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mcwriting · 4 years

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starstruck (5)

It’s finally here!!! I’m so sorry this took literally 5ever but it’s here now! Ch 6 is also written but I don’t plan on releasing it until 7 is done. In the meantime, I’ll be releasing some other things I’ve had in the works for a while so be on the lookout for those ;)

Thanks to all who’ve followed me and been reading! I love you!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Fandom: Tommy Holland

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Setting: LA in general

Word Count: 2013

Warnings: a little bit of language; general sad time emotions

Rating: K+ still i guess

__________________________________

You had run up the stairs upon entering your house, yelling out a quick “hey I’m home” to your parents to keep from rising suspicion.

You tossed your bag onto your desk chair and went and sat on the big bean bag in the corner of your room, curling up into it under a blanket.

It was nearing 4 o’clock and you knew that the beans would be spilled any moment now.

You were absolutely nauseous.

You refreshed Instagram over and over until a notification came up at the top of your feed.

Tomholland2013 started a live video. Watch it before it ends!

Tears slipped down your cheeks again and you clicked on it, turning up the volume as the obviously anguished face of your worst nightmare appeared on the screen. The way his eyes puffed unnaturally led you to believe he, too, had been crying.

He waited a few seconds for people to join and weakly smiled. It broke your heart to see him in this state, but it pained you even more to know how it had come to this.

“Hey, everyone,” he began quietly, waving to the camera. You recognized the background photos from his hotel room and continued to weep harder.

Comments were rolling in, concerned fans asking Tom if he was okay and what was going on. Even some of his celebrity friends appeared to be confused in the comments.

“I wanted to address some rumors going on about me and the mystery girl. That girl is y/n y/l/n. We met by accident at the premiere last week and snapped a photo together as I’m sure you’ve all seen. Fast forward to only a few days ago, when I helped take her to the hospital.”

He paused. Comments were getting more frequent as the live stream continued, more people joining by the second.

Your breath was caught in your throat and chest was heavy and tight.

Am I having a panic attack? you thought before Tom continued.

“I took y/n to the hospital because she injured her head and I happened to be at the right place at the right time. That’s all that happened. We have only met those two times and I am happy that I was there when she needed help.”

You help back sobs at this point, not wanting to alarm your parents but unable to suppress the emotions you felt about his lying.

“Every other theory or suspicion is false. Those photos were of me driving her to the doctor. Y/n and I have had no contact since the incident, so please don’t bother her any further. I just wanted to come on and say y/n, I hope you’re feeling better and doing well, and to let all of you fans know the truth.”

He looked away from the camera when he said “truth,” and you were angered more.

This wasn’t the truth. This wasn’t okay. This wasn’t the Tom you’d come to know and even consider a friend.

“Finally, thank you all for the support on the movie and I love seeing your reactions. I will resume doing press this weekend when I head to South Korea and then China next week. I’m glad I could share this film with you and once again, I hope you’re feeling better y/n and that we could possibly meet again when you are okay. Thank you all.”

He gave a final wave and slight grin before ending the stream, struggling to tap the button multiple times and swearing a bit as he finally did it.

You wanted to throw your phone across the room and smash it to pieces and simultaneously lock yourself in the closet and never leave. Another part of you yearned to scream the truth over the rooftops and tell the world how horrible Tom was for this.

Now I know why I never liked him you imagined again.

You finally worked up the courage to send one message to b/f/n.

I’m sorry.

You hit send and seconds later another text came through from someone else.

I’m so sorry. It’s done.

Who from?

Clara twinkletoes, of course.

You tossed your phone away from you on the carpet and snuggled further into the bean bag, trying to muffle the sounds of sobs with your blanket.

__________________________________

Your parents called you down for dinner, but food wasn’t on your mind in the slightest.

You probably looked like you’d been hit by a truck as you made your way down the stairs, and your mom and dad noticed immediately.

“Oh my gosh, baby. What happened?” your mother fawned, rushing to you and placing her hands softly on your cheeks.

“Tom Holland,” you mumbled, defeated.

“Is that some boy I need to put in his place?” your dad asked sincerely, brows furrowed.

You shook your head slightly and pulled away from your mother.

“I thought that was the actor boy b/f/n likes but you don’t. Didn’t she go meet him last week?” she inquired.

“Look up his name online, I’m sure you’ll find the fabricated story somewhere.”

You apathetically began building your plate, scooping some lasagna out and grabbing a small bit of salad as your parents scanned the TMZ article that had been published with the help of an “anonymous source.”

“The source says y/l/n has shown previous disdain for the ‘Spider-Man’ star, but is grateful for the help he extended in her dire situation. Her social media is booming as both fans and haters flock to ask about her encounter, but no word has been published by her yet. It’s only a matter of time before the California native makes a statement. Most are calling her lucky, and we don’t blame her,” your mom read aloud.

You thought you had no tears left to cry before, but more slipped down your cheek as you slid into a chair at the dining table.

“What is this?” your mom asked as she and your dad looked up from the article to you.

You started explaining everything over your dinner halfheartedly, trying not to let your emotions continue to get the best of you.

They reacted with both concern and surprise as you told the story from beginning to present, choosing not to leave out the part where Tom had secretly been in the house a few nights previous.

The lie was over, and the only way to move forward was with the truth, no matter how your parents would react.

Upon finishing the tale, you looked up from your barely eaten meal to find both parents eyeing you sympathetically.

“That’s it. That’s everything. Punish me how you see fit. Nothing could be worse than what I’ve already been through today.”

“Honey, we aren’t going to punish you. You’re an adult and you made some decisions that you can’t un-make. The consequences have already presented themselves. What matters now is how you move on from this,” your mom began.

“And we’ll be behind you every step of the way,” your dad finished.

You couldn’t help but smile and stood to hug them, welcoming their warm embraces. While cherishing the moment, you still couldn’t help but fear for b/f/n’s reaction.

“We may have to talk about you being able to sneak a boy into the house under our noses, though,” your father joked as you leaned into their arms.

__________________________________

You readied for bed after spending a few hours curled into the couch watching evening programming.

You hadn’t looked at your phone once since receiving that text from Tom and dreaded looking at it, but decided to do so anyways.

You saw that there was a message from b/f/n but decided to ignore it for now.

Snapchat was filled with snaps from friends and acquaintances who had learned of the incident already.

Leaving them on read was the only feasible option right now.

A quick scan of Instagram and Twitter shot your anxiety through the roof and you refused to make any posts just yet.

The world would just have to wait for your mental health to improve.

Eventually you worked up the nerve to open the text from b/f/n, ignoring all others from family and other close friends.

This isn’t you, it began.

You have a lot of explaining to do if you expect me to understand or forgive you, but I’m not writing you off just yet

Let me know when you’re ready to talk.

You honestly couldn’t believe it.

Sure, you two had been friends for years and been through thick and thin, but you also knew how she could react in anger and be unforgiving for a long time.

It took about 20 minutes of you staring at her texts and pacing the room to think up a reply, and your words still would never make up for all of it.

I really don’t know if I am ready to share, but I swear on my life that you’ll be the first to hear from me when I am. I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you, I love you.

With that, you placed the phone on the charger on do not disturb and you crawled onto the bed.

A certain scent hit you like a truck upon laying down.

You inhaled sharply and tensed.

That damned cologne was still there.

Sleeping like this was not an option, so immediately you got back up, headed out the door, and made your way to the guest room.

That would have to work tonight, and tomorrow you would have to decide between washing or burning your bedsheets.

Those thoughts didn’t make it too far, though, because almost immediately after your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light.

__________________________________

You couldn’t do anything.

All day you had stayed in, afraid to be seen in public and even worse, be confronted about this. You couldn’t even make yourself go to dance in avoidance of your classmates.

Instead, you spent the day managing your anger and sadness through working out for almost two hours and eventually breaking down on the floor of your makeshift home gym.

Your mom had taken off from work to keep watch of you and came in upon hearing you. She sat down on the floor and embraced you, ignoring the sweat covering your body and clothes.

After finally managing to get up, you headed back upstairs and hopped into a long hot bath. Maybe that would cleanse you of all of this.

It didn’t.

Later, you stripped your bed of the sheets and tossed them in the wash, dumping a scoop and a half of laundry detergent in for good measure. You also misted the bare mattress and pillows with linen spray just in case.

You wouldn’t let anything remind you of him.

The day went by too slowly as isolation set in. You couldn’t check social media because your feed was overloaded with inquiries, and you couldn’t talk to your friends because they were just as bad as the fans and haters.

You were now sitting watching youtube videos while your mom watched tv. You weren’t paying attention until you heard the volume go up.

Upon looking up at the screen, you saw that she was watching Entertainment Tonight and they were running a story on you.

It felt like your stomach had dropped to the floor when your name was said by one of the journalists. Even though you knew that what they’d say was false, you couldn’t look away.

They basically recapped everything Tom and the TMZ article had said, but also mentioned that you had been talked about on other talk shows and gossip sites all night and day.

Your mom gave you a sympathetic look, but you chose to ignore it all, rolling your eyes and continuing to try to figure out how to move on.

Eventually you would have to leave the house and talk about it all, but today was necessary for self care and reflection.

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That’s it for this one! It’s realllllll dramatic but oh well haha. Thanks for reading and sorry it took so long to put out!

If you wanna be added to the tag list, please send an ask or message bc I can’t reply to comments on posts since this is a side blog :(

Tag List: @marvel-lously, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @worn-off

#starstruck #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland dancing #tom holland headcanon #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #marvel #spider-man #spiderman #spider man #Spider Man: Homecoming #tom holland spider man #SPIDER MAN FAR FROM HOME #sm:ffh

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tarithenurse · 4 years

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Girl Power Challenge

Pairing: Thor x fem!reader Content: Heavy on the tropes (haters to lovers, denial); mission; cursing; sass; humour; degrading comments; mentions of drinking; pure, filthy smut with dom/sub-inclinations. A/N: My one-shot contribution to @captain-kelli ‘s 500 challenge, based on a dialog prompt (bold) and a sprinkling of Thor. I hope it’s alright ;) Huge thanks to my lovely friend maladaptive-ninja-returns for betaing this one.

Stronger

No vocabulary contained the swear words you needed so desperately at that moment. A few interesting options had already passed your lips as you worked through the crumbling building, using your skill to move aside blocks of concrete as though they were tumbleweed to get to survivors. One by one, you had tunneled towards the poor victims, shaping the earth and debris to prevent any collapses, and you had actually been thrilled when you sensed the vibrations of Iron Man landing to take a dirty, shaking body from your arms.

Despair diffused into hope while you worked side by side with the Avengers.

Then the oaf showed up, tossing slabs off concrete out of the way without any consideration to the balance of the ruins.

It happened fast, almost too fast for the movement to register through your feet into your legs. Lunging forward, you managed to grab the kid you had been working towards with one hand while maintaining a thin, wobbly pillar (once the corner of the building) beneath yourself while the rest fell away. Dust and embers billowed. Your heart hammered in the throat. The rumble managed to drown out the kid’s frightened scream. Out of the raging darkness, Stark appeared just in time to grab the poor child as the dirty fingers started to slip through the strained grip – then they were gone and you could focus on your own predicament. Tired and pissed off, you would have a hard time shaping the concrete according to your will (earth would have been preferable due to the malleability).

Then the air crackled, making the little hairs stand on end. Or maybe it was simply the anger simmering from the anticipation of what was to come: a big, strong, blond oaf in a red cloak propelling himself upwards and past you yet somehow still managing to snare an arm around your waist and swish you away.

No language in the universe held the curses you needed. It might have been a hint for Thor if he had noticed how the remainder of the building crushed into itself, becoming no more than dust. He didn’t. He was too busy looking smug, a beaming smile aimed towards you even before he landed with a tooth rattling jolt.

“Fear not, fair lady,” he rumbled with more pride than you could stand, “nothing shall harm you now.”

No restraint could contain the cold words slithering off your lips. “Who asked you to intervene?”

“I…beg you pardon?” Oh, the confusion in those electric-blue eyes was perfect.

“You think you have to rescue me?!” Forcibly wriggling out of his arms, it was wonderful to have steady ground beneath your feet. “You think I can’t take care of myself?!”

He was not off the hook yet, oh no. Not once did the Asgardian God of Thunder get a proper word in as defense while you chewed him out. The only reason you eventually stopped was because Stark came over, dragging you away with the promise of a spa treatment and a party – who in their right mind would say no to that?

… …

The party had been a small celebration with those involved in the day’s heroing: dinner at a local diner followed by drinks at a bar that Stark rented for the evening, but despite the “free” drinks and cute bartenders the Avengers eventually went back to the Tower, dragging you along with them. Were you supposed to have said no? Maybe. But of course you didn’t.

Staying away from Thor, you still managed to have a great time and had no issues ignoring the sulking glances the blond brute sent you from across the room. Drink in hand, you allowed yourself to be sweettalked into some fun and games by Natasha.

…

Who knew that superheroes amuse themselves by something as simple as “Truth or Dare”? To be honest, so far it has been hilarious (especially when Sam tried to minimize the damage he’d done to his reputation after a truth-question).

“Dare,” Thor proclaims with confidence as he stares down the redhead next to you.

A smile curls Natasha’s lips and if you had been on the receiving end then you would be scared. Thor, of course, is not.

“Kiss the person you’ve known the longest and the one you’ve known the shortest.”

There’s a beat of silence where Thor’s eyes flicker in your direction, but the tension is averted by Stark practically throwing himself at the Asgardian in anticipation of what’s to come. Two people don’t participate in the ruckus cheering filling the room: Natasha, who is leering at you…and you, who leans comfortably into the plush pillows, a leg dangling over the other to allow the foot to wiggle along to the beat of the music. Think murder, you tell yourself before meeting her gaze. Steady. Unwavering.

“So…” Your face is a perfect mask of calm innocence. “What’s the punishment when he fails?” Not if.

Although the words have been quiet, they manage to silence the room. Already, people are getting ideas as Thor recover from the first part of the Dare, his mind now also struggling with the suggestion that he, the Mighty Prince Thor of Asgard, should possibly fail.

“Oh! I know!” It might be Bruce piping up for once…or Stark if he has returned from his private heaven. “Thor’ll have to leave Mjølnir behind for research when he returns to Asgard.”

A collective “oooh” rushes through the group, undoubtedly fueled further by the blond idiot’s reaction. Perfect. He’s struggling to keep composure, nerves thrumming through his body - only finding an outlet through the punishing grasp that is threatening to tear off the armrest of the chair, and the curling of toes inside the big boots. But you? A tiny smirk tickles the corner of your mouth as you wait for the inevitable.

“Well, what a-are we waiting for?” Thor smiles falter when you do nothing but sip from the drink. “Surely, you cannot truly detest me…”

Oh, no? The slowest of looks from under your lashes tells him otherwise. Whether he has understood what he did wrong or not, it’s evident he realizes what is at stake at this moment while you have the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson for making a situation worse by running in like a driverless bulldozer.

“What’s this?” you drawl playfully, “need me to…save…you?”

Electricity sparkles in his eyes and you know the words hit the right spot, but then he blinks and it is gone, leaving behind a man in the place of a god. “Yes. Please…save me.”

You know the others must be confused, unsure of what to make of the untamed rivalry between the two of you. Frankly, the scene has taken a turn you didn’t expect either. It’s just that…backing down isn’t an option anymore. Pushing away the knowledge of their presence, you focus on Thor and your nails.

“Funny thing, knowin’ someone wants to be rescued. Really enables a certain drive, y’know? A need to do it right and not endanger other people by rushing in like a bumbling oaf…dontcha agree?”

“Uhm…”

“Soooo…the plan’s to save you…or Mjølnir…by kissing you?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve seen rocks I’d rather kiss.”

Somewhere, in the world you’ve chosen to ignore for the moment, there are shouts and jeering. Right in front of you is a tall, muscly god with arms crossed as he towers above you. Glaring. Finally letting go of the confusion as your last insult chips away the patience he has cultivated. He doesn’t budge when you stand, chest brushing against his wiry lower arms, and the temptation to stand on the couch becomes nearly overwhelming.

“I’m no rock,” he growls, “unlike your heart.” There’s a gasp from somewhere behind the Asgardian (it distinctly sounds like the word “burn”), quickly followed by shushing. “Though…mayhaps your cold façade serves to keep yourself protected from feeling any love?”

“Nice try…but no.” The last dredges of your drink flows easily over your tongue. Time for a refill. “Now, excuse me.”

Thor allows you to pass and get all the way to the bar counter where you deposit the empty glass before he calls out to you. “I did not take you for a coward, lady [Y/N].”

“I’m not.”

“Yet you dare not share a kiss.”

You’ve frozen to the spot, back still turned to the group and hand on the fridge. I can say no…I can say no…I can…not. Nope. Not gonna chicken out. Slowly turning, it’s all too evident that everyone is holding their breath in anticipation. Some are praying for a chance to study the bloody hammer while others just want some ammunition to pester either Thor or maybe you with for at least the rest of the night.

“Now that’s a low blow, mister.” He is in trouble and the way you walk back to face him shows it. “Let’s see what you got, then.”

He delivers.

A hand cradling your neck, and arm around your waist pulling you flush up against him. There’s a brief second where your entire vision is filled by the electricity crackling in his blue eyes before his lips are upon you. Surprisingly gentle, they slot onto your mouth with ease and you’re done for. The combination of his beard prickling your upper lip and chin is the perfect contrast to the molten heat parting your lips with a sweep of his tongue to deepen the kiss. You forget to breathe, forget to hold your eyes open and your legs steady. Instead you lean into his embrace and allow your instincts to engage in a dance you hadn’t intended to perform but don’t want out of.

You are breathless when he pulls away, hands supporting you until you have got your bearings again. Want.

“See?” By some sort of miracle, your voice isn’t reduced to a gasp. “Rocks could do better.”

Thankfully, the scientific part of the group are complaining loudly enough about the missed opportunity to move the attention from you and eventually the game continues for a few rounds. It gives you time - time where you keep pulling your gaze away from the blond god repeatedly. Sometimes, you imagine feeling the electric fire of his eyes scalding your skin, each time making you check to find him studying you unabashedly.

…

By the time the party ends, you’ve been offered to sleep over rather than make your way home. Tony has already staggered off to his room, leaving Natasha in charge of finding a bed for you a few floors below the lounge and instruct you on the little stash of spare clothes hidden behind a panel in the wall.

“Most are gonna sleep in t’morrow, so don’t worry ‘bout getting up early,” she yawns. Just before the door closes behind her, she adds, “Oh, and if you hear snoring it’s just Thor…his room’s across from this.”

I didn’t hear that.

Snooping around the room and en suite bathroom entertains you for a while and even yields rather luxurious results – the hottest shower you have ever indulged in as well as overly fluffy towels and a dark blue, silk nightshirt that reaches the middle of your thighs. The place is fit for a princess. A highly modern one, but royalty, nonetheless. Even a Prince of Asgard.

Just the thought makes a delicate sweat break out on your skin. Logic and lust battles within you, painting pictures in your mind of a strong body displayed naked before you, muscles moving like sand beneath the tan skin and a stone-grip on your thighs.

I’d be weak if I give in, you pout as you toss and turn in the enormous bed…and regret it if I don’t. Caught between a rock and a hard place there’s no rest to be found while the fire burns within. The problem is not the risk of love or hurt feelings but rather to become “just another of those girls”. The kind of chicks that sigh while waiting for Mr. Right to find them; the type of female who needs a provider and protector for whatever reason. None of those are you. Strong and independent, no one is above you. Sure, you got morals (the wish to help people and not hurt them intentionally is there), but all your life you’ve followed your dreams and aspirations, ensuring you got what you wanted.

“Why not this time?”

The darkness doesn’t answer the whisper, but perhaps that is a reply in its own right.

Yeah…I want him. I’ll have him. Slipping from under the duvet, bare feet listen to the information carried like a mumble through the concrete to guide you out of the room and across the hall where a sliver of light cuts below the door. You can feel his footsteps pacing back and forth. Is he waiting? Considering his own options?

A deep breath finds its way into your lungs in an attempt to steady your nerves. Rather than knocking, you open the door resolutely, finding the god at the far end of the room in all his naked glory including a semi-hard cock. The once-over becomes a twice-over as the door closes behind you.

“Might wanna lock when walking ‘round in your birthday suit.”

The specimen of a man doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion or nudity but minimizes the distance between the two of you with all but a yard. “My own door was of little concern,” he rumbles, “while yours became an insurmountable obstacle from which I’ve retreated numerous times…afraid my sins were irredeemable.”

Oh really? “I…could forgive you, I guess…”

“Tell me how!” The tall man literally drops to his knees before you, large hands reaching for your hips but not daring to touch. “Your wish is my command, m’lady.”

It’s a rush to be in charge of Thor, not just due to his natural alpha-vibes or his royal title but rather because he doesn’t begrudgingly follow your instruction as you order him to get up and turn to display himself. He moves with a slow purpose, flexing his limbs lazily as you carve the sight into a memory that time never will erode. Sandy skin glistens in the dimmed light while shadows shimmy across the mountains and valleys of his muscles.

“Undress me.”

There’s not a lot of clothing to remove. Nonetheless, he extends each part of the task to the infinite, making sure not to touch your skin as each button of the silk shirt is popped to allow the cool fabric to slide off your shoulders and pool at your feet. Once more, he kneels. Calloused fingers reaching for the hem of your panties.

“Wait.” His hands stop mere millimeters away. “Before you remove them, feel free to touch me as you wish.”

Even without direct eye contact, you can sense the flicker of lightning playing in the blue of his irises – a convenient explanation to why every hair on your body stands on end when you still don’t want to admit it’s pure excitement.

His first touches are featherlight strokes up and down your thighs, curving to the back where the large palms fit so well under the ass. Fingertips tug at the thin fabric of your undies, pulling them partially below the hips so only your mound remains hidden, baring sensitive skin for Thor to lavish with subtle kisses. The first tremors dance deep within you, early warnings of an earthquake only he can set off.

The grip is much stronger, needier, when his hands frame your waist to pull you flush against his chest. Nose in navel, deep breaths inhale your scent. The smile of his lips can be felt against your abdomen, growing wider as he cups one of the breasts where his fingers stroke the peak and tweak the hardening pebble to make you gasp.

“M’lady,” he murmurs against your hip, tongue tracing the shift in your flesh to where the bundled undies hinder further advances, “please allow me…?”

“Alright.”

Barely have the words left your lips before you feel the fabric slip down, reluctantly letting go where they have soaked up the wetness between your legs already. He knows. A deep sigh escapes him, immediately followed by kisses claiming the path towards your sex.

A few inches and his lips will be on your clit.

One inch.

“Enough.” The words are more ragged than sharp as intended, but Thor accepts the command. “Get on the bed.”

You follow him closely as he scoots backwards until his head rests on the pillow. Damn. Every tensed muscle you touch could be carved from sun-heated marble. Shivers erupt from where you hands glide over his skin – all running towards the proudly erect cock which in itself is a godly masterpiece that twitches in anticipation as you straddle his thighs.

It’s so obvious, the craving in those electric eyes devouring you whole, the tremble caused by self-restraint. Waiting for the order, huh? Reaching for his hands, allowing fingers to entwine as you lean down to nibble at his throat. Sensitive nipples sweep over his chest. Each stuttering breath escaping Thor tickles your ear as your lips find their way towards his until the connection finally is made and he can steal your breath away, drinking it straight from your mouth. Hips roll, his or yours – it barely matters – but you won’t let go and allow his hands to roam. Not yet at least. Tearing away, a smile plays on your lips at the whine he utters at the lack of contact.

“So eager,” you purr, “for this?”

Not once do your eyes stray from him. Your own hands are much smaller, doing little to imitate what Thor might be able to do if he was the one to cup your breasts before a hand slides to the apex of your thighs to splay the folds and spread the glistening wetness there. Blatantly taunting him, moaning and rocking against your own touch as you expertly swirl the clit. Beneath you, the man groans and you do the same when you tweak the nipples, one after the other as the hand works. There’s a distinct sound of fabric ripping when a few of your digits enter the core.

“Please. Goddess,” the desperate man gasps, “please.”

Rolling the pelvis (and shuffling slightly forward on the knees) you drag your sobbing cunt along Thor’s shaft, the tip teasing the entrance enough for him to pout as you repeat the maneuver. So tempting. All it would take is a little lift and then a slow, breathtaking slide to bring his cock inside. To feel the width and length press ever right spot as the walls of your cunt would stretch and quiver to accommodate him.

“Show me how to treat a goddess, then.”

The mask of meek desperation crumbles in seconds, revealing a predatorial greed gleaming like sharp crystals. Rather than grab your hips and guide you until you are impaled on his cock, however, he surges up to embrace you tightly. A demanding mouth captures your lips, stealing your senses by the flexing sweeps of a tongue matched by bites. When Thor’s hands begin to roam, you find yourself unable to do anything but hold on to him, nails digging into the muscly back, as your body grinds against him with a will of its own.

You’re vaguely aware of the room turning around you and the firm softness of a mattress against your back, but nothing truly stands clear until the nibbling kisses and licks travel down your body. Clavicle and shoulders, breasts where each hypersensitive nipple is treated heavenly before Thor proceeds across the expanse of your stomach.

He uses every part of his body to tease you: his voice sends vibrations into your very soul, the press of him is deliciously insistent between your legs, his reddish beard a devilish contrast to the sweetness of his lips, and his hands…oh god…his hands are everywhere. Pinching, massaging, stroking.

“O-ah!” The sound slips out of you in whimper.

Thor is paying full attention to your clit, licking broad stripes all along the folds before spelling out the alphab- wait. Each flick of his tongue does trace a letter around the tight bundle of nerves, but they aren’t random instead spelling out your name before a broad lick starts it all over until your toes curl and legs shake from the approaching orgasm and your moans have changed to keening cries for more.

In a flurry, the strong man sits back, hauling you along to ensure your legs are clenching his flanks firmly and his cock breaching the entrance to your core. Strong hands under your ass is holding you steady, allowing you to look down upon his face where your juices glisten in the beard.

“A word from your…lips is a law…in my…life,” he gasps just as eager as you.

“Give me ev’rything.”

The muscles shiver under the Asgardian’s skin from holding back as he impales you slowly. Your back arches. Your walls flutter and squeeze in a pulsating rhythm, soon matched by Thor’s thrusts and pulls at your hips the moment he shifts the hold on you. Deep, dragged out movements hitting all the right spots within and outside of your core.

No metaphor covers the sensation as you cum, riding Thor’s cock as you sit in his lap. Maybe an earthquake, a landslide that sends you flying into a void containing nothing but the two of you, his arms holding you while your body relents control in favour of unbridled euphoria. And just as it feels as though the orgasm wanes, the man’s thrusts stutter and a tingle of electricity runs through your core bringing you to a new peak together with Thor.

Breath by shuddering breath, you descend from the high wrapped in each others’ arms while foreheads rest against each other. Eventually you reach between your bodies, holding in his cum as he slips out and lies you down on the bed.

“Don’t leave, [Y/N],” he asks from the place beside you.

How could I? “Just let me freshen up.”

…

Cleaned up and watered, you’re back in Thor’s bed, allowing him to tug you closer.

“My lady…if this be the punishment for my wrongs then I may have to interfere more often…”

Hmmm…potential. “I’m imaginative,” you laugh, “so stay sharp.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Conflict Resolution (baon)

Summary: Set after the events in 'Bedside Stories', Sans is the guy holding everything together. Mostly.

Tags: Kustard, Background Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Injury, Betrayal

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was kind of a shame that Red was so persnickety about anyone being in his living space, because hiring some professional housekeepers was about the only way his bedroom was ever going to share space with the word ‘clean’. There was always a clutter of dishes on the dresser, whose drawers always hung open, every one of ‘em more empty than not. The floor was more of a storage facility for dirty clothes than a place for walking, and the bed? Well. Sans’s learned some new curse words the last time Edge came over to take care of Red when he was boiling over with a fever, something something befouled and beshitted nightmare fuel, as Sans recalled.

The Edgelord always did have a way with words.

But Edge wasn’t gonna be able to offer a new turn of phrase today, not with his leg out of commission. That left Sans as the one to suck it up and get it done, and he brought fresh sheets over from his place, tossing the ragged ball of linens into the corner before he made up the bed. Papyrus would probably have a snarky thing or two to say about his hospital corners, but eh, right about now hospitality was more important than hospital, since he wasn’t about to get Red to go to one, anyway.

That’d been before he even headed over to Edge’s and Stretch’s to gather up his wayward bonefriend, before he knew he’d need to layer down about a dozen towels to sop up all that damn paint. As it was, he was probably going to be buying Paps some new sheets, if he didn’t want to endure an hour-long presentation on how to properly get stains out, Sans, are you paying attention, I spent a lot of time on this powerpoint!

Red’s hankering for privacy was currently taking one for the team in the form of the hulking Monster with a set of surprisingly delicate antennae who was currently leaning over him, the eerie glow of his healing magic lighting the room. Doc looked more than a little out of place, his nattily ironed shirt incongruous in comparison to the rumpled ones crumpled on the floor. But he’d hardly batted an eyelash when Sans showed up in his living room, only stepped right up and came along for a ride.

Not like Sans or Red had much of a choice about it. Had to bring in a ringer, ‘cause the hospital was off the table and if there was one thing Sans was shit at, it was healing. Edge was a little rough around the (heh) edges with it, but Sans never got the knack for it at all, an everloving shame because it do come in handy from time to time.

But if wishes were horses, there’d be a herd eating their way through the piles of weeds in their backyard. So Sans kept back, leaning against the wall next to an opened window smoking an unfiltered, and let the professionals handle it.

The once freshly-made bed looked like a murder scene and even knowing it was only paint didn’t make it look less disturbing. Sans kept watching anyway; Red wasn’t in any shape to keep a beady eye on the doc, so Sans would do it for him.

Seemed to take forever before the Doc leaned back with a sigh. “That’s all I can do for now, anything more will hurt more than it heals.”

Sans nodded. He knew that much about healing, anyway; you could only force the bones to knit so much before it took a turn in the other direction.

“thanks, buddy.” He crushed the barely smoldering butt out into an overflowing ashtray. The Doc didn't need a warning to keep this little incident under the table. He was old enough to know how this game was played and he wouldn’t be bringing it up during any others, not even when he was losing the latest round of checkers against old Gerson down at the corner store.

“No problem. I’ll stop by in two days to check, but the residual healing should carry him through. Now, I’m assuming you’d rather give me a lift home than have anyone see me coming out?” Doc shook his head with a grin as Sans held out a hand. “Don’t think so, you’ve fooled me once, twice, and three times a lady with that old rib-tickler.”

“heh, guess you already gave us a hand, you don’t need one of mine.” Sans tucked the whoopie cushion into his pocket and stretched out his arms, hands spread in a loose shrug. “okay, choose a spot to hang on and i’ll take you home. nothing below the belt, or i’ll have a bone to pick with ya.”

Shortcutting the Doc home and back only took a moment. Red hadn’t moved while he was gone, sprawled out mostly bare on the stained towels, sockets closed. Between the Doc and himself, they’d stripped Red down to his shorts. Some of the paint was scrubbed away but there was still plenty to go around. No way to clean him up any better without a long soak in a bathtub and a stiff brush, but that’d have to wait. The heater was already cranked up, both their bones appreciated it a little on the tropical side, especially ones as beat up and scarred as Red’s.

He’d had 1 HP coming in from Underfell, slowly ticking up to five on this side of the mirror, and some days it was hard not to think of that, tracing the ridged scars on his rib cage with tongue and teeth, wondering at how they hadn’t killed him. He had a coupla new ones now and the stark white blemishes would eventually fade to match the rest. Eventually.

Sans sat down next to Red, uncaring of the filthy towels and sheets, studying his face. Beneath his sockets looked deeply bruised, more bruises mottled around his freshly healed bones. He stank of oily paint and sour sweat, the smell of it practically baking out of him and a good excuse to leave the window open for a while longer. He looked asleep, should be asleep, but Sans knew better.

True to form, Red didn’t open his sockets as he asked, “did you find him?”

“right where you left him. bastard was kinda hard to miss.” Sans lit another cigarette, inhaled the smoke, then held it against Red’s mouth, letting him take a drag. He coughed it back out, rolling onto his side while Sans watched impassively, exhaling a nicotine-drained cloud of his own, “red paint, really? that’s not a pun so much as a bad fashion statement.”

Red rasped out a laugh, took another drag when Sans offered it. “best i could do. probably not too many would think to check that old storage shed in old new home. surprised he did, he ain’t that smart. must’ve figured out i was onto him somehow and was lookin’ for a decent hidyhole.” His sharp-toothed smile widened. “red paint. think they had it set aside cause they’d planned on repainting the school this summer. if i’d known it would offend your aesthetics, woulda aimed for the whitewash, but the universe has to have its jokes too, i guess.” He scratched at his healing ribs with a groan, until Sans swatted his hands away before he could undo all the work Doc just shoved into him. “fucker was a lot tougher than he looks. even harder to take down if i didn't want to dust him, ‘specially without paps.” Red’s sockets slit open, faded crimson peering out. “i ain’t bad with the control, but i was too pissed this time. fucker almost got them all killed.”

“yeah,” Sans agreed. For trying not to dust him, Red did plenty of damage. He’d pulled the security tapes, even a lonely storage shed had them, but they were next to useless. Too much magic flying around disrupted the recording. Probably for the best, Sans didn’t really need to see it. Hearing it was bad enough and he’d turned off the tape the first time he heard bone breaking with a sickening crack.

Their traitor had been bruised from ankle to eyebrow, or at least every part of him that wasn’t covered in paint. They’d found him right where Red left him before his hop/skip to the other side of town for some emergency healing, unconscious and still pinned to the wall with a seething fester of bones, HP slowly ticking downward with karmic retribution.

What Sans didn’t bother mentioning to Red was that his control was almost better than his own. He’d stood there too long looking at the unconscious fucker but seeing his own brother, hurt and so still in a hospital bed, a rage welling up from so deep it left him shaken.

He wondered with bitter humor what his therapist would think if he told her exactly what he was using her calming techniques for, breathing in through his nasal passage, out through his teeth, until that soul-deep rage turned into something manageable. She’d probably turn it around on him, get him to spill too much, more than he’d thought possible in that way she had. There was something to look forward to.

Truth be told, the anger was almost a relief. Something focused and real, better than his diffused fear and frustration whenever he looked at Paps, who was still in the hospital, doing better, yeah, better every day, but never should’ve been there to begin with.

Delayed reaction, maybe, or maybe only being face to unconscious face with the bastard who’d almost got his brother senselessly killed.

Red was never as oblivious as Sans might want, his gaze felt weighty and knowing as he asked, “what're they gonna do with him?”

“don't think it's been decided yet. normally treason is punishable by death," Sans said calmly, as if that wasn't a sentence usually carried out by the King's Judge. Asgore already knew he wasn’t taking on this one; he couldn’t, the idea of being impartial was laughable, obscene. "can't exactly have a trial. we don't need monsters or humans knowing that one of our own was spilling the beans to an extremist group of haters, trying to get all our ambassadors killed."

"yeah.” The world-weariness in that single word made Sans want to lean in closer, to touch, to hold, shit, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a chance, Red sighed and went on, “don't even know why he did it.”

“eh, jerry's always been a resentful piece of shit. edge recently transferred him down to the records department in the basement to work on his own, since there'd been some complaints about his attitude in his old department." Sans smiled thinly. "from what i hear, he threw some of that bitch stretch's way and our honey bun took it hard. that didn't go over real well with your bro."

“so what, he sold out his own kind because he's not happy with his job?" Red’s laugh was sharp enough to cut, if Sans let it.

“nope, he set them up because he's a piece of shit and don’t you forget it.” Sans’s eye light gleamed a brief flash of blue-yellow, filling the room, "i got a real good look at him and i ain't too keen on some of the ideas he had about others. coulda done without seeing his extended torture porn fantasies, for sure."

"yeah, go ahead and forget that shit. we do any torture porn, i expect the ideas to be original." Red’s sigh rattled through him, echoing that bone-deep weariness. “gonna have to figure out what to say to stretch, told him i’d let him know what went down.”

Sans raised a brow bone. Interesting. “you’re gonna tell him all this?”

“fuck, no,” Red said scornfully. “didn’t make no promises. just need a good cover story.” He slanted Sans an amused look. “makes two of us. you gonna tell me how you found me? i only sent you all directions to find our turncoat.”

Sans shrugged. “eh, it was easy. the tracker i stuck on you at the hospital started beeping when you were in range. i was already headed to the storage shed before your text, only had to switch gears when the location updated.”

The flutter of outrage across Red’s expression was a deliciously filling meal. “where the fuck did you—“

“please, hypocrite, the three you have on me aren’t just for show and i know it,” Sans yawned. “but if you can find ‘em, you’re welcome to take ‘em off. if. and we wouldn’t need a cover story at all if you’da come here to begin with, but noooo, you had to go fuck up your bro’s kitchen.”

Red only grinned, unashamed. “sorry, i was kinda flying on pure instinct, trying not to dust and all. sides, like you can fuckin’ heal? stretch kinda feels like getting smacked upside the soul when he does it, but at least he can.” The gleaming humor on his face faded, icing over. “you talk to asgore, you tell him solitary confinement is a better punishment. anything else is too good for that piece of shit. death ends it all and beatin’s gotta stop sometime. thoughts can go for an eternity and with a nice slot of attempted murders and two successful ones, i ain’t feelin’ charitable. he can think about it all for a nice, long time.”

Sans wasn’t feeling particularly philanthropic himself, but he only nodded agreeably. All his rage was burned off for the time being, burnt out in the harsh blurt of fear when he’d first seen Red cradled in his brother’s arms, before anyone saw Sans was there. He’d tamped it back down pretty fast, obviously Red was all right if his bro wasn’t sweeping him off the floor, but now he only felt exhausted. Emptied. Tomorrow he could work up something else to feel.

They sat together smoking for a time, only the sound of exhales and the occasional clack of phalanges as they traded the butt back and forth. Right about the time Sans was about to suggest Red give sleeping it off a try, Red spoke up again, gruffly.

“almost forgot. here.”

Where he pulled it from, Sans wasn’t sure, At first he didn’t even know what it was. Sure the light jangle of a buckle registered as it dropped into his lap, but it still took a minute to filter through his weary mind. Sans slowly picked it up, turning it over in his hands. A collar.

It was made of a narrow strip of plain black leather, the inside lined with a soft, velvety material in a shade of deep crimson. Simple, practical, for the most part. Until you hit the buckle and that was something else entirely; intricately wrought, etched with delicate scrollwork and in the shape of a heart. A soul.

Huh. Looked like he had room for another emotion today, after all.

Sans glanced at Red, but his sockets were carefully closed and so was his expression, puckered tight as Blue’s asshole, if he’d had one.

“you romantic, you.” Sans tossed it back into Red’s lap, the buckle clacking against his femur. He hoped it stung. “don’t think so.” He could feel the tension rise in Red, even though they weren’t touching, hovering over him like a midnight ghost, and let it strain for a moment before he added, “once you can sit up and put it on me yourself, then we’ll go there.”

“heh.” With one word, that tension dissolved. Red managed to get up on one elbow, and his grin was all jagged teeth, devouring. “c’mere.”

Sans leaned in, a little, but didn’t make it easy for him, made Red scootch in closer, nudging Sans’s chin up so he could reach. The rasp of velvet-softened leather circling his throat was an unknown quantity, and so was the coolness of the buckle, setting against his bones. He swallowed, felt the collar rise and fall against his cervical vertebra. The unfamiliar weight seemed heavier than possible, but eh, made sense. There was a lot more to it than the physical mass, now wasn’t there.

Certainly Red’s gaze had a weight of its own, resting on that thin strip of leather with hot intensity. “that what you wanted?”

“been wanting it.” he wasn’t ashamed to say it, happy to be safely selfish for once. “took you long enough, icebergs would win a race against your smooth moves.”

That heat leapt higher, crimson eye lights briefly sparkling like a gimcrack kiddie firework. Something might’ve come of it if Red hadn’t already had the shit beat out of him earlier. That heat only lingered a minute before it flickered out, faded, and Red sank back onto the mattress with a groan. He didn’t move when Sans shifted to lay next to him, uncaring of the still tacky paint smears surrounding them as he dragged up the ruined blankets.

His scoff was hoarse, thin, as Red said, “you takin’ a nap? you’ve got a ton of shit to do out there.”

Like Sans couldn’t hear the plea beneath it? He knew Red too well now; Red’d made a mistake, tipped his hand, and now that Sans knew his cards, he wasn’t about to fold.

He settled a hand on Red’s rib cage, fingers tracing over scars, old and new. “we’ve got an entire team handling it. shut up and go to sleep.”

Red’s ribs rose and fell with his rough chuckle, but it evened out quickly, fading into slow, even breaths as he took his orders. Sans slid a little closer, until they were pressed together from shoulder to femur. Not enough, but it’d do for now.

Once Red was out, Sans reached up to touch that buckle where it was nestled against his throat and already warmed by his body heat. He traced the shape of it for a long time.

Shit to do, yeah, Sans had plenty of it. Like right now, it was time to start waiting for Red to wake up, but that was fine.

Sans was patient.

-finis-

#Kustard #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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klobsquad · 5 years

Text

If its clean, its Gronk

Warnings: Gronk spikes and tide pods

Word count:1694

Summary: a fantasy/horror/drama based completely on our experiences with Gronk’s cursed tide pod commercial

Notes We apologize in advance for what you’re about to read

i awake suddenly, sheer panic running through me. ripping the blanket off my body, the layer of sweat that lays on my skin is immediately hit with the frigid air of my room causing me to shiver. After a few moments, i start to realize where i am.

I'm in my living room on the couch. This is the first wink of sleep i've had in nearly 2 weeks. i think at least. time has started the run together after it, well, he, showed up. why haven't i slept? i've been too scared to let my guard down.

My phone lay broken, having thrown it against the wall several moons ago. Broken glass and piles of clothes are strewn throughout my apartment. Every electronic in my house has been either broken or hidden, yet somehow he’ll still manage to find me. i haven't left my apartment in weeks even though i ran out of food 4 days ago. I can't go to the store. I'm too afraid he'll be waiting at the end of the isle. I've been wearing the same outfit since it started, too scared to do even the most basic of household chores. doing laundry was banned a months back as an attempt to stop him.

The couch i lay on is pushed up hard against the wall, i'm laying on my side facing the back of the couch. the only electronic that hasn't been thrown out is my living room TV. I swear i've tried discarding it countless times, yet it keeps showing back up. The entire apartment, scratch that, city, is dead silent.

rumor has it, it started in new england, moving fast throughout the country. What started as random disappearances eventually became nationwide panic.

it wasn't long until he reached my home state of Texas. Most of the town had evacuated when the marks started showing up. Crater-like holes in the ground. 11 inches deep and 22 inches wide. The ground cracked and glowing around the marks, showing that he was getting somehow stronger.

Although I boarded up my windows when I caught wind that he was moving towards Texas, I still took a board down every so often. From my third floor apartment, I could see the marks starting to fill the town. He marked his territory right after he struck. Entire families disappeared at a time. Only once was a survivor found. She was found in the same clothing she was wearing when she went missing though they were suspiciously clean, almost as if they'd been washed then returned. She spoke in a hurried whisper, as if he was still watching her. Rumors soon filled the streets quicker than his markings. Apparently after her interrogation she was left alone in a cell at the local jail. When the officer came to retrieve her for more questioning, she had scribbled the number "87" and "bands a make her dance" on every square inch of the cell. Investigator after investigator was brought in, yet none of them could decipher what it meant. After three days of questioning, the only valuable thing they got out of her was a description of him. He was large, solid, his muscles constantly glistening. He towered over everyone, though he wasn't intimidating, the exact opposite actually. He had a boyish charm, soft brown eyes and youthful smile. Apparently he loves to dance, frequently droppin' it low and booty poppin' on them haters. Most notably was his hands. In her words they were "damn near leviathan. I never knew someone could have hands like that. It ain't normal. I'd be lying if it wasn't hot though.". The police were immediately on even higher alert. With such a specific description, it couldn't be hard to find him right? Wrong. She forgot to mention one detail. His speed. For a man of his size, he's unusually nimble.

I snap back to reality at the sound of the metal entrance door 3 floors below me opening and closing. My heart pounding. "Maybe it's just the neighbor" I tried to tell myself, though deep down I knew it wasn't. Even if they hadn't evacuated with everyone else, there's no way Mr. dolly, an 96 year old war vet could open and slam that door with such little effort. my gut and my head were at war. My gut was telling me it was him, the man I spent months hiding from. Yet my head was trying to come up with any other possibility. They were coming up the stairs, fast. I was paralyzed. Still laying on the couch, i covered my head with the fleece red sox blanket I got last Christmas, before this all started.

*BANG* *BANG*

They were knocking. I could barely hear the pounding on the door over my racing heart. Seconds feel like hours, waiting for the sound to stop, for whoever it is to go away.

After what feels like an eternity, the pounding stops. I exhale for the first time in minutes. Moments later a loud scraping sound fills the room.

He's here and he's removed the door.

There was nothing besides me and my red sox blanket separating us both. His presence sent chills down my spine. I could feel him standing in the corner of the room.

He was waiting for something.

*click*

The dim light of the TV immediately filled the dark room. I open my eyes suddenly as patterns of colored light dance off the walls. He's still waiting, but he keeps going back to the hall he came from. Almost as if he's loading something into my apartment. Suddenly the room goes yellow and orange. He gets into position. I turn around slowly, not knowing what to will be waiting on me when I turn around.

There he is, in all his glory. The survivor described him perfectly. He was dressed in a fitted grey tank top, joggers, and sneakers. He was oddly handsome given the circumstances. Unmarked boxes were stacked floor to ceiling, covering ever surface. One box, the one closest to him is open. He grabs a handful of whatever is in the box.

I'm frozen. Horrified.

The tv shows a laundry room.

He looks at me intently, his boyish smile shining full force in the low light.

It's time.

"Hi! Welcome to tide pods talk with Gronk. I'm Gronk. I'm big, *flex* and awesome. But this guy-" he chucks a fist full of tide pods at my body. I'm utterly speechless. "-Is little, can it really clean?". He rips the doors off my linen closet, scooping every single piece of laundry up in one scoop, even the clothes I'm wearing. Opening the washer, he throws the clothing in with a loud boom before dropping a couple Tide Pods™️ into the load. Im left sitting on the couch, ass naked, as the New England Patriots Tight End does my laundry.

He resumes his spot at the corner of my living room. Staring blankly at me as we both wait for the washer to finish its cycle.

45 minutes of silence later, the washer pings signaling the end of the wash. He once again grabs the entire load of laundry in one incredibly toned arm, spiking it into the dryer like it's a ball into the end zone. He spots my stained patriots jersey in the load. Pulling it out, he slips me a note then once again goes back to the spot in the corner. I'm still naked.

Clearing his throat, he make gesture with his hands I take it as a cue to open the note. It reads "ask Gronk if Tide Pods™️ really clean" in very messy handwriting that I'm pretty sure is done in crayon.

I'm once again stunned. He holds up the jersey. My once beer and chicken wing stained jersey is now completely clean. He makes another gesture, prompting me to speak this time. "D-do Tide Pods™️ really clean?" Im shaking at this point, not because I'm nervous, but because it's 68° outside and I'm still naked. With the enthusiasm of a kid on a sugar high, he answers the age old question I just asked. "Heck yeah they do!" His eyes twinkling as he speaks.

The boards blast off my windows. Rainbow light streams into the room. I’m still naked. The missing people immediately flood the streets. He's smiling again, and you guessed it, I'm still naked. A chorus of cheers fills the streets "You saved us! We were stuck in the realm of stained laundry! Bless you!" A tear runs down his cheek as he falls to his knees. "I've been searching for you, thou chosen one. If you may take me, I ask for you hand in marriage. Together we can continue to bring stain free clothing to people across the land!" The crowd outside cheers, completely ignoring the fact homie refuses to give me any clothing. Instead he whips out a ring, and by ring I mean a ring pop band with a Tide Pod™️ hot glued to the top. He slips it on my finger before I can respond. I'm soon being twirled in a blinding golden light. I emerge, fully clothed in a ball gown made completely out of Tide Pods™️. He picks me up bridal style and runs out to the hallway before quickly bounding down the stairs four at a time. In the way down I look at my ring. After not eating for days it looks surprisingly tasty. Bringing my left hand up to my face, he stops dead in his tracks and drops me. My cat like reflexes come into play and I land on my feet, breaking both my legs after falling from such a height. Somehow I'm still standing, the power of Tide Pods™️ holding me up. I immediately pop the ring into my mouth and before chewing. The detergent rolls down my chin. His screams fill the room as he realizes what I've done. "How could you do this to me?!" I look up, like really far up because I’m literally 5’0”, and meet his eyes. I match his boyish smile from earlier, though this time my smile is filled with detergent.

"What can I say? I'm Gen Z."

#🤠#we apologize #fics #gronk #rob gronkowski #new england patriots #patriots #nfl #highkey a cursed post #tide pods #oof

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yoongi-sugaglider · 6 years

Text

Of Sunshine and Rainy Days

Hoseok x plus sized reader

A/n: This is posted from my phone and sort of unedited lol but I hope you all can get past the beginning because the end is well worth it.

The mirror mocks me. Though I’ve always wanted to avoid it, somehow it always seems to draw me in. Especially after showers and early mornings when I’ve just woken up and the rest of the dorm remains still and sleeping.

Here I stand, having just completed my shower and the steam in the bathroom hasn’t yet had time to clear. Wiping the mist from the mirror I stare down my curved figure. Frowning at the stretch marks that split my skin at the seams. The rolls of skin that cascade like waves down my stomach, pockets of fat that won’t melt away no matter what diet I try or how much I try to exercise.

Tears begin to form as I poke at the dimpled flesh of my arms, glaring in shame and distaste at the weight that won’t fade no matter how hard I try or how much I cry.

I can hear the comments online, the mumbled words spoken by family members behind closed doors.

“You’re too big.”

“You don’t deserve to be happy.”

“How dare you even think that you’re good enough to date an idol.”

They’re right, every one of them. What was I thinking? Being selfish now even though he says he loves me no matter what size I am. No matter what they say behind my back and to my face.

The tears won’t stop falling. And the taint of rejection tugs at my core so harshly I find myself collapsing against the door. Sliding slowly down it as I watch my form curling in on itself in the taunting reflective surface.

My sobs are so loud and soul wracking that I almost don’t hear the gentle knock on the door above my head.

“Jagi?” a quiet voice comes through the door. I quickly scramble away from it, pulling the plush bath towel around me in order to hide my form.

“It...it’s open…” I struggle to talk through the lump of tears in my throat but I know he’s heard me.

The knob turns and slowly the love of my life peaks his head around the corner, eyes wide when he sees me huddled against the shower door.

“Jagiya, hey…” Quietly he slides himself in the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him before making his way over to me, each stride elegant and effortless. Even the way he crouches down before me distracts me for a moment from my troubles before the tears choke out my breath and I’m reduced to a shivering mess once again.

“No no no, please don’t cry my love.” He sits beside me, gathering my into his arms and hugging my damp head to his chest.

I can feel my tears soaking through his shirt, mingling with the dampness from my wet hair. But he doesn’t seem to mind as his hand gently smoothes down the hair along the nape of my neck.

We sit there for a while, him occasionally running his fingers along the small of my back , me clutching his shirt as if it’s my last lifeline to sanity. And the tears eventually slow. My cries become a little less painful.

“Tell me what’s got you so upset sunshine.”

I hiccup at his whispered words, something between a laugh and a sob. “That’s my line you dork.” I whisper as I pull back slightly to wipe at my face.

He chuckles, running a gentle thumb beneath my eye. “There’s my beautiful smile. Now, tell me what’s got you so upset.”

I shake my head, not wanting to go into detail what’s really going on inside.

“No ma’am that’s not allowed Miss y/n.” His fingers trace the curve of my cheek, and when I try to pull out of his grip his fingers capture my chin, forcing me to look up into his eyes.

“Talk to me princess. Tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s...just…” I heave a heavy breath, my shaking fingers wrapping around his wrist to anchor myself to the moment.

He waits. Patient as ever is he, and the softness in his eyes begins to slowly heal the gaping hole in my heart.

“It’s...my weight. I just...everytime I look in the mirror I hate myself.” Once the words begin to flow it seems like nothing can stop them.

“I hear it anytime I call my parents. Even my friends joke about it, anytime I pick up a fork or go to buy a snack it’s the same thing. How I weight too much. How I’m not healthy at my weight. How big the clothes are that I buy or how the numbers on the scale won’t change no matter what I do.”

I heave a shuddering sigh and continue. “I’m not even safe online. Anytime your fans see a picture of us together it’s always comments about how ugly I am or how fat I am. How I’m not good enough to be with you and the only reason why you’re with me is because you feel sorry for me.” I finally manage to pull my chin from his grip, curling in on myself once again and burying my face in the safety of my arms.

“Y/n…” His whispered words seem to echo through the bathroom, bouncing off the walls and reaching my ears. The sound is just as broken and scared as I feel.

I look up quickly, panic filling me. “They’re right aren’t they? You really just started dating me because you fe…”

“Y/n!” He barks, startling and stopping the word vomit in its tracks. “Just, slow down for a second okay?”

I nod slowly, my eyes following him as he climbs to his knees before me. He gently takes my hands in his, his thumbs placed purposefully on my pulse points. His eyes are hard, a determination dancing in their depths as he chooses his next words carefully.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

I nod slowly, my mind wandering to the day I accidently stumbled on him and his friends filming a scene for one of their music videos.

“We were in the middle of nowhere, the middle of the night. Surrounded by film crew and cameras and a bunch of grumpy people trying desperately to get one stupid scene right so that we could all go home and sleep.” He smiles lightly at the memory and I’m reminded even more clearly of that night.

“You were dancing off to the side. I remember watching you. How amazed and captivated I was by your moves and how your body just flowed with the music, even though you weren’t in the scene at the time.” My smile now matches his, faint but there none the less.

“That’s right. I was dancing off to myself. And then I slipped and twisted my ankle. Nobody else saw it but you. And even though you weren’t supposed to be there you still rushed to help me up.” He chuckles again, his thumbs now slowly working small circles into my wrists.

“The manager was so mad. He thought you’d gotten me hurt. And even though they were trying to kick you off the set you still kept to my side until somebody got me the help I needed for my ankle. You were so brave that night. And when my ankle was finally wrapped up…”

“You asked me out to dinner” I giggle, ducking my head to hide the warmth in my cheeks.

“That’s right, I asked you out to dinner. Not because I wanted to thank you. Not because I felt sorry for you or because of some fake idea to ease my guilt from the way you were treated.” He ducks his head as well to catch my gaze and I’m focused on him once again, giving him my full attention.

“Why? Why did you ask me out that night?” I ask quietly, half of me is afraid of the answer and the other half just genuinely wants to know.

His eyes cast down to examine my fingers, giving time to mull over his answer before speaking.

“You know. I never really thought about it. I..I guess...” He inhales deeply and gazes lovingly into my eyes once again.

“Honestly when I saw you finally being escorted off the lot I just had this feeling. That if I didn't snatch you up right then and there I would never see you again.”

He gives off a chuckle filled with the warmth of a summer sunset on the beach. “The way you stood up to the managers. The way you yelled at Director Nim like it was your ankle that was twisted? It was the sweetest and most brave thing I’d ever seen in my life. And you just...glowed.”

I suppress a giggle,tugging at my wrists as if pretending to pull my hands from his grasp. His grip tightens though, not uncomfortably, just enough to keep me where he wants me.

“But listen Jagiya. My precious angel. The joy and love of my life…”

“Aiyooo get on with it!!” He’s words have me fully flustered by now.

“Alright alright.” his voice is filled with laughter as he presses his forehead against mine while still holding my gaze.

“Never not once did your size come to mind. Never in our relationship that followed and continues did I ever once think about your weight or eating habits or any of that.” He pulls me close and finally lets go of my hands to run his fingers down my arms,sending chills up my spine in the process.

“Because, I love you for what’s up here…”he presses a fingertip to my temple. “And for what’s in here.” And with that he presses his palm to my towel covered chest.

I crinkle my eyebrows, despite the warmth flooding through my heart. “My skull and my tits?” I ask teasingly.

He shakes his head,a small chuckle escaping him. “No you nerd. You’re mind and your heart. The heart that loves and cares for me when I’m alone and sad. The heart that sees through the sunshine persona I put on to the dark clouds. The mind that knows how to chase those clouds away. The mind that is clever and street smart and knows me like the back of your hand.”

He takes my hands again, bringing them to his lips and kissing them gently. “You’re MY hope. You’re MY angel. And nothing any of those haters and fake people can say is ever going to change that. You hear me?”

He cups my cheeks with his palms,bringing me closer. And his lips are on mine.

Soft

Warm

Home

The scent of mint on his breath tickles my nose,cool and reminding me for my currently...half dressed state.

“Thank you Hobi. Really I mean it. This…” I pause,glancing down at my lap before looking up at him again. “This won’t fix it. Or solve my problems. But...knowing that you’re here to support me means the world to me.”

“I’m not the only one you know.” He days with a chuckle as he helps me to my feet. “The boys have your back. And there are ARMY out there who love you too. Because we all see you for who you are. And the only one who should ever have the choice of changing that is you.”

He wraps me in his arms, holding me close as I rest my head on his chest. “ If you want to diet we’ll look up healthy lifestyle changes. If you want to work out or something like that I'll be right there by your side.”

“No matter what you decide though, do it for you. Not for me or for your family but for yourself.” He pulls back to lay a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I love you y/n. Please don’t forget that.”

And the tears are flowing again. Only this time it’s tears of joy. Because I know he loves me. Because Jung Hoseok has my back. Because BTS has my back. And because above all else, I’ve got my back.

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jungnoir · 7 years

Text

anti;

min yoongi | his worst enemy is himself. | 1.6k words. | angst, eventual fluff.

a/n: kinda personal and written in under an hour? kudos if you read this mess. inspired by zico’s anti.

There’s something funny about fame. The more you become the you what others want, the more you lose the you that made them fall for you in the first place. Sometimes, it’s trickery. Sometimes people don’t really want your wild, even if it arouses their interest and makes their eyes sparkle like celestial bodies. Sometimes they just want the satisfaction of knowing they tamed the beast. They slew the monster that was your inspiration, your individuality, your very being. They just want a show, and all shows have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Min Yoongi believed he would never fall victim to that mentality, even as company after company turned him down and his crowds of adoring fans struggled to hold more than a handful at best. He kept his heart locked in a cage, covered said cage in cement and threw said cage into a fiery volcano (if he was going to be dramatic about it). He tossed his feelings away at night, let them stew in the corners of his small room like hissing demons, claws outstretched and ready to drag him under for another wave of crippling sadness. On nights like those, he’d slip on some headphones and turn his music up to deafening.

By the time he found actual luck, met the six boys he could call his family and made a new name for himself making music that more people would hear, his main focus was the haters behind computer screens and bulky, wannabe-tough street rappers who tried to strip him of his authenticity. He focused on reflecting the comments about him being “just an idol rapper”, because when you’re young, your biggest haters are on the other side of your skin... right?

He proved each and every hater wrong, put a middle finger to their faces because they were people with voices and not just his own floating in his head, suffocating him at night and making him restless. He cursed their names and laughed at their downfalls, because they were people and they weren’t just thoughts his worried mind would fabricate in the dead of night. He could put his hate to a name, put his abhorrence to a face, and this worked well for him until it didn’t.

Nobody knows what hell is until the one you’re fighting is yourself.

One morning, he woke up and couldn’t look himself in the mirror. Then the next, and the next, and the next. People would tell him his eye bags were too heavy and he wasn’t taking good enough care of himself. He slept too long and ate too little, worked too hard and found no joy in what happened around him.

“You look dead on your feet, Yoongi.” Namjoon would joke one morning, when Yoongi would tumble out of bed off of three hours of sleep, face puffy and eyes stinging.

“Let’s not bother him, he’s working.” Hoseok would say, ushering the maknaes from Yoongi’s studio and flashing him an apologetic smile before they disappeared.

“He’s too much of a night owl. I don’t think he ever stops doing things.” Seokjin would laugh when asked how he was enjoying his roommate.

“If you get even just a moment to yourself, you’re going to be crushed under the weight of every painful thought you’ve been caging away.” His mind would hiss, in the minutes he’d find himself struck so mentally exhausted that he’d just need a moment to stare at a wall and not fucking think.

Suddenly he’s not so worried about the ugly faces that swear up and down he’s all bark, no bite. Suddenly... he’s just trying to shut himself up.

Whether it’s blasting his music or going to parties or throwing himself into a mindless marathon of Overwatch with Jungkook and Taehyung, he’s always, always trying not to hear himself think. He knows, deep down, what he wants to do. Knows that if he could find a quiet place to do it, where he wouldn’t bother anyone with his voice and wouldn’t alarm anyone to check on him, he’d stand and scream at the top of his lungs the loudest “fuck you” he could ever utter. He would scream it towards the sky or scream it toward his reflection in the mirror, but a silly part of him is convinced the strength of the agony in his voice might make it shatter.

And that would be fine. He kinda wants to watch something else shatter besides himself.

Instead, he resigns himself to his studio more than ever; empty bowls of microwave ramen and drained glasses of the worst alcohol he’s ever had litter one particular corner of his desk, and he had just managed the strength to move them all into one place if only to make him feel like he had control of at least one kind of clutter in his life. His headphones are on, studio style and noise-cancelling and much better than the crappy ten dollar ones he’d had in his teenage years, and his music is loud enough to make his head hurt, but for once... it’s not working. For once, the music doesn’t scare away his thoughts. For once, if anything, they’re even louder.

They won’t love you for long.

You’ll be a sellout soon. Why did you give up the real deal for this glorified shit?

Look how much you’ve hurt your family, your friends. You could have a stable job right now if you weren’t so damn stubborn.

They won’t love you for long.

They just like your face. You’re just another pretty idol rapper.

Someone younger is going to come along and they’re going to finish you.

They won’t love you for long.

His mind hurts with the weight of every word, heart clenching tight and wanting to burst as he can only mutter “please” and “stop” under his breath. He wants a break. He wants... he wants to break.

Your last song was trash, can’t you do better?

They won’t love you for long.

Have you seen these rappers today? They’d smoke you in a second if they got to go up against you.

They won’t love you for long.

Are you scared? You should be.

They won’t love you for long.

Every terrible thing you’ve imagined happening will happen. Because you-

“Yoongi?”

They won’t love you for long.

Just quit. You and I both know it’s about time.

They won’t love you for-

“Yoongi? Can you hear me?”

Don’t ask anyone for help. You’re way past that.

They won’t love you-

Suddenly the music he wasn’t even able to listen to is gone. He can hear everything outside now, can hear the loud thumping of his heart, can hear his quick breathing, can hear his sobs he didn’t even know he was letting out.

And there you are. Dressed in his sweater and your hair tied up in the messiest knot known to man and he loves it, loves you. You’re so beautiful, do you even know?

Your hand is holding his headphones and your eyes are wide but not in horror. In heartbreak. You see his ruby red cheeks and the salt water that streams down his flushed skin, and he continues to sob even as he stares right at you, something he’d never do in your presence if it had been any other day.

You hold those headphones and toss them aside in favor of pulling him into you, his head falling against your soft middle, and the minute he feels your fingers brushing his scalp and your soothing voice telling him it’s alright, he breaks down completely. He knows his sweater is practically ruined with his snot and tears but he doesn’t care and neither do you.

You hold him like that, whispering sweet nothings, affirmations that quiet down the dark feelings inside him and leave him feeling peacefully empty for once. His sobs are the most pained you’ve ever heard, and with the door to the studio still open, the six boys in the dorm are summoned to the rescue. Each one piles in, all in shock at the sight of their Yoongi, their Yoongi, broken down in tears and looking absolutely destroyed.

One by one, they all look between you (his lover, his best friend, the one who he can tell all his secrets too but managed to leave out the greatest one) and him (the strong one, the logical one, the one who always knew what to say and never let anything get to his head). And one by one they gather and close around the both of you in a cocoon of warm arms and strong love. You can feel their feelings for Yoongi, the sadness that they had found him this way and the urgency to help him know he wasn’t alone, and it warms the atmosphere but your hearts still hurt and call for him.

And Yoongi? His heart is not completely healed. It might not be for a long time. The bad feelings will creep back and his bad thoughts will circle around his head once more. He might end up right back here once more as a tearful, pained mess again and it’ll hurt just as much as it did the first time.

But. All he can think is as long as he ends up exactly here, in pain but being loved by all of you, he could tell the voices to go once more. He could sleep another night and wake another day and live.

He doesn’t mind if the dreaded “they” won’t love him for long. He doesn’t do it for them: the critics, the music elitists, the naysayers. He does it all for the people who love him, the people who are holding him right now.

The thoughts in his head are tough, but Min Yoongi is one hell of an adversary.

#majwrites #bts writing squad #ot7network #yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabble #min yoongi #bts scenarios #bts drabble #bts #yoongi angst #bts angst

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themclisseconnection · 6 years

Text

CHRISTMASaya with McLisse!

Who’s gonna have a super duper happy Christmas? Us!!!!!

C- ontinuation...

Boys & Gals, remember when Kuya effortlessly dragged us back home to his house again early this year? Ohnoes. Our dark circles came back and trip to ubusan ng load started all over again but come on, no one would dare say that their comeback was pointless. LET's GO DREAM TEAM, LET's GO! Nostalgic, isn't it? We thought we're already done with reality TV stuff but when McCoy and Elisse returned inside Kuya's house, kirehan officially resumed and they got everyone singing O Pag-ibig again.

Everything felt familiar as if they never left. Kuya aka Manager must've missed them big time like how most viewers did. 2017 welcomed us with a lot of pivotal points, major revelations and memorable moments. M-C-E-J-D, Cheerdance task, McCoy's birthday, Titig ng Pag-ibig, Kim x Alec, Disneyland adventure, workshops, breakdowns and of course, THE LONG & TIGHT HUG. Yes, McLisse, you know we won't be able to forget these moments until we're 85, right? The months have passed by so quickly, can you believe we're almost done with 2017? Elisse's birthday is just around the corner but here we are still squealing about the blindfolded big PINK bear!

H - anep! KINAYA.

So, we got the Tuloy Pa Rin TVC Part 2. We also got the FULL version of the hit jingle, Tuloy Pa Rin. Waaaaaaah! Crazy, right? The McSpicy TVC last year was just an ice breaker. A bonggang appetizer. McDo gave us the sequel we've imagined and it came straight to us without any warning.

Kaya niya, Kaya mo. The slogan was too powerful to be overlooked. #Relate Kinaya nila, kinaya natin!

R - ecording artists!

HOT & FRESH. The McLisse Album is still a hot topic these days. Have you ever find yourself staring at the ceiling, thinking deeply about how lucky Mc & Lisse are for recording an album they can fully call their own? As in... MCLISSE Album. Loveteams don't usually appear in album covers unless it's for a soundtrack album but there goes McLisse, making waves through an album that is headlined by the two of them.

Thank you Star Music. Thank you isn't enough, really. McLisse album is really one of the FIRSTs that we will never ever forget. Christmas is here, you better wrap an album for a friend and save a lonely heart this season!

I - SANG TAON NG PAGMAMAHALAN.

IT. HAPPENED. THIS. YEAR. Will we ever get over our first year anniversary? No, never. The color Red triggers a lot of priceless memories and one of them is the McLisse Royal Gathering that still gives chills to us whenever we see photos and videos from the said event. Everything that happened during that one magical night definitely found a special place in our hearts.

The event became a “part” of us that haters can't take away. It will always be a favorite song that we will never ever get tired of repeating. It's the part of the movie that we will always appreciate, pause and rewind. It will always be that part of the book that will remind us of our favorite persons in the world, not McCoy and Elisse but... Marc Carlos and Maria Chriselle.

S - weet Somethings!

The Lord continues to make us all humble and here we are, not realizing that humility have already become our second nature. He is guiding us to the right path. Hard work can bring success but what truly makes you a successful person is your undying faith in Him if the going gets hard.

McLisse got the Most Promising Loveteam Award this year, PEP also awarded them as Breakout Stars and they also got other special awards that were enough to get us all clapping instead of bragging. McCoy and Elisse also starred on their first ever MMK. McCoy landed a lead role on the hit indie film Instalado. McLisse also got a Mangaserye: Vloggergirl Problems which is a certified best-seller. Both of them also got new endorsement deals this year.

Blue Roses took the spotlight away from the usual and cliché, Red roses. Sunflowers found the loveliest sunshine of all as McLisse found them. The fanmily will not forget how McCoy & Team McLisse showered the whole activity area with Red Balloons. It was another OMG moment, proving to be one of the most unkabogable ball proposals of 2017. Of course, McCoy and Elisse attended the annual Star Magic Ball together with genuine smiles not only in their faces, but also in their hearts.

Squeaaaaaaaaaaal! Star Cinema Awards also awarded MCLISSE as Ultimate Loveteam of the Year.

Wow! What a year! This is the fruit of all our hard work, fam! We stayed faithful. Everyone remained focused on the goal which was to win the award we've all been dying to have. Remember those trying times? Those gloomy days had to come for us to be more motivated and divert our attention in voting instead of weeping. Hands down to Team Puyat and online committee for leading the SCA voting party up to the last minute. This is just the beginning, fam. The “ultimate” adventure is just about to start for a better & stronger McLisse fandom!

T - he Good Son

Obet and Sabina. The Good Son is getting more exciting just like BetIna's storyline! We genuinely...... like it!

Guys, Kapit lang. We won't deny that we tune in to get more kilig scenes. We already ate a lot of hopias several times but we're still holding on to our faith that one day, moreee kilig scenes will come for us! Obet and Sabina are getting closer now. We can feel that the attraction is there, the connection is there and we know that a good storytelling is the only thing that can keep this OTP alive. So, cheer up! Eventually, the murder case will be solved and all the OTPs will get the endings they deserve, that for sure.

M - aking MEGA in Turkey!!!

TurKeyLig. Now, that's one for the the books. Can you believe it? McLisse's unforgettable trip to Turkey also happened this year! Oh wow, this fact still shakes us every now and then. Our hearts still jump everytime we stare at their lovely photos in the pages of MEGA magazine. We still get our cheeks flushed everytime we watch their romantic documentary.

McLisse fanmily have worked hard to turn this dream into reality. McCoy and Elisse have worked hard to make reality seem like a beautiful dream-- making every moment count, making everything magical and surreal to the point that we find ourselves wanting to slap our faces to convince us that reality is here and it is what you made it and for continuously living the most realistic dream of all--- achieving great things with the fandom.

A - ng Panday

Haneeeep! From JP x Lorraine to Caloy x Rowena! Thank you Ninong Coco! This is another milestone for McLisse. Ang Panday is their very film together as a pair and it made the cut! It is one of the MMFF entries that will grace our cinemas this Christmas season! Are we ready to see the Kiligan (Tatak McLisse) on the BIG screen? BIG, literally. Just the thought of seeing them together acting with Primetime King, Coco Martin makes us all hyped up!

Fam! The MMFF entries this year are all promising. Let's support our movie industry and spread nice words through our social media accounts. Ang Panday takes on a modern twist that millenials should appreciate and learn from. Of course, Ang Panday is the first film on our list!!! Good luck to all MFFF films!

S - olo MOVIE......... SOON!

How soon is SOON? Uhmm..... 2018!

OMAAAYGAAAAAAAAD. IS THIS FOR REAL? MCLISSE WILL FINALLY HAVE A SOLO MOVIE TOGETHER? THEY WILL TAKE ON LEAD ROLES, THEY WILL SHOOT FOR IT SOON AND WE'LL GET CRAY CRAY AGAIN.

Last December 7, (yeppp, don't you just love it when McLisse blessings drop on the 7th of the month, because yeah..... monthsary!) Film director, JP Habac posted something on his twitter account and the next thing we knew, we were thanking all the gods and heavens for a new blessing.

A NEW MOVIE. #McLisse sa 2018.

Have you watched JP Habac's “I'm Drunk, I Love You”? Well, if you haven't, then you better do! AS IN, PLEASE GIVE IT A TRY. McCoy and Elisse, or should we say Pol and Laya will take on a new love story and this is going to be a major breakthrough for them. Yep, claiming it because we believe in them. We know that they'll work harder to make movie goers fall for their new characters , for the story and fall for their natural chemistry.

Are we ready? No? We must be ready but how can you be ready for something that will surely get your knees weak because you know deep inside that kilig is coming? Okay, let's save our energy for next year. Let's celebrate, fam! We are so grateful for this new opportunity. Thank you to all the producers, production team and big bosses who chose to take a chance on them! TT _ TT

2018, Here comes McLisse. U READY?

MERRY CHRISTMAS, McLisse fanmily! Let's celebrate this special season with our family, friends and all the other people who are dear to us. Let's all give thanks to Him for showering us with blessings may it be in our personal lives or for our fandom. Thank you McCoy & Elisse for holding on so tight! LabLab FTW! Loves, ang saraaaaap sa feeling!!!! Kinaya natin. We always got your back, no matter what! 2017 has been amazing to us. We've learned from all the ups and downs and pulled ourselves together so that we could all get back on track and now, we're better than ever. See the smiles in our faces? :) We will surely welcome new year with a bang!!! Happy days ahead!!!

(Pics not mine. ctto:)

#McLisse #McCoy De Leon #Elisse Joson #ULTIMATE LOVETEAM OF THE YEAR #Ang Panday #THANK YOU 2017 #THANK YOU GOD

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underbananamoon · 5 years

Text

I tried on a few Halloween masks at a store.

I don’t have a single picture of me in costume as a child. Rolls of film cost money then and we chose carefully what to take pictures of. But I did find this memorable costume which I actually wore. The Princess with the butter-yellow hair and even then I wondered as to why ‘princess’ was never dark haired like me.

Costumes then came in boxes.

I also remember being this guy one year (glow in the dark, no less):

Back then. pop culture was not tied into everything. A skull and a princess are fairly generic, kids used to be ‘bums,’ cowboys, ghosts… Nowadays, scads of things that’ll sit dusty as collectibles or end up in landfills, are made long before movies or cartoons come out- everything from toothbrushes bearing the image of the character… to toys, clothes, figures and Halloween costumes. I will never apologize or feel ‘less than’ for not being ‘up’ on pop culture. If it doesn’t interest me, I’m not going to ‘follow the crowd.’ Well… that’s not entirely true… I remember as a child, at least for a brief awkward tween while, thinking if I did a culturally accepted thing, then I would fit in. As normal. Imagine that kind of thinking? Ha!

I remember this in particular: trying to create mischief on Halloween Eve, when I was in grade school, perhaps about 11 years old. This is the only picture I could locate of me at that age, right after my unruly horse mane hair was chopped and shaped.

The night of shenanigans went something like this: My friend and I decided to walk downtown at dusk under the ruse of telling our parents we were getting a pizza. It only cost $5.00 for a small circle of pizza so splitting the difference between us was doable. We skipped the pizza this time though because we had other business to attend to. Or… we tried anyway. I took a few eggs from my fridge and my friend swiped a few from hers. We put them in our hooded sweatshirt pockets and started off on our adventure, with a stop in the cemetery as was our usual route.

The first time we went into the cemetery we were perplexed and saddened when we did the math on many of the birth and death dates. There were so many babies and toddlers buried there, with their tombstones of lamb and cherub images. We were young enough to be unaware of the widespread influenza and smallpox epidemics in the 1800s and also young enough to be naive about mortality. In a word, finding so many of these graves was: shocking.

There was an area over the far bank, where “old” flowers were dumped. These were flowers, apparently wilted and almost dead, that had been cleared from graves and dumped here. There were many faded bouquets of plastic flowers too for some reason. We collected them in bunches and put them on the children’s graves. Then off we went. It was Mischief Night and were ready to partake.

We had a target house in mind and planned on throwing a few eggs at the cellar door where we figured it would be fairly easy for the house owners to clean up the next day. (Here is my best recollection, my book has a more detailed account because it was written directly from diaries). What rebels we were. My friend reached into her pocket and pulled out an egg. Her first throw was way off mark. Nowhere near the house. My turn, I no sooner pulled an egg out, than I dropped it, right on my sneaker. Mind you, I wasn’t an egg eater, still don’t eat them, (not with a fox, not in a box) so that was pretty disgusting for me. Her turn.

She reached into her other jacket pocket for her last egg when she called out “Ew! My egg broke in my pocket!” I was on my last egg. Better make it count.

I did not make it count. My egg went somewhere into some bushes or something.

A bit discouraged that our mischief had failed, we cut through the back lot of our old brick school, which was no longer a school and not yet the office buildings it would eventually become. The former school had originally been built in the 1800s and now stood empty, in limbo. We had the idea to try one of the doors. It was unlocked. We didn’t dare turn on a light until we got into the “lavatory.” I wanted to check out the old bathroom with the long rows of hunter green stall doors. And I found what I was looking for on one of the walls. A few years before, when I’d been a student there, I’d scratched the word “poop” into the paint. This was my idea of flipping off authority. I told you I was a rebel-rouser. Of course I’d thought “poop” was spelled “poup,” like the word soup… When I found out the correct spelling, I corrected the “u” to form an “o.” Once a pedant, always a pedant.

We flipped off the light and went quietly up the stairs to a classroom, which, like all the others, had a cloakroom with hooks for coats which was behind a wall of the room, with an opening on either end to enter. In the cloakroom was also a kitty corner art supply closet that I remembered as smelling blissful. The “cloakroom,” was really a narrow dark hall of sorts, behind a wall, where we would dump boots and coats, with an entrance on both sides. We went inside it when we heard what we deduced must be the night watchman. He must’ve heard us and was checking the place out for intruders. I pictured my self in the striped attire of the cartoon felon in my mind’s eye.

We closed our eyes tightly and breathed quietly, remaining perfectly still in the shadows, huddled into one another. I dared open an eye as we cowered in the dark cloakroom, and made out the flickers of a flashlight beam from the classroom, devoid of desks of course. It had the familiar radiators under the tall windows, a fire escape door, and shining wood floors that we could hear the man treading on, with surprisingly loud echos.

We heard him walking around a bit, some keys jingling, and after he’d switched off the light and departed, we came out of hiding and proceeded to quietly go downstairs and leave the school. We felt ourselves lucky he had not gone into our hiding place. We’d gone into the school at least 5 times before, (scratching a mark in the bathroom stall to indicate how many times we’d gone in after dark, right next to the poop word.) and every time we’d not been caught. But it was time to make a hasty retreat. It had been close this time. As our hands reached the long bar to push open the door to outside, there were hands on our shoulders and a voice “Stop right here!”

My first reaction was to recoil from touch, as I had had many “Me Too” ‘events’ by this time, but then the dread set in:

Uh-oh. I was going to Sing-Sing.

He proceeded to tell us that “young girls did not need to be doing things like this” and to my surprise he gave us a warning not to ever go in the building again, and he let us go. A quick glance at his face revealed to me something surprising. I couldn’t help but think he looked ‘relieved.’ I had the notion then, that he’d thought the school was haunted all these times he’d heard noises, and having caught us this time, he was relieved it wasn’t! We never ‘broke in’ again.

We ran giggling into a wooded area behind the school. The egg throwing had failed but we had managed to make mischief. What hell-raisers we were. It had rained earlier that day and to our surprise, the area was full of small hopping toads. We decided to put a few in our pockets to play with at home. Halfway home, we decided to take out a toad or two and study them. It became apparent they were peeing. We removed the toads one by one from our pockets and every one peed on our hands. We let them go in the cemetery.

Nowadays, “mischief” takes on far different meanings than it did then. It’s like every day is “Mischief” night, (that’s putting it lightly) all over the world somewhere and each person takes it up a notch. The reality of what this world has become, is scarier than anything I could ever have imagined.

These days, I’m content to leave the light off on Halloween. It’s not that I’m a curmudgeon, or “too cheap to buy candy,” or a Halloween-hater. None of the above. In fact my family walks right in with their little ones; and I am glad to see them. They know that having the light off does not apply to them. I am just at the age, I suppose, when the disruption of the incessant doorbell (which sets off my dog to being startled and barking) is just too much and not partaking is what is kindest for me. I’ve been playing around with SnapChat. Here are a few favorites:

This is my favorite, and those are my real glasses, for the indecisive,, each lens a different shape.

These pictures are from Autumn walks. It is important to capture this type of New England beauty as the color is a short time and how easy to forget the vibrancy or worse, to take it for granted. Every season in New England brings something to wonder at. Lots of walks before it is too cold for me.

But back to Halloween, here are some images (Snapchat, Edits) of my beloved cat. Recent documentation I’ve found puts his age at 17 not 19 as I’d thought. He has stopped the seizures and still purrs.

Anyway, I hope Halloween is safe and fun for kids and adults alike, in whatever way one chooses to partake, or not partake.

Kimberly Gerry-Tucker, author of under the banana moon text link

https://www.amazon.com/Under-Banana-Moon-Living-Aspergers/dp/150572886X

Halloween Shenanigans I tried on a few Halloween masks at a store. I don't have a single picture of me in costume as a child.

#autism #halloween #life

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247krp · 7 years

Photo

— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Byun Baekhyun, spotted prancing about in the Southwest Side. I don’t remember seeing him with any clique back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say independent and reserved? Apparently now he spends time as an actor at Albee Theater, and keeps skeletons buried at Prague Tower, 202. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Teacher’s Pet; we missed you so.

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

Back in high school, Baekhyun was a very shy boy. He used to hide his face every time he passed down the corridor full of beautiful people, he used to cry alone in corners whenever he felt like life was too much and he used to be invisible. Nobody really cared about him, even if he was the perfect subject to bully and tease, people would often ignore him and go on with their lives. Until the age of sixteen, he has been in an on and off depressive state and considered ending his life more than once, yet never had the courage to do so. One day, he got courageous enough to sign his name on the list for acting lessons. For the first couple of months, he had an old woman teaching them acting techniques and mostly helping them break their stage fever and remember lines. Baekhyun loved it there, he loved the atmosphere, he loved the people and he loved the stage (more than he expected to). The old woman however got very sick and could no longer teach them, so as custom asks, she was replaced by a younger male with some years of acting experience behind him. He was a marvellous man, tall and handsome, every girl’s dream. And girls did not really hide their love for the new teacher, they would often offer him compliments and make sure they are spotted. For Baekhyun, however, it was something else. Call it foolish, call it what you want, but for him it was love at first sight. He had never loved before, even if he was well aware of his sexual preferences, he never had something as strong going on. It made him fail at acting, it made him fear the stage and swoon like a lunatic every time the teacher was too close to him. And it did not take long for the male to acknowledge Baekhyun’s weird behaviour. One afternoon, after the acting class was over, Baekhyun was asked to stay behind so that the teacher can have a closer talk to him. The ‘talk’ got closer than Baekhyun expected and with just sixteen he has lost his virginity in the backstage of the school’s theatre. He did not find it weird, nor embarrassing, nor abusive: for him it was love. It only took one week for the rumours to spread and the once shy and innocent invisible boy became the ‘teacher’s pet’ in every sense of the words. Gossip Girl did not go easy on him, she humiliated him and made sure to ring the huge bell loud enough for everyone to hear it from miles away. That embarrassment hit Baekhyun and the mean words that were said about him, made him fall back into his depressive state. But his teacher was there, by his side (at least that is how he felt it) and gave him the affection he never had.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

Baekhyun is a prestigious actor, who gets big roles in important and popular plays and is applauded for each one of them. Even if he is still young, people do not doubt his talent and professionalism. However, bad mouths are around each corner and not only once has Baekhyun had his old reputation popping up in newspapers or on the internet. It seems that most of his haters think that he has slept his way to fame, inventing stories on how he slept with his manager or director to get the role he has desired. Not only that, many bash his acting skills and comment that “acting is not done while having sex” to bite Baekhyun’s pride off and bring up an old topic popular when he was in high school. The past is the past, yes, but Baekhyun’s hurtful relationship managed to leave behind some scars and make him bitter. The only way he managed to ignore hurtful comments, was by presenting a strong self-confidence (that he often does not have) and sometimes coldness. However, the comments would hurt less if they were untrue, but most of them (for Baekhyun’s shame) are true. He did sleep with prestigious people, with actors, who have more experience than he has, in order to get advice and new acting skills, but only because it was the only way requested by them. Baekhyun hardly enjoys sex, but he acts perfectly satisfied even if his heart is as cold as ice. Even if it has to be this way, none of his new ‘partners’ treat him as miserably as his old teacher. He is treated with respect and is often sympathised by the people he sleeps with, therefore he gets patronage and often expensive gifts. So his wealth is often supported by the luxurious people he ends up in bed with, but his career is never affected by his affairs.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

Baekhyun was born and raised in a modest family, with no knowledge of who his father was and why he chose to abandon him and his mother. The lovely lady, who used to cut his sandwiches in funny shapes, was everything Baekhyun knew and loved. But there were also his mother’s grandparents that meant a great deal to Baekhyun too. His childhood was a happy one, he spent most of his time playing outside, running and bruising his knees, smiling from ear to ear whenever he would do something stupid in order to be forgiven. And his mother always forgave him, because she had a warm heart and a soft spot for her only son. In primary school, Baekhyun made tons of friends. He used to invite them over and celebrate his birthdays with them or just have pyjama parties now and then. Baekhyun felt like belonged next to people and he enjoyed having so many friends and being a social butterfly. With his mother by his side and his numerous friends, he had it all.

Baekhyun did not really know what life has written for him and he sure did not expect him to be out of ordinary. But as fate has it, it happened for him to be special. At the age of ten, he first discovered that he has no interest in girls. After years of watching girls dance around him, shake their bodies graciously and try to get a ‘boyfriend’ (so hold hands with him or kiss him), he discovered why he was not interested while all his friends were all over the place to get one kiss. Baekhyun met his new neighbour at the age of ten, and how he came that is how he went too. The neighbour did not stay for long, but it was long enough for Baekhyun to realise that he has a crush on him. And the neighbour, had a crush on Baekhyun too. They shared a close friendship for the time the neighbour was there, they shared secrets and held hands, even press some pecks on each other faces once in a while. Baekhyun was very sad when the boy left and his mother eventually found out the reason of his sadness. She accepted Baekhyun the way he was and told him: “Never hide who you really are. You are beautiful, just like that”. And her words stuck with him.

At the age of twelve, a great event shook Baekhyun to the ground. His mother, the lovely woman who he has loved his entire life, was diagnosed with an incurable disease: cancer. The once smiling lady, who used to goofy around to make her son smile, lost her shine. Of course, she was always a sun to Baekhyun, but daily she got paler, sicker and sadder. She tried hard to pull a smile in front of her son, but soon even the daily tasks were too much for her and Baekhyun had to help out with everything. And he did so, because he loved his mother. However, it pained Baekhyun every day to see his mother struggle and fight and fall into sadness as an inevitable result. Baekhyun was her only reason to smile and she tried to keep her smile for him only. When his mother was moved in the hospital, Baekhyun was forced to live with his grandparents, but he visited his mother every day. At the age of fifteen, his mother has passed away. This event left an open wound and made Baekhyun vulnerable to anything. He fell into a deep depression, he mourned his mother daily and felt like his life will never be the same again. His high school days have started awfully, he hated everything and did not find joy in being there, now that his mother was no longer around.

At the age of sixteen, his pain was finally to be ended or at least distracted. His first love made sure to make him feel things he never felt before, to make him happy and fulfilled. But as no real-life love story has a happy ending, his love life ended abruptly and hurt him more than ever. Baekhyun was ashamed to face his grandparents after what happened (even if they had no knowledge of what happened and even if they did, they kept their mouths shut). He spend most of his university time at the dorms and only visited his grandparents again at the age of twenty, only to be hugged and kissed and congratulated for his great results. His grandparents were very proud of him and Baekhyun found once more the happiness he has lost.

Starting with the age of twenty, his success started to build up like a snowman. He got small roles at first that were to be performed in big theatres. Soon, his talent was rewarded with his first big role: Benedick from Shakespeare’s comedy Much Ado About Nothing. He was so loved for his performance that it convinced his teacher that he deserves to continue his acting career. He graduated university with the highest grade and was immediately sent to stage to act in classic plays, modern plays and even some small parts in musicals. His success emerged and soon the television asked him to act in short commercials or short parts on TV. Despite the hate that he frequently receives he still emerges, he still grows and is applauded for every performance.

#247: accepted

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teaandjay · 7 years

Text

On the trail of Eva Peron

I’ve never seen Evita. Before we came to Buenos Aires I probably couldn’t have told you whether Eva Peron had been a politician, actress, singer or none of the above. Certainly, I thought she looked like Madonna. But eight days in Buenos Aires is enough to really spark your interest in this fascinating figure of Argentinian history. In fact, you can’t avoid her. Eva is everywhere.

There’s graffiti about the Perons all over the place – most of it urging today’s ‘Peronistas’ to come together and fight the recently-elected right-wing government. Her image crops up all over Buenos Aires – from huge murals on buildings to postcards and even a bust of her in a corner bar in San Telmo.

One of the most striking images of Eva Peron is on the side of the Department for Social Development. She’s depicted in metal, the time of her death hidden in her hair, speaking into a microphone – not, it turns out, because she was a singer (for clarity, she wasn’t), but because she is speaking to the rich areas in the north of the city. And she doesn’t look like she’s taking any nonsense from them.

On the other side of this building, here’s Eva again. But this time she’s facing the poorer areas in the south and she’s beaming down on them for all she’s worth.

Eva Peron, as wife of the president, was unequivocal in her stance on the rich/poor divide. She declared herself a lover of the poor and a hater of the oligarchy. She spent her time in politics, with no official office, developing services for the poor, supporting votes for women and changing the very notion of what it means to be a labourer in Argentina. She is loved and loathed for it.

We took a walking tour that started to fill in some of the gaps about who this woman was and how she managed to take such a prominent place in history, despite her early death at the age of 33. Our guide was a huge Eva fan – his father was an immigrant from Italy and came with nothing. With passion, he described the difference that Eva Peron and her husband made in the lives of people like his father. He took us to the trade union building where she worked, complete with socialist-style image of her and her words: “I will return. And I will be millions.” This is not a woman afraid of her own PR.

The final chapter of her short life is nothing short of grim. She died from cancer of the uterus at 33. She asked for two things after her death – to be embalmed and for her body to be kept in the trade union building where she had worked. This all seemed to be going fine until 1955 when Peron was deposed by military coup and Eva Peron’s body was stolen and smuggled to Italy. Wild stories abound about what happened to her body, but one way or another, her body was eventually brought back to Argentina in the 1970s.

And she was buried in Recoleta Cemetery. This is no ordinary cemetery. It’s a bona fide city of the (rich and famous) dead in the middle of one of the most exclusive areas of Buenos Aires. Its streets are full of the remains of bankers, military commanders and the great and good.

She is buried about 50 metres from the military man who allegedly stole her body and smuggled it out of Argentina. The well-heeled of Buenos Aires were outraged at this low-born, actress turned first lady ending up in their exclusive burial ground. The poor of Buenos Aires were outraged at this ‘definition of irony’ of Eva Peron being surrounded in death by the very people who hated her in life.

But she’s not in the Peron family tomb. She’s in the Duarte family tomb, together with her family members. She’s bringing ‘real’ Argentina into the very heart of its wealthy establishment. Her grave is the only one which has fresh flowers all year round, brought by loyal supporters. Maybe Evita got the last laugh after all.

Jess

#travel #evita #evaperon #buenosaires #argentina

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cryptswahili · 5 years

Text

Five Keys to Inner Strength From Five Years in Prison

October 1, 2018, marked five years since I was imprisoned. My physical surroundings today are ironically similar to what they were after my arrest back in 2013. I’m in the SHU again (Special Housing Unit, aka “the hole”). It means permanent lockdown, separated from the general prison population, in a small cell. There is a slot in the heavy metal door for food trays, a small steel toilet, a concrete bunk with thick rings at four points (I guess that’s how I’ll get strapped down if I go crazy), chipped paint on the walls and floor with gang names and desperate Bible quotes etched in, and everywhere thick marks counting the days spent here by former inhabitants (some collections are terrifyingly large).

The initial shock of entering the cell — and all it meant for my immediate future — gave way after a few days to a helpless, restless dread and a burning need to get out. This feeling had to be stuffed down to avoid madness, and eventually a numb acceptance took over, but it was a precarious arrangement. Desperate frustration simmered constantly beneath the surface.

When I was first arrested, I was put in the hole against my will at three different prisons as they bounced me across the country from San Francisco where I was arrested to New York where I was prosecuted. The only reason I was given for this was that I was “high profile.” After six weeks, I was let out and never returned ... until now. This time, I’m actually glad to be here because the alternative is life-threatening.

I was forced by some other inmates to make a choice: assault someone or be assaulted. Morally I knew I couldn’t initiate violence against another, but if I refused, I would be seriously hurt and would face an uncertain future, not knowing how long I’d be in the hole under protective custody or whether I’d be sent to another prison where I’d meet the same fate.

When the dreadful situation arose, I managed to ask for protective custody before anything happened to me. I was immediately cuffed and escorted to this cell where I’m writing from. I chose the hole rather than hurt another man.

When they dropped me in the SHU after my arrest, I did my best, but it was a tough six weeks, going from a life of freedom straight in. I broke down when I got my first phone call, and, after one week, I completely lost track of time and grounding. It makes me anxious just remembering it.

Maybe after five-plus years I’m used to doing time, but I think it’s how I’ve done my time that has made me mentally tough, that has made the difference between how I handled the hole back then and how I’m handling it now. I want to share this hard-won wisdom with you. Here are the five keys to inner strength I’ve learned from five years in prison.

Patience

My first night locked up was in a San Francisco holding cell: just painted concrete, toilet and sink. There was blood splatter staining the wall. I was so impatient for that night to be over. I almost felt I couldn’t survive it, as if it would never end. Of course it did, but I’ve never felt time move so slowly.

Prison has its own pace. One time, getting two pages of medical records printed took three months. I once had a faucet running day and night for five weeks before it was fixed. A clogged toilet took two months and a complaint to the Office of the Inspector General. Another time, I spotted a letter addressed to me in the corner of a guard’s office. It had been there for four months.

I’ve learned that patience means doing what you can today then letting go. It means settling in to this moment and letting things come in their own time. Impatience and boredom do not bring results faster, but they do rob you of your happiness here and now.

Will to Fight

After a long day of working in the lab as an undergraduate research assistant back in 2005, my mentor asked me if I had ever boxed. I told him no, nor had I been in a real fight. Compared to many, I had a sheltered upbringing in safe schools and neighborhoods. I had no need to fight. He pulled out some 14-ounce gloves and we went a few rounds in the hall outside our office, blowing off steam and having fun. From then on, whenever the stress of work got high, we’d get the gloves out at night before heading home.

When I was arrested and thrown in jail, I faced an opponent in a real fight for the first time in my life. The prosecution wanted to take my life as I knew it. They wanted — and still want to — keep me in a cage forever. I found myself on an alien battlefield and my opponent had every advantage. Being initially locked up in a detention center was like fighting while under water, most of my energy going to day-to-day survival and dealing with prison bureaucracy.

At trial, I stepped into the ring hoping for a chance, for a fair fight. When my lawyer wasn’t allowed to cross-examine the prosecution’s witnesses and I wasn’t allowed to call my own, my hands were tied behind my back. And when the prosecution was allowed to hide corrupt agents from my jury and present unreliable and tainted digital evidence, they were handed a metal bat. It wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre. The defeats kept coming, first at the appellate court, then at the Supreme Court.

I remember one time when I decided to stay out late on the prison yard. The sun was setting, and it was just me and a few others out there. I walked over to a metal picnic table where a man I’ll call Big Mike sat alone. Big Mike was the biggest person I’ve ever met. He weighs twice as much as I do, and his arms are as thick as my legs. He once told me that he doesn’t work out because he gets too big and scares people. We chatted for a while and he told me about the arguments he was preparing for his next motion to the court.

“I need to keep working on my case every single day until I go free,” I said, inspired by his efforts.

His expression became stern. He stared me down then went into a half hour rant that only ended because we were called off the yard for the night. “Yes you do,” he said. “No one is going to fight for your freedom like you. These people got you tied in a knot and you’ll never get out if you don’t struggle and fight. You’re fighting for your life. They took your life from you. Only you can get it back.” He was still going as we walked into the cell block.

Big Mike had fought his entire life. He grew up on the streets of Philly. He fought to survive, and now he was fighting the last shreds of doubt and defeat still left in my heart. He won that night and lit a fire in me that’s been burning ever since.

The will to fight is primal. It’s in all of us. Like me, many of us have never needed it and it lays dormant. Yet you don’t need to wait until you are under attack and your life is in danger to learn to fight. You can fight for who you love, for what matters, for what you believe in, like your life depends on it. And truly it does because a life worth living is worth fighting for.

Forgiveness

A few months after I was sentenced, I lay down on my bunk after the cell door had been locked for the night. As my conscious mind slowed down and sleep approached, the faces of those who put me away for life bubbled up and captured my attention: the judges, prosecutors, politicians and agents, and they were looking down on me with mocking smiles. A cocktail of emotions accompanied these images, including anger, frustration, helplessness, even the beginnings of hate. My heart beat fast and my mind raced until I snapped fully awake and lay there trying to drift off again. After a few cycles of this, I sat up in bed. This wasn’t the first time I couldn’t stop these negative feelings. I had to get a grip.

While I was tossing and turning, those people were probably sleeping, comfortable and sound, in big comfy beds in big comfy houses. Or were they? Maybe they were also sitting up at night tormented by the thought of all the people like me they had condemned. Or maybe they didn’t care and rationalized the pain away. The truth, I realized, was that I had no idea. And further, all my anger wasn’t hurting them one bit. It was all right there with me in that cell. I wasn’t getting back at them by holding a grudge, but I was poisoning my mind.

As revolting as it felt at first, I had to forgive them. I purposely cultivated thoughts like “It wasn’t personal, they don’t even know me” and “Their hearts must be so calloused by what they do, I feel sorry for them.” I focused on feelings of love and kindness and imagined them radiating out and healing those who had hurt me. I don’t know if that had an effect on any of them, but I certainly started sleeping better.

As time went on, I became ruthless with these hateful thoughts whenever they entered my mind and would rewire them immediately as I had that night. I could not indulge in them because I had come to learn this simple truth: hate does not hurt the hated, it hurts the hater. It’s been years since I wasted my energy hating those people and I’m so much better off for having forgiven them.

Faith

Being condemned to grow old and die in prison with two life sentences plus 40 years is like staring into an abyss. My future as I knew it disappeared, replaced by darkness and uncertainty. In the face of this nightmare, faith became a matter of survival.

The day I was sentenced I returned to the detention center and was given hugs, condolences and a hot meal from my fellow prisoners. When I found some time alone that night, I saw two roads before me. One was a downward spiral. I could see that the further I went down, the harder it would be to claw my way back. At the bottom, the demons of despair, hatred and crushing sadness were waiting to devour me. The other path soared upward, but I couldn’t find the steps. There weren’t any. There was no reason to hope that I could hold onto.

In the following months, I had to leap, stumble and scramble toward that upward path. With all evidence to the contrary, I had to have faith that God would see me through whatever was to come. I realized I’m not strong enough on my own to keep from falling into that ever-present abyss. It may be irrational to believe without proof, to have faith, but it’s also irrational to forsake the hope, love and joy that faith brings, because it gives you the strength to fight and ultimately win. In a situation as desperate as mine, keeping faith alive is the difference between freedom and a slow, caged death.

Acceptance and Gratitude

There are endless opportunities for suffering in prison. You can suffer when they lock you in the cell and you feel like you’ll explode if you can’t get ou; when your back spasms from the hard bunk; when you’re sick and feel isolated; when you notice the filth; when the door slams and locks behind your loved ones after a visit; when you feel like you’re drowning and just need one last day of freedom to breathe; when you wish you could keep sleeping but you have to get your boots on because what if a riot pops off; when you imagine the shank you saw pierce the last man is piercing your flesh; when you realize you haven’t had a moment of privacy in years and everything around you is cold and hard; when someone dies and you never got to say goodbye to.

I’ve had countless occasions for suffering. In each case the pain is unavoidable. It hits without warning and you feel it, whether you like it or not. And of course, the nature of pain is to not like it. Our natural reaction is to resist it, to fight it, to push it away or down. This aversion to pain is suffering.

To resist what is so and long for something better is to suffer. Pain and suffering seem hopelessly entangled in prison, but I’ve learned that suffering is not the unavoidable consequence of pain.

While pain is inevitable in my circumstances, suffering is entirely optional. Pain, even emotional pain, is just a physical sensation: the knot in my stomach, the ache in my heart and head. It is neither positive nor negative on its own. It just is. Suffering is our negative response to pain which compounds and amplifies it and drags it on and on.

I’ve come to believe that the antidote to suffering, the path out of it, is acceptance and gratitude. Acceptance turns “I can’t take another day in this hell” into “I am where I am, and yes, it hurts.” Gratitude goes a step further: “At least I have clean water and enough food. At least I’m alive and surviving. Thank you.” Suffering always arises in the context of inadequacy because you want what you don’t have. Acceptance and gratitude flip your context to one of abundance because you are focused on what you do have and are thankful for it. It’s the difference between misery and joy and it’s available to each of us every moment of the day.

So here I am in the hole, counting my many blessings and refusing to indulge in suffering. Hopefully, you can benefit from these five keys to inner strength without having to go through what I have. That would be a nice silver lining, to know what’s happened to me can make a difference for you. That is one more thing to be grateful for.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

[Telegram Channel | Original Article ]

#cryptocurrency

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cryptobrief · 5 years

Link

Patience

Will to Fight

“I need to keep working on my case every single day until I go free,” I said, inspired by his efforts.

Forgiveness

Faith

Acceptance and Gratitude

To resist what is so and long for something better is to suffer. Pain and suffering seem hopelessly entangled in prison, but I’ve learned that suffering is not the unavoidable consequence of pain.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

#briefs

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