the best thing about the whole fyre festival is the fact their in the bahamas like it’s not a deserted island there’s literally a town 15 minutes away there’s a mcdonald’s down the street sandra stop crying
so yesterday my class and me went on a schooltrip to Paris to go to some kind of museum about the french monarchie and what they did in their freetime. At one point of our vistit, the guide lead us into big and classy looking ballroom or something, dimmed the lights, started playing music and said we should get a partner and dance. And during that little ball i heard two of the boyd
s, who are like best friends, say to each other
Bro, should we dance?
Only if I get to dance with you, Bro
Of course, Bro. Anything for you!
Dudebro 1 & 2:
start to slowdance to the music.
-sees and films the whole thing- That's so cute! I can totally imagine my OTP doing that! But i still have no one to dance with.
In the end i just kept on watching these two guys and two girls slowdancing with each other in a #nohomo way and was lonly for the rest of the ball in the corner of losers, losing my shit over OTP-feels
So I know Steve is in those school detention videos, but do they ever try to get you to be in any of them too?
they tried. they did not succeed.
this occurred for two reasons. 1. steve made those videos while i was still with hydra, so i wasnt around then. and after i came back and they asked me to do them, i watched steves videos and saw how dumb he looked. so i passed.
and 2. steve only did them in the first place because he got blackmailed.
so back during the war, steve had a reputation among the howlies as being terrible with women. which he was. so every so often when we were on leave, one of us would get it into our heads to try and help stevie develop some sort of game, in hopes that we would have to listen to him pine for peggy carter less.
he did a lot of pining.
we were all hanging out at a bar near camp after a stressful operation, killing time before the next transport turned up. morita was running late because he was getting a stark update for his radio kit, but the rest of us were already a few drinks in and well on our way to heckling steve into doing something dumb.
(we didnt have tv back then, so we had to get our entertainment somewhere. and let me tell you, steve is better than the kardashians in terms of just-cant-look-away decision making.)
so dumdum had convinced steve that he had the perfect line, and all steve would have to do was walk up to some dame and say it. steve obviously wasnt interested in anybody but pegs, but he admitted that a bit of practice just holding conversation with a lady would probably do him some good. dumdum pointed out a lovely dame with long brown hair and a WASP uniform sitting up at the bar, whispered the line in steve’s ear (because he didnt trust the rest of us with his perfect line) and sent steve off.
we watched as steve made his way over and sat down. he’d never looked more awkwardly enormous as he did wedged into the bar stool next to that tiny dame. he flagged down the bartender, ordered a couple drinks, and turned to deliver dumdum’s line.
except that right then, the bartender slid the drinks down the bar to him, and his arm caught them both as he turned.
so he delivered the line and then promptly doused the dame in two pints of terrible beer.
that’s when morita showed up. and just as the lady delivering a really lovely slap across that chiseled-as-rushmore jawline, jim morita says:
“what the hell is steve doing with my wife??”
because it turned out his wife was a civilian pilot who’d joined the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots, and happened to be the transport pilot we were waiting for. none of us even knew he was married. he and his wife both kept their rings on their tags under their uniforms. her name was jenny, and she thought the whole thing was pretty damn funny.
she and steve both refused to divluge what exactly the line had been. but it must have been pretty bad, because when jenny and jim morita’s son found steve after the war, he used it as blackmail to get steve to do those videos. turns out he’s a high school principal somewhere in queens. and he’s on some sort of educational board that makes those things.
but morita never had any blackmail on me to pass along, so i got out home free.
hi! i'd love to hear what you think would have happened if wyldon hadn't let keladry stay after her first year!! love your writing :^)
“Mindelan, it may be that the best thing said of my tenure is that you were my student. Should that be the case, I am the wrong man for this post. I did all I could to get rid of you. Your probation was wrong. You know that, I know it. I was harder on you than any lad. Thank Mithros I remembered my honor and let you stay when you met the conditions—but it was a near thing. Next time, I might not heed the voice of honor.”
– Wyldon of Cavall (Squire)
Kel sat and thought about it all through the long summer– thought about joining the Riders when she turned sixteen, or going back to the Yamani Isles with her parents, or running away to become an unlawful bandit hunter.
She drank tea with her mother and accepted her quiet sympathy. She wondered what was going to happen to Peachblossom. She did her morning glaive practice dances in the heady air of the tiny courtyard garden of her parents’ townhouse, where the cook grew herbs and spices in big overflowing boxes.
Summer rolled on. She sat, and she thought, and she did not tell her thoughts to anyone. On the first day of what would have been her second year of page training, she woke before the sun and had a quiet breakfast with her father, and then she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds.
When the pages trailed out of the building to the practice yards with dubious enthusiasm, she was waiting just outside their ground. Her chin was high, her shoulders loose while her hands gripped her weighted staff.
“Probationer,” Wyldon barked out her, when one of the boys went to fetch him. “Was I unclear in the spring?”
Kel stared him down, fingers white on her staff, and said, “I’m not a probationer anymore.”
“She’s a private citizen, just enjoying the fresh air,” Neal called from the other side of the practice yard fence. He got armor cleaning punishment for a week for his cheek and Kel lifted and lowered and struck with her staff to the call of the masters. Her staff hit thin air. The clack of the pages’ staves colliding hit her ears.
“That’s palace property,” Wyldon said ten minutes in, and plucked the staff out of her grip, so Kel followed the lesson with empty hands and brought her mother’s spare walking stick the next day.
They started calling her trespasser, after that, and Kel stood calm on the public grounds just on the other side of the practice yard fence, practicing her high blocks.
While the pages had riding practice, she sat in the dirt outside the riding yard and did the homework Neal smuggled out for her. He handed the finished assignments in for her, too, even though only Myles and the one Mithran priest who had never learned anyone’s names graded them. She took notes on what riding exercises the masters were assigning the pages and watched Neal where he sat on Peachblossom’s back like a sack of mulish peanuts.
“When I heard you weren’t t’ be coming back,” Stefan the hostler told her. “I wasn’t sure what would happen to the old lad.”
“Me, either,” said Kel, looking down at her math and trying to keep her face smooth and still.
When the pages went in for their seated classes, Stefan let her take out Peachblossom to try to exercises herself. Days the gelding was too tired, he found other mounts for her and Kel learned all their names– gentle Aubrey and fastidious Starfall and distractible, clever Redding and poor anxious Terence, who almost threw her more than once. “He comes by the fidgets honest,” Stefan told her and Kel brought extra apples for Terence when she could.
She still took on Lalasa when Gower found her feeding the sparrows in the courtyard beside her old rooms and asked her. Her parents’ townhouse had the funds to hire another maid, though Kel didn’t need or want a personal servant.
Lalasa pinched Kel’s torn clothes from her room all the same and returned them better hemmed and beautifully mended. Kel barely saw her, though she tried to leave a coin from her allowance on the piles of clothes she thought the young woman was most likely to steal away next.
She didn’t ask for the help and she told herself she didn’t want it, but she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds every day with her weighted harness weighing on her shoulders.
She stood just outside the low fence of the practice yards and ignored Joren’s comments and Zahir’s sneers and the rebukes of the swordfighting teachers– distraction, they said. Lump, waste, failure.
The sun beat down on her aching shoulders and she thought I could stand here forever, thought you are just noise and wind, I am a mountain. I will be here long after you cease howling.
Neal landed blows on Joren’s fingers, apologizing blandly to the masters for his clumsinesses, because Kel had ordered him to get in no fights for her honor. The sun beat down on the careful stitches of Kel’s cotton shirt, which fit as perfectly as Lalasa could manage from a shy distance.
She told herself she didn’t want the help, didn’t need it. Her harness weighed down her shoulders, her makeshift staff weighed down her arms, but the cotton laid light and kind on her back.
request: babes! can I have a joe keery one where y/n works on the set of stranger things and to him she’s like the coolest ever and the both have the same style and he falls pretty hard, and when season two comes around there’s a tearful reunion and confessions of love xxxx (also can y/n be british?)
summary: turns out joe doesn’t really cope well with his emotions and cries when he’s tired.
word count: 2,393
a/n: okay, so this is going out tonight (sunday), and i won’t be on much at all tomorrow BECAUSE MY AUNT IS HAVING A BABY, so i’m going to queue up a fic that somebody submitted to me, and that’ll go out tomorrow. that is all. there are no warnings in this fic. it’s just nice and fluffy and joe cries a lil.
It had all started with the slapping.
Well, really, it had started when you’d been hired as a production assistant for some Netflix show. The premise had seemed interesting enough - you’d grown up being into sci-fi stuff - but what had really intrigued you was the fact that it was a paying job. You’d been trying your hardest to get a job in film, on top of trying to get someone to hire you while also providing you a work visa.
Eventually, your uncle had known this dude who’d known a woman who babysat for this person’s cousin who knew someone that worked at Netflix. Which meant that a couple of months later, you were working on the set of an actual tv show.
But the actual fun? That had started with the slapping.
It was day three of shooting, when you’d noticed it. Being a PA meant that you were relatively low on the list of important people, and that you were there to do what you were told and to keep your mouth shut. But you’d started to pick up on the fact that two of the actors, Gaten and Finn, had red cheeks. Not just red cheeks where they were a little excited for the scene at hand, but like… like they’d been hit. You had younger brothers. You knew how stupid kids could be. They’d already shot the scene twice, and a difference like that would be noticeable.
So you took a chance. You approached one of the Duffer brothers - you prayed you’d get the name right - and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Uh, Matt? Gaten and Finn’s cheeks look a little off. It might show up on camera.” You and Matt looked to the boys in question, watching as Finn reared his hand back and slapped Gaten across the cheek.
“What the fuck… Hey, you two! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matt started towards them, scowling as you hesitated for a second before following behind him. “Are you kidding me? You can’t slap each other before a take. It’s going to ruin continuity.”
“We can’t help it! We’re excited!” Gaten piped up, grinning.
“Well, are you guys going to stop?” Finn and Gaten both looked towards each other before turning back to Matt, shaking their heads, grinning like a couple of idiots. “Jesus,” he muttered. He sighed, running a hand over his face as he turned around. His gaze settled on you. “You, you good with kids?”
“Cool. You’re being promoted to child wrangler.”
“Isn’t there already a wrangler?”
“Well, yeah, but… You’ll be the actual wrangler. They’re worried about the kids’ safety. You’ll be making sure they don’t do anything stupid.”
Don’t do anything stupid became the mantra for the entirety of filming.
There would be days where it felt like the only things that you said were:
“Finn, knock it off.”
“Gaten, I understood the joke. It wasn’t funny.”
“Caleb, please stop talking.”
“Finn, knock it off.”
“Noah’s my favorite.”
“Finn, knock it off!”
There were more better days than worse days, though. Millie easily listened to you the best, although that was more because you’d both lived in England. But weirdly enough, your favorite person on set ended up being Joe.
harry saying nothing rn is totally cool and fine IF he’s still on hiatus and not dropping an album in 10 weeks (or less). the registration of a touring company does show an intent, regardless of when it’s going to happen. so, i really hope he’s not putting out an album until after dunkirk. mainly because he’s so distanced from 1D fans right now and it makes him look like a person that i know he’s not.
if he were to wait until after dunkirk, it would be perfect timing. he would have re-engaged his fans and also engaged new ones with dunkirk promo…awesome segue!
and yes, i’ve been a total supporter of harry’s right to silence during this hiatus. which he DOES have and it’s totally copacetic IF he’s continuing hiatus until around when dunkirk promo starts. but to just not be engaged at all and then suddenly drop something out of NOWHERE and just expect everyone to buy it just because we’re here…seems arrogant and presumptuous and i don’t like it.
so…in conclusion…i love harry TO DEATH, as if he were my own, but i don’t like this vibe right now. don’t get me wrong, i’mma still buy his album but…i don’t like the whole… situation (IF it is in fact, the real situation) and jeff should Do Better if this is happening Soon.
“You will marry a worthless man someday, and you will have stupid kids. You will be a grandma with wrinkles. I am jealous. It is happiness for a woman, isn’t it? But I am a demon. I will be pretty forever. Don’t you feel sorry?”
Tomie (1999) dir. Ataru Oikawa Cinematography by Akira Sakoh, Kazuhiro Suzuki
As toddlers, you and Peter met at daycare. You approached him after thinking of him- as your mother still teases you with- “the least stupid kid there” and after a solid day of block tower building, you kissed his cheek before leaving.
As older children, you were just as heartbroken to hear that Uncle Ben had passed. Uncountable tears flowed and on his funeral, Peter receives a small, tear-flavoured kiss on his cheek. He squeezed your hand carefully and somehow managed to give you a small smile, though quickly tears were running down both his and your cheeks again.
As a fourteen year old, you caught Peter staring at you. After teasing him relentlessly for days, you said “No hard feelings, bug” and kissed his respective cheek again, only to have his face turn the brightest shade of red and your laugh to echo through the cafeteria.
As fifteen year olds, you two started dating and after you first date, there was the first actual kiss. In front of your apartment building, hiding for the rain after Peter walked you home from the arcade. It was a longing, sweet kiss waiting to happen and after laughing at Peter’s “Damn”, it was followed by more. Many more since that happened.
At sixteen, you walked in on Peter in the spidey suit, your mouth dropping open. “Woah-holy shit” is the only noise that you made after a solid two minutes of staring as Peter tried, and failed, to explain what was actually going on. You shut him up with a kiss, the heart soaring kind that you melt into and all was well.
At eighteen, you got a call from an unknown number. After picking up, you were told by Tony Stark himself that Peter got hurt on a mission, that he was in a critical condition and a car was on the way to pick you up. Your world stopped. You dropped your phone and after sobbing for a good moment, you picked your phone back up as you hurried down your apartment building. A kiss quickly followed as you saw Peter, straight out of surgery and perfectly fine- bless Tony Stark.
As twenty three year olds, you kissed Peter with the biggest smile on your face after you both had signed your joining apartment, in front of your landlord’s office. Real. Official. Proud. More happy than anything.
At twenty six, your mouth fell open as Peter sank down on one knee. After nodding and yelling yes over the traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge, which earned applause from bystanders and Ned filming every bit, you pulled him up a bit and kissed him in the way your heart skips a beat or two.
As twenty eight year olds, you two finally got married. As cliche it is, one of the best days of your life, accompanied with one of the best kisses of your life.
At thirty two, after the most painful and tiring moment of your life, you shared a sweet, short kiss. In Peter’s arms was the baby girl that you were more then happy to call you yours.
At fifty, after letting out a deep sigh, you tilted your head to give Peter a kiss. You already felt sad, even though your daughter had barely left the driveway.
“I love you so much” Ninety nine. A short kiss, one that tasted like tears and remembrance. Peter closed his eyes.