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aritamargarita · 1 year

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GOLDEN || 008

HOLD YOUR APPLAUSE!

now i welcome you back… you’ve landed at the golden train station destination, don’t forget your luggage when exiting the train yippee!

i hope you get a couple of laughs out of this…because after a certain point literally nothing is going to be funny anymore *WINK* you know, in both series, i think we just can't have nice things lol.

with this series of unfortunate events, i present to you [name]’s bizarre adventure. *lights dim, curtains fall*

THAT MATCH MADE you feel pretty unsatisfied. All you can hope for is that this future Sable storyline can give you more than whatever you're doing right now. The night is still young, so there are many things waiting for you.

BACKSTAGE // 7:24 PM

You’re the last one out. The other three were already making their way down the hall by now.

You’re not exactly satisfied with that match from earlier. Truth be told, you wanted to wrestle with Chyna a little longer. Even though you were goofing around, you knew for a fact that Chyna had more than an irish whip in her arsenal.

You want her at her full potential! You’re sure she wants you at your full potential too.

If only you were put in a storyline with her instead of Sable, sigh..

You're not exactly alone back in gorilla either. As soon as you hit those curtains, Bret was leaning on the wall. "Done for the night?"

You look at him with a smile. “Yes.” You weren’t really impressed overall with your match, and you’d tell him this much. “If you were watching, don’t be surprised. I didn’t do much this time..”

Bret shrugs it off. “I still think you did something out there. That’s all that matters. Let me tell you a little secret,” He comes closer so that you can hear him a little better. “Shawn’s got a real big habit of making things all about him. Trust me, I know.”

The way he said it makes you raise an eyebrow. Now you’re really curious..

“..Still, I think you stood out tonight.” He continues.

“Couldn’t keep your eyes off of me, eh?” You tease. “I get it. Everyone seems to have that problem when they meet me.”

“Your name must be trouble, then.” Bret grins at you. “Causing it everywhere you go. By the way, what ever happened to watching me wrestle? Think it’s a little unfair if I can only watch you.”

"Listen, I wanted to tell you sorry. I kiiinda just wanted to go back to my hotel." You explain. “Other than make that one ringside appearance, there wasn’t anything to do, you know?”

“I guess I better back out of our bet, huh?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Don’t know if I can trust you to hold up on your end of the deal.”

Bret must think he looks really cool doing that. You’re almost flattered.

“Oh no!” You say, dramatically putting your hand on your chest. “Whatever will I do?!”

“Hmm. Could make it up to me.” He says. “What do you have planned tonight?”

“Nothing…but..” You cross your arms. “If you’re about to say what I think you are, I thought the whole deal was if I talked to your crazy friend?” You hadn’t seen Pillman the entire show, let alone the last show. “I haven’t even seen him yet..”

Bret shrugs. He didn’t have an answer at first. “Well, maybe the guy’s just a little shy. You might’ve missed him. I talked to him the other day and funnily enough, it just so happens he talks about you a lot. I don’t blame him, but if I were you, I’d check the match card for tomorrow.”

Hmmmm……

“You don’t blame him, huh..” Whatever that means. “And I’ll check. Now, what do you want from me?” You’re sure that Shawn must’ve been looking for you by now, especially since you fell back.

“You said you’ve got nothing planned tonight, right?” Once you nod your head as confirmation, he smiles. “We’re gonna grab something to eat.”

“Is that an order or a request?”

“Whatever you want it to be.”

You’re not sure how to take that, but if there’s one thing you like, it’s people who are forward with what they want from you.

It’s probably another thing on your imaginary list that Terry’s instilled in you overtime. Closed mouths do not get fed. He’s got a lot of good lessons..

“Okay, okay. That’s fine.” There’s something else that’s been killing you, so you just go for it. “When you mentioned Shawn making things all about him, what did you mean?”

Bret decided to put it bluntly. “If you really want to know, he’s just a smart ass. Guy thinks he’s at the top of the world these days. I’m surprised no one told you what happened last month..”

“Not at all.” What exactly happened?

“Last month, I lost the WWF Championship to him and not in the way you think. That asshole put me in the sharpshooter and the bell rung without me even tapping.“

Damn. That’s crazy. You couldn’t even imagine the atmosphere backstage after.

The only thing you can say is; “Wow.”

He chuckles, which makes you tilt your head. “You should’ve been there. I ended up ripping a chunk of his hair out.…can’t say it might not sound a bit anti-climactic in my words though.”

“And this was like a month ago?!”

“Yeah. You just missed it. Believe it or not, we were actually pretty good friends a while back.”

“Seriously?” Though you’ve only known them for a little while, they seem like they’re from such different worlds. Then again, opposites do attract.

“Seriously.” He nods. “My only advice to you right now is to be careful who you trust. You’re in the lions den. Personally, I don’t think it’s wise to stay there.”

If you leave the “lion’s den”, where else could you go? You’re fully capable of making a name for yourself, but the ladder may work a little different here.

There’s more questions you want to ask. Hundreds of them, even. But things are cut short when you see Shawn yet again sauntering down the hallway with his arms open.

“Heyyy, I knew something was wrong! Didn’t see ya’ behind us!” He chimed. “You know you’re apart of the group, what do people say these days? No one left behind? Because you’re apart of the group, you know?”

He placed a lot of emphasis on group. Something that makes you look at him in confusion and makes Bret raise his eyebrow at him.

“Man, I sure LOVE being with D-Generation X,” He continues. “You know, the group. Now if you excuse us, we’ve got somewhere to be!” Shawn slings his arm around you and tugs you down the hallway.

“Sorry.” You turn your head towards Bret with an apologetic look on your face. “See you tonight?”

Shawn’s really starting to get on your nerves with this. It almost makes it worse now that this ‘Montreal Screwjob’ put that slight sour taste in your mouth about him.

“I feel like I’ve gotta put a leash on you or something.” Shawn chuckles. “Always wandering somewhere else.” You want to find the sweetness in his words, but you literally can’t. You’re too pissed off with him dragging you away like that.

With you giving no response, not even a sarcastic one, he suddenly stops. You step away and just stare at him.

With what Bret told you, could you really find it in yourself to trust Shawn? Could you even trust D-Generation X as a whole?

Somehow, you feel like the only person you can trust is Chyna. But maybe that’s because you have an fondness for her.

"What?" He asks. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

You simply shake your head and continue down the hall. The locker room must’ve been only two doors down.

“Woah, woah!” Shawn yells, speeding up so he can catch up to you. “Hold on a second there..!”

You don’t slow down or say anything to him as you open the door and head over to your things to hastily pack them. You need to find a nice outfit and you’d much rather do it alone.

Chyna and Hunter give a look to each other before turning back to you in confusion. Shawn’s making hand gestures towards you, but they have no fucking clue what he means.

You shoot the other two a smile before grabbing your luggage. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah…uh, you too.” Hunter replies.

After his words, no one really says anything else to you. The three of them just watch you push past Shawn and walk out the door.

“Man, you must’ve royally fucked up that one.” Hunter muttered. You didn’t seem to be in a good mood at all. “The hell happened?”

Shawn waits a moment before finally gathering some words together. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, it’s for her own good. You don’t get it, she was talking to Bret. Shady business, guys! We’ve gotta follow her.”

“I don’t think you should do that.” Chyna recommends. “You should leave her alone.”

“That’s a good idea.” Shawn thinks about it for a moment. “Buuuuut that’s not gonna happen. ‘Cause what if she leaves us for the Hart Foundation?! She was talking to Bret earlier. Sounds like they’ve got plans. Plans for what exactly?!”

“Dude…” For a second, Shawn thinks that Hunter wasn’t on his side. “…Holy shit, you’re right. She might just leave us. The woman’s new, this may be a test drive!”

Chyna couldn’t believe that Hunter was feeding into this. Seems like you couldn’t have friends outside of them. The more overbearing they are, the more you’d want to leave the group, and she most definitely didn’t want that to happen. “You guys—“

She tries to be the voice of reason, but the other two just weren’t hearing it.

“Get the car ready!” Shawn yells, quickly grabbing his own stuff. “She’ll be gone before we know it, this is a mission we can’t fail!”

You wanted to look nice. Not for any particular reason, of course. You think what you’ve scrapped together is good enough, so you pose in the mirror one last time for good measure.

This isn’t a date or anything. It’s just two co-workers hanging out in their spare time after the show. Yes, that’s right. Just two co-workers. It’s for business and whatnot.

Sure enough, the car ride didn’t entail anything that interesting. The two of you just sat in silence for the most part. Both of you were just focused on the road in front of you, with little small talk.

You didn’t know what to say. Neither did he. But there was a smile on your face that just wouldn’t go away as you idly drummed on your knee the entire time.

The thought crossed your mind to offhandedly mention how you almost cracked your head open when he called to tell you that he arrived. Just for light banter. You ended up not saying anything.

Finally getting there was different. The moment you two got out of the car was the moment you two could talk about everything in the damn world. At least he was nice enough to open the door for you.

You didn’t really know why, but you figured that you should get a feel for him, see what he likes to talk about..

This is really weird.

“Are you cold?” Bret suddenly asks. “If you want to, you’re free to use my coat.”

“No, I’m good.” You say. For some reason, this is genuinely making you nervous. Even though you’re hanging out.. “Thanks anyway.”

It is a bit chilly outside. Then again, it is December.

He opens the door for you again and you're suddenly hit with warm air. It feels much better. You just hope you don't start to feel uncomfortable with the heat by being there for too long.

It's not too much of a fancy restaurant, nothing five star or anything along those lines. It's just a local one in the town, you think.

It’s definitely not a Waffle House. This one guy in your life had a tendency to take you there at 2 in the morning and call it fine dining. By no means were you complaining about the food. The food is good. It’s just the idea.

The waiter greets you two. Bret’s the one that does all the talking as your eyes seem to wander off somewhere else.

You notice that it’s pretty quiet for the most part, though you can see people chatting away at tables.

Somehow, seeing people like just hanging around like this reminds you of when you were just like any other person. Right before you got into wrestling. It’s different this way.

The feeling of not being famous, you suppose.

It reminded you of that period of your life where you didn’t know what exactly you wanted to do. You guess you were at the right place at the right time because you got scouted in a strange way.

More than likely because you were nice-looking, of course. But you’re more than just looks and you demonstrated as such in your very first match.

Before you’re able to spiral in your thoughts any further, Bret has to tap you on the shoulder to get you to follow him.

“Whoops.” You mutter. And you follow right towards the dining room. Once you’re seated in a booth, the both of you are passed menus. “Ever been here before?” You ask, doing your best to make conversation.

“Nope. I just think it’s a nice change of pace. I’m the kind of guy who’ll eat fast food. But hey, I just said screw it, let me at least try to leave a lasting impression on a new friend.” Bret says, scanning over the menu. He wishes that the lights weren’t so dim in here…

“Ah. You and me both.” You too, we’re a victim of fast food. McDonald’s fries were too good to pass up. It’s like a tradition for yourself to go after every show.

Things are a bit different now. You want to try and get a better feel of the WWF’s schedule first.

On another note, it is safe to say you’re decently impressed. You just hope the waiters here weren’t as temperamental as Waffle House waiters.

“Hola! Oh shit, I mean, bonjour.” The waiter says in a terrible French accent. “I’m your waiter, Sèan, that’s right, don’t forget the apostrophe on the E, how may I take your order, eh?”

You don’t really comment on it, instead focusing on the menu. You’re not that hungry either. Somehow, that match had zapped away your appetite. Maybe you should just order ten cocktails and get drunk or something.

Actually, no, no. That’d be really embarrassing.

You lift your head up to give the waiter a smile, but once you do, it immediately falls.

…You look over at Bret, who was simply scanning through the menu unfazed. Did he seriously not know who this was?

Did his voice not give it away? You’ve gotta be kidding. This has to be some king of joke.

How did Shawn even nab a waiter outfit anyway? And most importantly, who glued that mustache to his face?! Is no one else pointing this out??

More importantly, he picked such a stupid name. Way to disguise yourself.

Still, Bret hasn’t noticed. But if he does, then you both more than likely are going to leave. While you’re pretty upset that he followed you here, you wonder how this’ll play out.

“Um..” You rub your temple. “Wow. Okay. Hi, Sèan with an apostrophe. Can I just get a water for now?” You start to wonder how in the hell he’s going to get access to the kitchen.

“Oui!” He gives you a thumbs up and you cringe. Honestly, you never thought you’d be in a situation like this in your life.

“Same here. I can’t figure out what I want for the life of me.” Bret says.

“You could get lost.” Shawn mutters, his eye twitching.

“Huh?”

“What? I didn’t say anything, kind sir. You wanted the water?”

As Bret gives his response to him, you start to wonder why your life has to be this way. Out of all things that could've happened..why in the world would Shawn follow you?

He leaves and you take a moment to rub your face with your hands. For once in your life, you'd just like to meet someone who wasn't that obsessed with you. You have had plenty of bad experiences already.

Meanwhile, Shawn is slightly panicking. You definitely knew that something was up. He goes over to another table, holding up a notepad. “Guys, we have a dilemma. I call this: Code Alfredo.”

“That is a stupid codeword.” Chyna blatantly says behind her menu. And quite frankly, she thinks what they’re doing now is stupid too.

Hunter slightly leans down the menu that’s covering his face. “I’m totally for it, man. Don’t worry. What happened?”

“I think she knows! I’m gonna try and get access to the kitchen. These idiots don’t even know I don’t work here.” He chuckles. “Slipped right under the radar. Hell, you could get your own uniform if you wanted to, Hunter.”

“Always wanted to try my hand at cooking.” He says. “Guess I’ll get ready for my shift, heh.”

“If she sees the two of you, she’ll know something is up. And I don’t want her to think that I had anything to do with this.” Chyna says, lowering her menu. But she, just like you, wanted to see how it’ll play out.

Shawn just laughs. What makes her think she’s not going down with this ship?! “The hell do you mean?! You’re deep in it now! You definitely play a part in this.”

“Ugh.” She groans, waving her hand and bringing up her menu to cover her face once again.

“C’mon dude. We’ve gotta get you a uniform.” Shawn nudges Hunter to get up. “And you’ll never guess what I did, I asked a camera crew to come over and we’re gonna….”

And back at your table, things seemed to be the same as always. You just can’t believe Shawn’s even here.

You’ve gotta find a way to make the best of this situation, maybe even try and distract yourself from the fact he came. Easier said than done.

“So, uh.” You cough out. “I’ve heard stuff about some kind of award show called the Slammy’s. Know anything about it?”

“Yeah. Most of the Hart Foundation is going, so I’m obligated to go too. I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to go.” He admits with a smile. “Thought it was dumb. Especially since I’ve already won last year. Three times.”

“Three?” You’re surprised. He must be good, damn. “What did you win it for??”

He counts them out for you with his fingers. “Best Submission. Best Music Video. Believe I was Hall of Fame bound as well.”

“That’s a lot stuff. Pretty cool.” You smile. And it was. You originally thought that you couldn’t imagine being picked for something like that, but apparently, you did! “I got nominated, too. Least I think I did. I think it was Miss Slammy?”

“Then I know who my votes going to.” He immediately says. “No question.”

You scoff. “Oh, you…”

“By the way, it’s pretty common for you to bring someone to the Slammy’s with you. Did anyone ask you yet?”

“No. Not at all.” To you, you figured that was a given since you were new and all. No one really knows you like that.

“Guess this is my opportunity then. Are you interested in going with me?”

Suddenly, yet another waiter comes by and you groan.

This time, you can identify him as definitely Hunter. He has a stupid chef hat on, and his glued on mustache may have been falling off, but he can’t hide those blonde locks of his.

“Compliments of the chef.” He sets your drink down and you look at it. Gotta be some variation of soda. This isn’t water.

“Hey, uh. I wanted a water…” You say.

“My bad.” He swipes it back up, then turns to Bret. “What did you want, dude?” Of course, his customer service was really bad. But you can’t talk…

“I just wanted a water too.”

You’re not understanding how Bret hasn’t caught on yet. Maybe he’s not paying attention too well enough. You kept seeing Hunter’s eyes darting behind Bret, which struck you as strange.

“Hey. Did you know Shawn Michaels won the Slammy’s five times last year?” Hunter suddenly says.

“What—?” As Bret is talking, a circular tray is smashed on top of his head and he crashes down to the floor. You immediately jump out of your seat.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.

Shawn dramatically rips off his apron and ushers the cameraman to come closer so that they could get a good shot of this beatdown. "You think you're better than us?! Tell your little foundation to stay away from our new recruit!" He kicks him.

"Stop that!" You yell. The attention was on all of you as Shawn continues to kick Bret. In attempt to stop his assault, you jump on his back. The people surrounding you are just enjoying the show at this point.

Because you're currently trying to choke Shawn out, Hunter takes over and starts laying blows onto Bret. Chyna has to come out of nowhere in order to try and separate you from Shawn.

Once she lifts you off of him, you look behind you. "Oh my god! You too, Chyna?!"

Well, now you know for sure this restaurant wont be allowing you guys to come back.

Ever.

i'd like to give an explanation as to why she stopped having “a thing” for shawn so quickly.…..the answer is clearrrr, it’s absolutely raven’s fault…she will never see being the slightest bit clingy as a good thing again LOL.

ngl this chapter was a struggle thanks to motivation and tumblr breaking every 5 seconds. i wasn't very happy but i think it just needed a new set of eyes (aka you who's reading lmao) i thank you for reading, big things are coming!

#wwe golden series #bret hart imagine #bret hart x reader #shawn michaels x reader #shawn michaels imagine #chyna x reader #chyna imagine #triple h imagine #triple h x reader #wwe x reader #wwe imagine #wwf x reader #wwf imagine #YIPPEEEEE *cries*#SÈAN DONT FORGET THE APOSTROPHE💯#if u didn’t know it’s raven who takes us to Waffle House #us watching as the cook spits in our food while he insists this is fine dining #also be nice to waffle house employees they can fight LMAO #if you are still here remind me to buy another chicken quesadilla tomorrow mmmm

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gwilin-stay-winnin · 4 months

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!! wip whenever !!

i've been tagged by many folks these past few days, among them @inkoherentwriting, @stellarsightz and @v1ctory-or-sovngarde. as always, thank you for sharing your lovely wips with me!! i love being tagged. if i don't post a wip soon after i am, it's likely because i don't have one to share just yet. but today i do yippeeeee

(no-pressure) tagging @omkdear, @inkoherentwriting (since it's been a while), @bethrnoora, and @da3drat

here's a random text post i was writing that ended up turning into a ficlet. in it, gwilin recalls a weird friend he may or may not have had as a child. [on ao3]

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

There's a story Gwilin tells few, of a best friend he had when he was little. His name, he remembers, was Mals. Gwilin decided a long time ago that that must've been short for 'Malstar'.

Mals came sometime after the snow had thawed, when deathbell sprouts were breaking all through the ground and fungi tinted the air with the smell of fertile soil. They met at the end of a cloudy day, at dusk, as Gwilin paraded his boredom around the village stables.

"What's your name?"

"Gwilin!" Gwilin cried. He wasn't wary of strangers quite yet, nor did he find it odd that he'd been cooed at.

"No. The horse," replied the boy, and he pointed accordingly. Gwilin was a serial eavesdropper, and so was very well-versed in those matters reserved only for the most serious conversations amongst adults. Such as politics. He leapt at the chance to demonstrate.

"Ulfric Stormclock."

The boy's face had its doubts. "That's a long name," he replied, after a moment. He didn't know it was supposed to be 'cloak', either.

"All the best horses have long names."

"I'd make a bad horse, then," concluded the boy, as he rounded the beast. "Mals," he said simply, and the sliver of sleek, black hair moving into the fading rays of daylight drew Gwilin's eye, first. Then it was the boy's open arms.

A hug? thought Gwilin. Well, alright, he supposed. He looks clean enough.

They'd meet at the stables in the afternoons. Mals was never late. The few times Gwilin made it there before he did, he'd see him come out of the brush and catch how haphazardly he went about straightening his hair and wiping off his boots. He wondered how far he traveled each time he came. Asking him outright was never much help; Mals talked an awful lot like the priests at the temple did. 'Just down the road a ways', 'Close enough', 'Could be farther'...

A few weeks passed before Gwilin realized his friend never mentioned his family, even in passing. Or his other friends, if he had any. Such ties seemed foreign to him. When Mals spoke–and he often didn't–it was of far more unusual things. Where death came from, what fame is good for, what would happen when one kind of time gave way to another. And he spoke of these things as himself, in simple terms–in words Gwilin felt were meant for him to understand.

Sometimes he'd bring strange foods to share. Most were dainty, sweet things unlike any Gwilin had ever tasted. He remembered a crisp, mauve-colored wafer shell full of tangy, bright yellow paste had been a favorite of his. The day he tried to return the favor with some venison sandwiches, though, Mals turned him down. Meat made his stomach turn, he said. This saddened Gwilin.

He really liked meat. And he really liked Mals.

On a day, as he dug into a bowl of spiced nuts layered over dense, sugary cream and Mals counted the rings of a tree, there came a question. From Gwilin, as usual.

"Where are you from?"

"Why do you ask?" said Mals, after he finished counting. Gwilin put down the spoonful he'd brought to his lips. Mals had never responded to that question with anything other than a vague remark.

"You're my friend. I'd like to know," he shrugged. More clearly than anything else then, he remembers the sound of Mals running his hand over the bark of the log he'd been examining. A smile tugged at his lips, which the olive skin at his cheeks slowly gave way to.

"Do you know Craglorn?"

"You're Breton!" he blurted out. Gwilin had been pretty sure of it. Those ears were a dead giveaway.

"Yes. I am. But do you know Craglorn?"

"Yeah. Out by the Dragontails."

"Mhm. Everything moves slow out there. People, especially," Mals grunted out, as he lay down on the log. His head hung back off the edge of it. "This mage lived there once, you know. She was slower than anyone else. Even breathed slow. She liked writing and doing research in her room, all day and night."

"Was she a good mage?"

Mals took a moment to respond. "Paper is cheap in Craglorn. Easy to get, easy to use. And she had the woods close by if she needed souls for enchanting, so she could experiment all she liked. It doesn't really matter whether she was good or not."

"Oh. Sorry. I don't know a lot about magic..." was all Gwilin remembers saying. Mals laughed short and sweet, like a little bell, at that.

"Neither did she. But time did its work. It got to the point people would head to the inn she was staying at just to see her. Study her unconventional ways," he clarified, as he placed both arms below his head. "Thing is," he began, with pressed lips, "There wasn't anything that unconventional about what she knew. People didn't flock to the inn because she'd discovered something the mages from the city hadn't–they flocked to the inn because they didn't want to hear it from them. They wanted to hear it from an outsider."

Mals stopped then. Gwilin can only pretend to remember where those upside-down eyes looked to in that moment.

"No one wants to drink from the fountain," Mals whispered, almost to himself. "They'd rather find their own springs. Water tastes sweeter, that way."

"Which would you drink from?" asked Gwilin, thinking himself clever.

"Oh, the fountain. If enough people seek out a spring, it becomes one, anyway. Speaking of..." Mals pushed off the log and meandered over to Gwilin, gesturing for him to take his hand. He did, and he left the bowl containing his new favorite food behind so they could head to the river. That was usually how Mals signaled that he needed to head off soon. Though he never urged Gwilin to drink with him when they got there, he often did, if for no other reason than he felt weird standing on the riverbank waiting for his friend to have his fill.

This time, however, as he went to bring his cupped hand up to his mouth, Gwilin heard a splash. His head darted to the side, where he caught the sight of Mals floating weightlessly downstream. He recalls the panic that overtook him then, and the desperate leaps of his feet as they slid over and above the stones along the river bank, sweeping him ever-closer toward aiding his friend. But then he saw a slender arm calmly reach up to the sky. It waved. Panic was smothered by peace, and Gwilin stood still.

And he never saw Mals again.

#tes #tesblr #skyrim fic #gwilin #depictions

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