted his ass to try and become someone. Yet there he was, thrown out in the dirt once again.

Another thing I’d like to touch on is how Keith actually views himself because that’s super important to me and how I write him.

Keith doesn’t view himself in a good light at all for all the reasons I’ve already listed. Keith doesn’t see himself as the ‘number one pilot’ the rest of the team might see him for. He’s flawed. He can’t deal with most social situations without getting aggressive or awkward because honestly he’s had more interaction with people in the first two episodes of voltron than nearly his entire life prior to him finding Shiro again. So of course he’s awkward and quiet unless provoked. ( which honestly isn’t a hard thing to do BUT i digress ) He also has a hard time grasping a lot of social concepts that many people think are second nature. ( insert the i say vol you say tron example here ) The reason why he’s so hung up on the whole i say voltron deal is because to him, it makes more logical sense to just say voltron than to say something that, while yes it’s supposed to be humorous, just doesn’t make any sense to him. Keith isn’t one for humor that isn’t direct/blunt because a lot of the time his brain can’t wrap itself around the concept.

I also want to touch on his the relationships he holds with the paladins themselves and how he views their input.

I’d like to start this off with the beginning of season three whenever they were all deciding who was going to pilot the black lion. Their aggression towards him confessing that Shiro kept being like ‘i want you to lead voltron’ but having never mentioned it to anyone else, not even to coran or allura is like a huge kick in the face to the little confidence he had in himself. One because he hates being rejected because that’s all he’s ever been his entire life. Two, is because he thought the team thought more highly of him than just the loner and yet there they were calling him out and making him feel like he was at the bottom of the barrel. The only talent any of them ever acknowledge is his piloting skills. Nothing else about him shines, he’s just a good pilot to them.

Moving on to whenever they all actually go in the black lion. Keith was the LAST to attempt and honestly he probably only attempted because everyone else was pressuring him to. He had to try right? Except he never wanted to lead voltron in the first place. He doesn’t have the skill set to lead he doesn’t have the qualities of a leader. Even after the black lion responds to him he wants to deny it, he wants to let someone else do it because he can’t have such a big responsibility placed on him whenever he knows he’s going to fail.

That’s when everyone starts to congratulate him and he feels like he’s just been kicked in the teeth. He knows their true feelings, he knows that know of them really value his ability to pilot over him and yet there they were being like ‘oh you’re going to be a great leader.’ Yet he wasn’t. He almost got Allura killed. They wanted him to lead so he did, and he failed.

Once again he’d failed. He failed his mother’s love, his fathers legacy, and how he’d failed Shiro. That only made the depression worse.

Moving back all the way to season 1 I want to talk about the famous ‘bonding moment’ that was humorously touched in the show.

The reason ( I feel at least ) Keith is so upset about Lance not remembering it is because for the first time since Shiro, Keith had found someone that had seen him in a good light. Someone that had complimented him. Even after all the headassery that Lance had started with Keith he thought they made a good team, and this good team work is shown time and time again throughout the show and yet the fact that Lance forgets it just solidifies to Keith that nothing he does is worth remembering.

This is the time where I put my little blurb about Lance and Keith and their interactions

So Lance starts basically everything in the rivalry between the two of them. Literally within the first five minutes of meeting Keith, Lance is already shoving his superiority down his throat. At first Keith didn’t understand why Lance was like this and why Lance kept pushing it on him. ( he even finds it somewhat annoying and like Lance has a problem ) Yet as time goes on the rivalry turns into a more competitive nature that Keith starts to play back with. At first Keith really just wanted Lance to get off his case, and now it’s like their rivalry has brought them closer together by the time season 3 rolls around.

My last few little blurbs before I close off this novel of a meta

Keith deals with anxiety and depression that’s almost without a doubt 100% canon in my eyes. The way he acts and the way he carries himself and how he speaks and the way he words things and all this stuff is clearly a sign that he’s struggling with it and he doesn’t know how to control it, yet he also doesn’t want to admit that he has a problem because he doesn’t want to fail everyone on the team yet again.

Keith also values everyone on his team way more than what he lets on. He protects Allura from the arusian that comes to the castle asking why the lion goddess is mad. He catches Pidge from being thrown and all the times he’s thrown his sword to protect Lance and everything else he’s done. He wants to protect the team because they’ve become almost like his first real family. Yet he’s also terrified that this new family will drop him too, just like everyone else.

Keith struggles with his galra side. He struggles taking in the fact that he’s not what he thought he was his entire life and that just makes him not know who he is even more. Sometimes whenever he looks in the mirror he doesn’t see himself, but instead Zarkon or Lotor because that’s where part of him is from. He hates the term ‘galra keith’ because it’s like the fact once everyone knows that he’s galra he’s instantly not himself anymore but instead this evil abomination that’s wiped out entire systems with his army. Him being Galra is just the nail in the coffin that once again, he’s a huge disappointment to everyone.

He fears rejection big time. Because all anyone has ever done from the get go is reject him. His mother rejected him by leaving, he rejected himself from the garrison. Lance rejects him by throwing all of his flaws in his face. He can’t catch a break. He tries so hard to prove to everyone that he’s more than the broken parts of him that he hides away. He wants to try and prove to everyone ( including himself ) that he can be more than just some socially awkward teenager.

In closing I’d like to bring up the song lyric I put at the top of this post

Have you ever felt like nobody was there? Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere? Have you ever felt like you could disappear? Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

This is basically how Keith views himself. He honestly thinks he’s replaceable. They could find someone else in the galaxy with his piloting skills. They could find a new red paladin that wasn’t the loner emo brooding hot head. He feels like everyone on the team has forgotten that hey, he’s a person with feelings too. Not just some teenage kid who gets angry all the time for the hell of it. He feels like if he died, he’d die alone. If he died no one would care because he never really amounted to anything in life. He never changed anyone’s life or impacted others the way some have done for him. If he died no one would miss him because he doesn’t even have a family on earth to go back to. He thinks that if he died, everyone would just keep on living and forget about him.

And being forgotten is his biggest fear.

#★ ┊ KEITHISMS. headcanon #I STG IF ANYONE REBLOGS THIS IM GONNA STAB THEM

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phanlight · 8 years

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Imagine Living Like A King Someday

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

I’ve made one of my new year’s resolutions to put this thing back onto some kind of updating schedule. I don’t know what it’s going to be yet or whether I’m going to stick to it, but I’ll give it a shot :)

Update: im so sorry I wrote that note on the 3rd of January it’s now the 24th and im a mess but ill still try my best hAha

warnings: smoking, mentions of violence

Twenty-Two

“Just like the old days, this is,” Freddie grins, gazing up at the sky. Clouds part every now and then, giving way to idle twinkles of light against the blackness. “Us lot, out here, hiding from the cameras. It’s almost as if this year hasn’t happened, isn’t it?”

Phil gulps, the taste of tobacco souring in his mouth a little. The idea of smoking to relieve his stress suddenly doesn’t seem so smart anymore.

“Except we’re missing someone, aren’t we?” Violet chimes in, feigning sickly innocence. “Where’s your best friend, Phil? Too bad he couldn’t join us.”

“He’s not my best friend,” Phil mutters bitterly.

“Must be a real bummer being cooped up inside on your own when everyone else is free, mustn’t it?” Freddie comments.

“Good,” Phil bites back. “The further he is away from me, the better.”

“Someone’s touchy,” Violet comments. “I never remembered you being so scathing, Phil.”

“I do,” Freddie comments. “You were probably thrilled when his tag got extended.”

“Yeah; it’s such a travesty my father actually gave him the punishment he deserved,” Phil puts his hand on his heart in mock-sorrow and fuck, why can’t he just keep his mouth shut?

“You’re saying it’s justified to give him a three month tag extension for something out of his control?” Freddie raises his eyebrows, huffing out a surprised breath. “Wow. I guess being a self-righteous wanker really does run in the family.”

“Look, if you’re here to lecture me on my gene pool, I want nothing to do with it,” Phil rolls his eyes.

“God, since when did you get so cocky?” Violet eyes him carefully.

“Round about the time I befriended some decent people and realised how shitty you guys actually were.”

“Oh that’s very rich,” Freddie laughs, and it resounds bitterly through the atmosphere. “Shitty? Coming from he who hasn’t said anything truthful since he was about twelve years old? I’d say that’s quite a shitty attribute, if you ask me.”

“Well no-one is asking you, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll-“

“Woah, not yet,” Violet grabs him. “’Decent people’? Like who? Because as far as I’m aware, the only person you’ve befriended as soon as we cleared off was your cleaner. Not what I would really call a social climb, but-”

“I don’t need to give you a fucking report of my social life,” Phil snaps.

“Well, at least we know for a fact Liam won’t be on there,” Freddie says. “It’s just such a shame you two don’t see much of each other anymore, isn’t it?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Phil. “I’m sick of him. If I ever see him again it’ll be a million years too soon.”

“Well I don’t think he particularly wants to see you either,” Violet says, “and to be perfectly honest, I don’t blame him. If my best friend alienated me for the best part of a year for no good reason, I certainly wouldn’t be best pleased.”

“For no good-” Phil blanches, shaking his head in disbelief. “What the fuck, Violet? You think I did this without reason?”

“Well I can’t see one. And we know for a fact that he can’t either,” she inspects her nails, feigning nonchalance.

“I have my reasons,” Phil says defensively. “Not that it’s remotely any of your business, of course.”

“Oh, but I think it is,” Freddie says. “He’s our friend too, y’know.”

“He’s not fucking mine anymore, though,” Phil says.

“You wouldn’t be saying that this time last year,” Violet narrows her eyes. “What’s changed, eh? What’s gotten into you?”

“Some fucking sense,” Phil fires back.

“More like that cleaner’s dick,” Freddie mutters, and they both roar with laughter.

Phil clenches his jaw, a hot surge of anger jolting through his veins.

“If you fucking dare talk about Dan like that again, I’ll-“

“Oh, so that’s his name, is it?” Violet raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you and him are getting to know each other. This is all moving so quickly.”

“Keep up then,” Phil snaps.

“He’s still fuming with him, you know,” Freddie comments. “Even more so now he’d found out you got let off the hook earlier than all of us. Oh, and that you lied to him. He didn’t appreciate that too much. Christ knows what he’s planning.”

Phil sees red. He grabs Freddie’s collar and they both slam into the nearest wall.

“You let him so much as touch Dan, and my dad will end your fucking educational life faster than Liam can throw a punch.”

“Oh, that’s very characteristic of you, Phil,” Violet snaps back immediately, but Freddie stays cool, eyeing up Phil. He’s so close he can smell the cigarette on his breath and the aftershave around his collar. “Sitting back and letting Daddy do all the dirty work.”

“Oh, do one, Violet.” Phil mutters to her without turning around.

“Fair enough,” Freddie shrugs.

Phil stops at that, loosening his grip. “What?”

“I said fair enough,” he repeats, before grinning. “Your dad can do what he likes to us. But it’s not like we don’t have anything to use back against you.”

Phil’s stomach swirls. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I imagine if King Lester knew you were out here doing that,” he points to the cigarette still lit between Phil’s fingers, “he wouldn’t be best pleased with you, either, would he? Especially after all the fucking drama you’ve caused this year, what with the security tags and that.”

Phil gulps. Shit, he didn’t think of that.

There’s a long, drawn-out silence. Phil swallows, letting Freddie go. He rubs his neck a little but doesn’t take his back from against the wall.

“Just-… don’t hurt him,” Phil sighs, suddenly quieter. “Please. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Violet narrows her eyes, almost considering what Phil had said, but Freddie just says, “we’ll see.”

“Freddie-“

“We didn’t deserve to be treated like fucking prisoners for three months because of him, but we did it. And now Liam has another three months, and-“

“Please, just-“ Phil pleads, not wanting to hear any more. “You can do whatever you want, but- just don’t hurt him. Don’t let Liam hurt him. Please. I’m begging you.”

“You don’t want us to let Liam hurt him? Fine. We won’t,” Freddie agrees, walking away from the wall, but his tone is clipped and there’s something about the glitter in his eye that doesn’t sit well with Phil at all.

“I fucking hope you mean that,” Phil frowns. “Because if you let him do anyth-“

“I literally just made it explicit that we won’t. What else do you want us to do? Sign a fucking contract?”

That would help, actually, Phil thinks. Anything to put his mind at rest.

He doesn’t say this out loud, though, and lets another silence creep in.

“What?” Freddie breaks it, and it’s only then Phil realises he’s been frowning. “Don’t you trust us?”

“Why should I?” Phil mumbles. “Like, seriously. Give me one reason why I should trust you.”

Freddie thinks for a moment, and then sighs.

“You want a reason?” he raises his eyebrows.

“Well- yeah, considering I literally just asked for one.”

“Cut the arrogance, Lester,” Violet lights up another cigarette. “It never looked good on you.”

Phil glares at her, but remains silent.

“Because,” Freddie continues, “when we found out about you and Dan, we kept it quiet. Kept it from Liam.”

Phil’s stomach drops like a stone.

“When you found out what?!”

“When we found out you two are together. I mean- or just fucking. Whatever it is you’re doing,” Freddie shrugs.

“But- how did you- why-“

“That’s not the point,” Violet chips in. “The point is, we kept it from Liam because we knew how he’d react.”

“So we are capable of keeping things,” Freddie finishes decidedly.

“Wait- rewind a second,” Phil shuts his eyes, his brain trying desperately to wrap itself around all of this. “How did you find out that me and Dan are-“

“I’m in English with Lia. Lives in your boarding house,” Violet says. “Got talking to her. Nice girl, she is.”

Phil feels sick. Oh god.

It’s not as if they were making it completely apparent, of course, but it’s just- their housemates have probably put two and two together by now. It’s not as if they don’t sometimes hold hands in the kitchen. And steal a few kisses in the corridor, or when they’re all downstairs watching something on the telly. And they’ve definitely fallen asleep cuddling under a duvet on the sofa in the lounge a few times; Phil’s sure of that.

“Great, so you were discussing my love life, were you?” Phil snaps back. “Who do you take me for; fucking Taylor Swift?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetie,” Violet scoffs. “It just came up in conversation, that’s all.”

“Why were you talking about it?” Phil demands.

“Like I said; it came up in conversation. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, do enlighten me,” Phil says.

“Well, we were talking about Shakespeare, and she says there’s someone in her house who’s fucking crazy about it. I asked who, and she was like ‘Dan. You know, the one Phil’s seeing at the moment’.”

Phil draws in a breath, ready to retaliate, but stops. Oh.

“And she was like, super apologetic when she found out I didn’t know, though, so don’t you dare take it out on her,” she adds.

“But the point is,” Freddie chips in. “We didn’t tell Liam about it.”

“We’re dickheads, Phil,” Violet says, breathing smoke into his face. “But we’re not stupid.”

This is ridiculous. He has no reason to believe this, no reason whatsoever, but he finds his stomach begin to unwind a little.

“Oh,” he gulps, caught somewhere between relieved, confused and actually quite pissed off. “Well, I er- okay-“

“You know something?” Violet says.

“What?” Phil asks, not really wanting to hear it.

“Between us three, I think you two make quite a cute couple,” she grins, but Phil has no telling of how genuine her smile is.

“Um- thanks?” he says a little uneasily. He’s already feeling an itch for another cigarette but he does his best to ignore it – despite not having a curfew anymore it’s getting cold and late and he really has to get back to his dorm.

“Don’t thank me,” Violet rejects his civility. “You’re still a twat, I hope you realise.”

“Just a twat with a cute boyfriend,” Freddie adds, and Phil would grin but there’s still a pinch of discomfort in his stomach about this, about this entire thing.

“Yeah, I um-“ he shrugs. “Well. Thanks for keeping your mouths shut, I guess.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Violet says, her voice a little bitter. “As long as you keep your mouth shut about us being out here, we’re good.”

“Yeah,“ he swallows. “I will.”

“You’d better,” Violet warns.

There’s a silence. Phil sighs, throwing a glance at Freddie. “Sorry. I know we’ve um- drifted apart and stuff, and-“

“Oh, give it a rest Phil,” Freddie interrupts. “We know you can’t stand us. And quite frankly, we’re not your biggest fans at the moment either. So let’s not pretend to patch things up, yeah?”

Phil frowns, a little taken aback. Sure, he hadn’t exactly been expecting them to join hands and skip off into the sunset, but couldn’t they at least be civil?

“Well excuse me for trying.”

“He has a point though,” Violet says.

“Whatever,” Phil rolls his eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t a bit disappointed. “I’d better be heading back now, anyway.”

“Off you go then,” Violet dismisses him coldly.

“Alright then,” Phil widens his eyes.

“Say hi to Dan for us,” Freddie says.

Yeah, Phil scoffs. Like fuck will he tell Dan about any of this.

He leaves them both with a careful glare before turning his back to the forest, and-

“Oh, before I forget,” he digs in his pocket and pulls out something small, cold and hard. It glitters for a few seconds in the soft twinkle of the moonlight, but then he opens out his hand and lets it fall to the concrete with a clatter. “Give that back to Liam on your way in.”

And just like that, with thudding in his ears and adrenaline pooling in the pit of his stomach, he breezes out of the forest and back to the fences, back to buildings and blocks and amber lights.

The air is cold and his head aches and his chest is burning a little, and he’s trying to bury the feeling that begins to nag the pit of his stomach, the voice in the back of his mind suggesting he might have just made a big, big mistake.

“Have you been smoking?” is the first thing Dan asks him when he slides through the door. He’s wrapped up in bed, voice muffled by the pillow.

Phil gulps, sniffing his collar. Fuck, he was certain he put enough deodorant on.

“Yeah, I um-“ he gulps, not really seeing any lie he can spin to get out of this. “I was a bit stressed. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, I’m not your mum,” Dan huffs out a sleepy laugh. “Just make sure you brush your teeth for an extra minute before you get into bed. I’m not kissing an ashtray.”

Phil grins, putting down his bag and shrugging off his jacket, leaving it in a denim heap on the floor. “It was a one-off, though. I’m not like- addicted.”

Not true. His cravings are going to drive him up the wall tomorrow, but he’ll live. He’s sure he must still has some nicotine gum somewhere.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dan says. “You reek.”

Phil throws him an apologetic glance and heads over to the bathroom, not really wanting to taint the sweet spicy scent of Dan’s room with his stale tobacco any longer. He takes his time with the toothbrush and swills around three capfuls of mouthwash and washes his face with a splash of cold water before heading back into the room. His heart sighs a little at the sight of Dan all curled up beneath cotton and memory foam, and he gives him a soft little smile before shouldering out of his uniform and into something comfier.

“Where have you been, anyway?” Dan mumbles when he slides under the duvet and into the space beside him. “I’ve missed you.”

“Hanging out with a few people from Maths,” the lie rolls a little too easily off of Phil’s tongue. “They were having a movie night at Jonathan’s, and- you know.”

“That’s nice,” Dan smiles to himself, sidling up to Phil under the covers. “What did you watch?”

“Deadpool,” is the first movie that comes into Phil’s mind.

“I’ve never seen it,” Dan says. “We’ll have to watch it sometime.”

“Yeah, we will,” Phil agrees, his fingers finding Dan’s hair. It’s still a little damp from the shower. “What have you been up to, then?”

“Nothing much,” Dan shrugs. “Cleaned your room a little bit. Talked to Mark about the keys. He’s impressed you’ve made it this far without losing another one, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s only because you’ve been spending so much time in my room instead of your own.”

Phil chuckles. “I imagine my room’s a lot easier to clean too. You know, without me in it all the time.”

“Who would have thought dating you would come with so many benefits?” Dan smiles, and leans up to press a gentle kiss to Phil’s cheek.

Phil’s heart leaps at that word. Dating.

“That’s what you get with dating me,” Phil says, testing out the word again and loving the way it falls off of his tongue. “The whole package.”

“Kinky,” Dan quips.

“Shut up,” Phil nudges him with his free elbow, and Dan giggles, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Play with my hair more,” Dan tells him. “I love it when you do that.”

So Phil does. His hands massage soft chestnut locks, his fingers curling around the longer, wavier parts of his fringe and around his ears.

He pulls Dan’s fringe back a little too far, and exposes a blotch of purple. Shit, he’d forgotten about the bruise there.

He gulps, feeling his stomach twist, and does his best to pretend he hasn’t seen it, gently brushing strands of brown back over to cover it. He doesn’t know if Dan notices, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

They lie there in a comfortable silence, Phil’s fingers in Dan’s hair and Dan’s hands tracing the sliver of exposed skin just above Phil’s waistband, just listening to each other’s breathing, before Phil’s grip on his thought filter begins to loosen and he lets something slip

“I gave the ring back to Liam today.”

The second the words pass his lips, he regrets it. He can almost hear the break of the mood, shattering like glass as it goes.

Dan stiffens beside him. “Really?”

“Not directly, of course,” Phil reassures desperately. “I did it through someone.”

“Noah?”

It’s easier just to say “yeah.”

“Fair enough.”

“I just- yeah. I wanted rid of it. I hated the feeling of knowing I still had a piece of him hanging around in my room, y’know?” he shudders.

“Yeah, definitely.” Dan says, still a little wooden. “Well. I’m, um- glad you got rid of it, anyway.”

“So am I,” Phil says, and they descend into another silence and fuck, despite the gentle softness of the sheets and pillows, this is really quite uncomfortable.

“Sorry I just-“ Phil begins after a while. “I didn’t want to- you know, ruin the mood or anything. I just thought you ought to know.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Dan reassures him, but there’s a little tremor in his tone. “Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it.”

Phil sighs out a smile and rolls over until they’re nose-to-nose. He lies there for a second, taking a moment to drink in his appearance – the tanned curves of his features, the delicate point of his nose, his soft, plump lips and those big brown eyes that have seen far too much darkness. He leans over and presses his lips to Dan’s in a gentle kiss.

Dan pulls away after a few seconds. “I’m impressed.”

“With what?”

“I can’t taste a trace of smoke on you,” he says, pecking Phil’s lips again. “You really did listen to me.”

“Of course I did,” Phil mumbles between kisses. “You’d better appreciate it. I did mouthwash and all.”

“Brilliant,” Dan smirks, sliding his thigh over and shifting his weight until he’s lying on top of Phil. “And I do appreciate it, dickhead.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

So he does.

They lie there, Dan on top of Phil and Phil underneath Dan, their lips along with just about every inch of exposed skin locked together, intertwined underneath cotton and feathers. Phil combs his fingers through Dan’s curls and Dan’s fingers trace the soft curves of Phil’s sides.

Phil pulls him forward and presses a kiss to Dan’s neck, grinning when he hears the other boy gasp against his skin.

They lie there in a tangle of limbs, cotton and heavy breaths. A blotch of purple stains Dan’s collarbones. Phil’s hair is everywhere; crazy black tufts sprawled out over his forehead and his fringe and he’s pretty sure he looks an utter mess right now, but Dan’s been spending the past half hour looking at him as if he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on. He’d told him this multiple times too, albeit through ragged breaths and soft moans, and Phil had kissed him and stopped just short of letting three words slip past his lips.

“You’re the best,” Dan mumbles into Phil’s chest, swaying in and out of consciousness. The way he does this, the way he always croaks out sleepy mumbles right before he drops off, his guards down and his inhibitions invisible, makes Phil kind of want to cry. Not because of how adorable he sounds when he’s sleepy (although okay, that too), but because of the truth behind anything he says when he’s in this state. Whatever he says, he means.

“You are too,” Phil whispers, pressing kisses across Dan’s forehead in miniature pecks. “You really are.”

“You-…” he’s interrupted by his own yawn, “you… you’re so good to me.”

Phil finds himself giggling. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No one else was,” Dan mumbles against his shoulder.

Phil’s fingers find Dan’s hair. “Don’t think about that now.”

“You’re the first person who wasn’t a dick to me,” he mumbles. “Apart from Abbie.”

There’s a silence.

Phil frowns. “Who’s Abbie?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dan murmurs, but Phil feels him gulp.

“Right- erm…” Phil chews on his lower lip, studying the ceiling.

He doesn’t care to push the subject any further. Discussing the past with Dan is already risky enough, and Phil still feels eggshells cracking beneath his feet every time any mention of his past slips into conversation. He doesn’t want to make this any more troubling than it already is, doesn’t want to break the soft serenity of Dan’s mood now; he hasn’t been this calm for weeks.

“You’re great,” Dan breaks Phil’s train of thought. “Did y’know that?”

Phil gives him a wry smile. “Nope.”

“Well, you are,” Dan continues. “You’re-… you’re the best. You’re so- you’re so great and-… lovely and- everyone likes you. I like you, I like you a lot, and-“

“Just a warning,” Phil begins. “As much as you and I both know I adore your compliments, I’m pretty sure my head’s going to explode in a minute with all this hot air,” he chuckles.

“I like your head too much to ruin it,” Dan smiles. “I’ll shut up.”

Phil’s not too sure what Dan means until he feels the soft touch of fingertips moving along his back, drawing little patterns into the skin.

“That’s better,” Phil mumbles, kissing Dan’s shoulder. He feels the familiar tickle against his skin, relishing in every gentle line, every shape the other boy traces beneath his t-shirt.

Phil smiles. “Hi.”

HOW ARE U

“I’m good, funnily enough,” Phil grins. “What about you?”

BETTER

Phil feels his heartbeat in his ears.

“Really?”

NOT TOTALLY

“Oh,”

BUT BETTER.

“Well,” Phil gulps, smoothing over the cracks in his voice. “Well, um- that’s good, isn’t it?”

Dan nods, his finger motionless for a few seconds.

HANK YO

“Shit.”

Phil frowns. “What?”

“I fucked up,” Dan smirks. “Let me do that one again.”

THANK YOU

Phil feels a pinch in his heart. He rolls over until they’re facing each other, nose-to-nose, brown-to-blue, before leaning down and sealing their lips in a fervent kiss.

They lie like that for another handful of minutes, limbs and thoughts tangled together, a vacant stare towards the ceiling, until Dan’s breathing begins to steady and his hand movements slow down. The letters become sloppier, more indecipherable, but Phil still tries his best to make something of them. He gets I LIKE YOUR EYES, something about his nose and the way his hair sticks up in the morning, and then there’s a few almost motionless moments, Dan tipping into unconsciousness, his finger moving but barely writing.

And then Phil freezes, Dan’s gentle touch burning into his back like an iron rod. Shit.

His heart is racing in heavy thuds underneath his pyjama shirt and it takes every scrap of his self-control not to move, not to wake Dan up, not to do anything except lie like a stone and try to make sense of what the other boy had almost written.

He can’t be certain of course; it’s pushing three a.m. and his brain is a tangled, sleep-deprived mess, but he thinks Dan might have just fallen asleep in the middle of tracing three little words into the small of his back.

“You’re doing that grin again.”

Violet narrows her eyes. “What are you on about?”

“You know. That grin you always do when you have a good idea. You’re doing it now,” Freddie says, shuffling up the bed. They’re sprawled out on the mattress together, staring at the ceiling and making their way through a 6-pack of cider, discussing just how much of a dickhead Phil had become upon cutting ties with them all. “Come on, what have you thought of?”

“Well,” she smirks, a glint in her. “Just of ways we can teach that little shit a lesson.”

“Who; Phil?”

“No, actually,” she says.

“Who, then?”

“Dan,”

“Dan?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she begins.

“About what?”

“About how pretty much all of the shit that’s happened this year stems back to him. I mean, the tags for a start; that Liam’s still having to deal with. Poor sod’s got two and a half months left of it, still. That on top of the fact he essentially took Phil away from us.”

“How?” Freddie narrows his eyes.

“Oh, come on. Think back. When did Phil start being all off with us?”

“Er-…” Freddie tries to kick his tipsy brain into gear. “Like- half a year ago or something? I dunno, I can’t-“

“Exactly. Which was right around the time the two of them started getting cosy, right?”

“I- oh shit, yeah,” Freddie realises.

“I think a lot of it is to do with him, y’know. I don’t know what he’s been doing to Phil, but he’s not him anymore.”

“Maybe he wiped his brain and microchipped him,” Freddie mumbles.

“Probably,” Violet snorts. “But I have an idea.”

“There’s that grin again,” Freddie’s eyes light up and he rolls over on the mattress, facing her. “Speak, woman. What are you thinking?”

“Well,” Violet begins, fiddling with the ring pull on the cider can. “We promised to keep Liam away from him, didn’t we?”

“Yeah?” Freddie frowns.

She smiles. “But we never promised him anything about keeping ourselves away from him.”

Freddie hesitates for a moment. Then he grins.

Feedback is always appreciated!! i hope this is ok i promise the next chapter wont be as long-coming xxx

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phanlight #illaks #dan and phil #i hope this is ok omg

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pen-masta · 8 years

Text

Paradise’s Plight Part 1

A few years after Castel and Joy are married they take a second honeymoon trip for their anniversary. But there is trouble in the waters that await them in Tahiti. Will their love be strong enough to withstand it?

1 2 3 4

Castel smiles down at the pieces of paper he holds in his hands. Two tickets on a first class flight for a three week stay in the number one place Joy has been dying to travel to. The entire trip itself was nearly 20,000 dollars--which gave the billionaire a bit of a heart attack when the traveling agent gave him the price. That didn’t even include the money they’d be spending on food, souvenirs, tours, mountain hikes, and whatever else they’d be doing while they were there. It wasn’t that Castel was attached to his money, he just hadn’t planned on it being that expensive. He’s never spent so much money on something that seems so frivolous.

But it wasn’t frivolous it was for Joy and he only wanted the best for her in everything. The best flights, the best plane seats, the best housing, the best food, the best sights, and of course the best location. Besides he wasn’t buying something just for himself, he was buying it for her...well maybe this did include him too but it was mainly for her. And this way he not only gets to reap the benefits of enjoying the trip, he also gets to give something to Joy. Something she’s wanted since they were kids.

He chuckles, still remembering when they were ten-years-old and she was going on about the facts of this place, its geography, its history, its inhabitants, its environment, its animals, everything! She was obsessed with this place, she loved it, she desperately wanted to travel to it. But of course there’s only so far a ten-year-old can get on five dollars worth of allowance. Joy had wanted to travel the world when she was younger and she did a little bit what with the Peace Corp and all, but then life got in the way and she never got to go to all the places on her “Traveling Time!” list.

But now she’s going to get to be there. For three complete uninterrupted weeks! Next week marks three years they’ve been married, three whole years! Although that doesn’t sound like a lot, it means a lot to him considering it took them so long to admit their feelings for each other. Although everything he’s read says it’s too early in their marriage for a second honeymoon, he doesn’t care. If he wants to call it a second honeymoon then that’s what he’s darn well gonna call it.

He had kind of taken his hands off of Cubs Industries and let Amy take over for a while--consuming his time with the oddities of West Virginia. But then a few buyers lost interest due to the lack of “fresh new products” and he couldn’t relax into his fantasies of monster hunting anymore. He had stepped back into the business and had been working nonstop to come up with a new line of products for the cars, computers, robots, weapons, anything he could think of. He had about fifteen new working prototypes he was going to mass produce to put on the market, before Albert alerted Amy and Joy of his health and found him in his lab. He had worked himself sick; fever, chills, coughing, sneezing. Bottom line he was stressed and exhausted, fueled for days only on several cups of coffee, an apple or a banana here and there, and a few pizzas if he got hungry enough to order it. Was it healthy for the twenty-nine year old? No. Did he care? No. Did it keep him full and awake enough to not get distracted and pulled away from his work? Yes and that’s all that mattered.

In the long run it really was an idiotic choice for the genius.

Shortly after that Amy had ordered him to go on hiatus for a while until he was fully rested. “No point in having you hack up a lung and fall to the floor during a meeting boss.” Amy had said to him, “The press would have a field day fabricating a story that you were dying and have less attention on the new products.” She was right and besides they had enough new produces now to pacify his buyers for a little while.

So what better way to disappear from the world you know than to literally disappear from the world you know. The only ones who knew they were leaving were the only ones who would need to know: him, his brothers, Joy’s sisters, both of their parents, and of course Amy. No press, no big announcement, just the two of them slipping away in the early morning hours when all the paparazzi were fast asleep hugging their cameras. The perfect vacation to clear his mind and relax, three weeks on a little island out in the Pacific with the love of his life.

He smiles and tucks the tickets under his pillow. He’s going to tell her tonight but he doesn’t want to be so blunt about it. Taking off his shirt he tries to think of some cool way to present it to her. Swapping his jeans for his Star Wars pajama bottoms she got him last Christmas, he slides under the covers staring at the ceiling.

As he stays in his own head trying to come up with something clever to say that will open a doorway to reveal the tickets, Joy comes out of the bathroom in her nightshirt--which happens to be his old faded blue t-shirt that reads It’s An Engineering Thing You Wouldn’t Understand. He had gotten it when he was in college and it fit him well through the years, which is why he still has it...had it...Joy had claimed it a year or so ago.

She pulls her hair up into a ponytail before shimmying into the spot next to him.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks rolling onto her side and propping her head up with her hand.

He blinks before it registers that she asked him a question. He looks at her and smiles, “Nothing.”

She smirks, “Don’t give me that I know you Castel Issac Cubs.” She narrows her eyes, “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” He chuckles and rolls on his side to face her.

“The ‘cogs-and-wheels-are-turning-in-my-big-stinking-brain-again’ look,” she grins and he laughs shaking his head.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything, honest.” She raises a brow and he laughs again before he holds up his index and middle fingers, “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a scout!” She laughs and shoves him, causing him to laugh as well.

“I was too!” He laughs

“Ok you were a scout for like two months,” she rolls her eyes. “You went on one camping trip.”

“Two camping trips,” he corrects and sticks his tongue out at her.

She blows a raspberry at him and he chuckles moving closer to her.

“It’s nothing,” he smiles and pecks her lips.

“Aha!” She pokes his nose, “So it is something!”

“Jo-jo,” he chuckles. “It’s nothing.”

“So you’re really not going to tell me?” She asks and nuzzles closer to him. She widens her eyes and pouts deeply trying to win him over.

He smiles and kisses her forehead, “Nice try.” She whines loudly and he laughs. “Joy it’s for me to know and for you to find out in time.” He grins.

She narrows her eyes at him and sits up, “Castel if you do not share the information you’re going to force my hand.” She says in a very serious tone.

“Force your hand?” He chuckles and raises a brow.

“Yes,” she says her mouth falling into a flat line and her eyes turn very dark. “I will be force to use desperate measures.”

Although the look in her eyes and the dark shadow that is cast over her face does rattles him slightly, he holds his ground. He closes his mouth tight and crosses his arms, his body language saying he was not going to budge.

Joy juts out her chin, “Fine.”

Before he can stop her she pounces on top of him. They both struggle for a moment before he manages to brace his hands against her shoulders, holding her an arm’s length away. She grins like the Cheshire Cat before tickling his sides. His arms immediately fall to try and cover the sensitive skin as he laughs loudly.

“No! No Joy wait a sec!” He laughs and tries to roll onto his side, but her sitting on his stomach prevents him.

After a moment he breaks laughing loudly, “Alright! hahaha! Alright you win!”

Joy immediately stops, throwing her fists in the air, “I am the conquer!” He giggles still smiling up his beautiful wife. “And of course I won,” she smiles back at him. “I am the queen!”

“I thought you were the conquer,” he smirks and raises a brow.

“I am the conquering queen!” She shouts throwing her head back.

They both laugh for a moment before she shifts from her sitting position to lay down on him instead. She rests her hands on his chest, “So tell me what it was you were thinking about.” She says and rests her chin on her hands.

He sighs, wrapping his arms around her he says as solemnly as he can, “I was just thinking of how to tell you.”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Tell me what?”

He closes his eyes and tries to feign his sadness as he slips his one hand under his pillow, “Well you see Amy really doesn’t want me to be working for a little while.” He looks at her trying very hard to keep his smile at bay, “So she’s throwing me out of the business and my lab for a few weeks to rest.”

“Ok,” Joy says sounding crossed between worried and uncertain.

“So instead of the lab I’m gonna need some other place to go,” he says and grasps the tickets under his pillow. “You remember how I went on that business trip out east last year for a few weeks?”

“Yeah,” Joy says a hint of defeat in her voice.

That month felt like a year by the time he had gotten home, she would have gone with him had she not had the play to deal with. They had skyped and called every night, but it wasn’t the same as having him here with her. She has a feeling that Amy is sending him to negotiate with some buyers or something like that again, instead of having him working himself to death in his lab. She is not looking forward to another month alone in this enormous house. Sure Albert was great for company or a conversation, and man can that guy play chess! But he’s just not her best friend...he’s not Cassie. But she knows her husband has been so stressed lately and exhausted...maybe a little time away from home would be good.

She would go with him but she’s sure he’ll have to leave in the next few days and her play is running until the end of the week. She won’t be done in time to go with him...but it’s for his health. It’ll be alright.

She forces a smile, “A business trip will be a good escape for you. A few minor meetings, a nice hotel, room service, and rest.” She says and kisses his chin.

He smiles now, “Well I’m glad you think so but it’s not that kind of trip.”

“What do you mean?” She asks confused.

“It’s a trip for both of us.” He says.

“I don’t understand,” Joy says completely lost.

His grin is wide now as he holds the tickets up. “Here read this,” he says and hands them out to her.

Joy sits up again and takes the tickets from him. Her eyes widen as she reads the tickets and she looks at him in shock, “Tahiti!?”

He chuckles and nods, “Three weeks in Tahiti for three years of marriage. We leave Sunday morning after your play is done running.”

She squeals and flings her arms around his neck kissing him repeatedly. He laughs in between the kisses and he wraps his arms around her again holding her tight. Once she’s done with her kiss attack he smiles at her.

“Happy anniversary J-bird,” he says and kisses her nose.

She giggles and shifts to lye next to him. She cuddles into his side, “Why Tahiti?”

“What you think I forgot how much you went on about it when we were kids?” He asks and she giggles.

“You’re amazing,” she says and kisses him again.

He smiles, “No just observant.” She rolls her eyes and he flicks the nightstand lamp off, “I already told our families that we were going and that we will be unavailable for the entire trip. Three weeks with no beepers, no phones, no bluetooths, no meetings, no clients, no products, no press, no work, no paparazzi, no buyers, no nothing.” He looks down at her and smiles lovingly, “Consider it a second honeymoon. Just you, me, and Tahiti.”

She smiles up at him and kisses him again. That night they each fall asleep with only one thought in their minds, This is going to be the best second honeymoon in the history of second honeymoons.

_________

“Yes, yes I know...I’m flying out there Friday I’ll be in Tahiti until the end of the month to check up on the hotels...No, tell them I’ll be unavailable for the next month...Ugh! Good bye Rodger.” Martha huffs before hanging up the phone on the still speaking man. “I definitely need to get a less whinny assistant.”

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hereticmk · 7 years

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Resurrection.

If the bones of Jesus were found tomorrow, what would it do to your faith?

The answer to this question isn’t as easy as it may sound. Ask me the question 15 years ago and I’d say “what do you mean?” Even 10 years ago my answer wouldn’t have changed. But the last 5 years have been different. The last 3 even more so.

I hadn’t read much since High School, burned out by all the required reading for mundane classes. I prided myself on that fact, like any 20 something male would. In the last 3 years (I’m 31 now) that has changed. If it weren’t for side projects, 2 small children, and the fact that reading puts me to sleep still, I wouldn’t be able to put books down. But I stick to philosophy and religion.

I grew up what I would call Evangelical Christian. My parents did not seem fundamentalist, in fact far from it usually. But the Bible was inerrant (something I never questioned), and everything we needed to know to live a life worthy of Christ was found in it.

Last year I read the Koran cover to cover (in English unfortunately). I got a ways into the Bhagavad Gita before I couldn’t handle it any more. Maybe it was the translation I had. Maybe it’s that I don’t like fantasy/epic tales and battles. I got a few pages into the Vedas. I recently started reading the Talmud. Years ago I attempted the Book of Mormon but was mostly annoyed. And of course I have a long history and deep familiarity with the Bible. I’m not sure what religious text I’ll pick up next, but it’s quite fascinating trying to grasp life from the viewpoints of others who believe their path is the way that leads to God/Enlightenment/Heaven/Utopia/Good stuff.

I’ve also fallen in love (and out again) with Nietzsche, Renan, Tillich, and others. I love the philosophical approach to religion, especially when it comes to Christianity.

My own faith has changed so much in the past 3 or 4 years I barely recognize it. I have a running vision in my head of where I am on the continuum of the faith I grew up in. For the first few months of the beginning of my branching out I saw myself on very solid ground. As time went on, the vision showed me nudging closer to the edge of a cliff very similar to those in Dover. A year or so later I would see myself repelling down the edge of the cliff, but on sturdy ropes. Even later I imagine myself treading water at the base of the cliff, but easily within reach of the shore if emergency struck. And then I started to see myself swimming further out to sea, occasionally dipping my head underwater. As I look at my faith now I see myself in deep water, hundreds of yards away from shore, but not as scared as when I was treading water. Every day I found myself somehow drawing deeper into the contents of what I believe, but further from the version I was taught.

The fear that remains is not really of the religious kind, it is of the disappointment kind. My parents are what I would call “strong” Christians. Faith was a central part of our life as a family of four. My parents were (and in some capacities still are) missionaries, and my life consisted of much traveling, many churches, mission trips, Sunday services, and general Christian things. The most miraculous part is that both my brother and I would still consider ourselves Christ followers. We were not abused, abandoned, or otherwise disenfranchised with the church. I owe this to my parents. They were a consistent source of what real faith looked like: sometimes messy. To this day they only go to church if they are leading worship that Sunday. Even as a kid I remember the looks my parents would get for acting in very counter-evangelical ways. My brother and I would sneak up after church and split the communion bread (upon my mother’s prompting) so that we could last until lunchtime with the Pastor (who of course was always the last to leave church).

The faith I grew up in involved simultaneously supporting the sacrament of communion during the service, while realizing that the bread was nothing more than just bread. And at some churches, damned good bread too. The kind of bread an 8 and 10 year old set of brothers would happily chomp away at backstage while their parents wrapped cables and packed away instruments.

This ability to see the magic as well as spend time with the man behind the curtain was shaping my faith more than my parents knew at the time.

At the Last Supper, Jesus broke the bread, drank the wine, passed it around the table, and said the super vague phrase “when you do this, do it in remembrance of me.” The bread was his body, the wine his blood. But we’ve exchanged bread for crackers, or wafers, or hamburger buns, or baguettes, or bread. We’ve taken the gluten out of the bread. We’ve added grape juice as well as wine. We’ve served it on trays and plates. We’ve taken it, had it handed to us, had it placed on our tongues, dipped it, sipped it, passed it, and gotten nervous about it when the person in front of us has a cough. What is communion? We’re told to make sure our hearts are “ready” for it, or that only if we are already part of the Church, or part of THIS church, or baptized, or maybe baptized as infants is cool (but not at THIS church). You stay in your seat, cross your hands over your chest, take it and fake it, take it and real it, and all sorts of things if you haven’t “said the sinner’s prayer.” What is communion?

Modern-day Communion surely represents everything we’ve turned Jesus into. A plethora of options that suit our tastes, or the rules of the Elders, or the agreement of the church, or the Tradition passed down. But what is it? I guess it is nothing more than a group of people having decided to collectively affirm the tradition and the historical words of Jesus. Isn’t that all church is? Just a collection of people affirming tradition and history?

Back to my original question: if the bones of Jesus were found tomorrow, what would it do to your faith?

My answer starts with a question. What did Jesus come to do? A Bible answer first: to seek and save the lost. Or, he came that we may have life, and have it to the fullest. Or he came to become the path to God. Or he came to play some kind of middle man between us, our sin, and God. Or he came to conquer death. Or he came to set up a kingdom (what the Jews were expecting). So, I have a few more questions:

Did he accomplish his goals while alive?

Did he need to die in order to finish accomplishing his goals?

Did he need to resurrect in order complete his goals?

Did his heart need to literally start beating again in order to resurrect?

That last question admittedly is fresh off my brain as I work through Renan’s “The Apostles.” Where he completely denies a physical resurrection of Jesus’ body and claims it is a resurrection that, while just as critically important, occurs in the minds, hearts, and spirits of his followers, effectively producing the same end result.

Jesus was never clear. He was rarely clear about anything. And of his death and subsequent resurrection, he was no different. “I will destroy and rebuild the temple in three days,” along with its explanation, is about the closest we seem to come (along with a few other allusions to how he might die).

Someone very, very remarkable came along 2000 years ago. So remarkable in fact, that a tiny, tiny, tiny group of Jews not only decided to stop what they were doing and follow him, but through even more remarkable events, decided to (eventually) keep a record of what happened, and spawn a global movement that has changed the course of history for every human on the planet.

I have no reason to doubt the supernatural interfering with we claim is the “natural” world. I have had enough experiences myself to realize that weird things happen that we cannot explain. In some ways I hope one day we can start explaining supernatural items with the laws of nature. I think that makes them even more intensely interesting. I have no reason to doubt that Jesus is somehow the Son of God. If God is the essence of being, the force behind life, the love that appears between humans, then I don’t know how it works for him to have a son, but between translations of what Son of God means, and us not really being able to grasp it, I don’t have a problem letting that one go for now.

Paul Tillich has a great quote in “Shaking the Foundations” in what it meant for Christ to die:

The Christ had to suffer and die, because whenever the Divine appears in all Its depth, it cannot be endured by men. It must be pushed away by the political powers, the religious authorities, and the bearers of cultural tradition. In the picture of the Crucified, we look at the rejection of the Divine by humanity. We see that, in this rejection, not the lowest, but the highest representatives of mankind are judged. Whenever the Divine appears, it is a radical attack on everything that is good in man, and therefore man must repel it, must push it away, must crucify it. Whenever the Divine manifests Itself as the new reality, it must be rejected by the representatives of the old reality. For the Divine does not complete the human; it revolts against the human. Because of that, the human must defend itself against it, must reject it, and must try to destroy it.

If the Apostles made everything up. If they got together, conspired to “pretend” Jesus rose from the dead in bodily form. If they kept the secret so well, and were able to write it down in a way that solidified the fact for generations to come, I would first of all be very impressed. Second of all, would it matter? Does not the church today (an idea borrowed from Tillich) represent Jesus as the Christ. Does the Church not shadow and act as Jesus? Is not the Church the very proof needed as to what Jesus was trying to accomplish in his time.

I find myself in deep dark water. I find myself not denying the resurrection, per se. As denying the resurrection is the one thing that my faith as a child does not allow me to do. That is the very thing our faith has been based on for so long. If the Christ did not die and was not resurrected, then we as Christ followers, in the words of (St. Paul I believe), should be “pitied most of all.” But I do find myself starting to understand the theory behind how one could believe that a flesh and bone resurrection is in many ways as good as a spiritual and heart-felt resurrection. The end goal is the same thing: a Church lives on to represent (as best it can) the life Jesus led, and the direction he pointed the Church.

I may find myself in deep water, but I am not alone. Renan writes from 1866 and depicts with striking clarity the future versions of Christianity, Islam, and attitudes towards spirituality in general.

To be continued…

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