#sorry for going all pitchfork about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojos-thot-patrol · 10 months

Note

please could we get cuddling headcanons for gojo geto and nanami. seriously though i love your blog your one of my new favourite writers!

Oh reader, that is so sweet of you to say! Thank you so much Dear. and flattery will get you everywhere around here <3 that being said,

Now Presenting...

Starring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, and Ryomen Sukuna (I had to cast him, I'm sorry!)

Satoru Gojo

His love language is physical touch, so you know this man is a massive cuddle bug! If you have the opportunity, you guys are cuddling.

This may be controversial but I stand by this next take: He is the little spoon. Like, He’ll be the big spoon, but he 100% prefers to be the little spoon

He’s a soft boy that just needs a hug ok? Protect him!

His favorite date nights are stay at home movie nights. Not because he likes movies, he does, but it’s not why. He’s excited to hold you close while you drift to sleep, the soft sounds of you snoring reminding him that there is beauty in the small moments of life.

I feel so bad for you guys in the summer, because it doesn’t matter to him how hot it is, he’s going to cuddle with you. You’re going to pass out tangled in his arms and wake up tangled in them. Who needs his giant California king, if he has it his way, y'all take up only enough space for a twin

He just wants to hold you while the two of you whisper about your future together. The colors of your wedding, how many kids the two of you wanted, where you’d move your family once it was all said and done.

It’s all fantasy, of course. The equivalent of making up the most dramatic scenarios to soothe yourself to sleep. But still, it gives him a fleeting sense of comfort. Late at night, when it’s just him and the sound of your steady heart-beat, it gives him hope that maybe, just maybe, one day he won’t just be playing domestic with you. He can actually be domestic with you.

Maybe that's why Gojo values cuddling so much. He’s intimacy starved and needs to create it in anyway, ya know?

Anyways, moral of the story is: Satoru loves cuddling, and I hope you do too!

Sidenote: I just know this man gives the best hugs/cuddles. His arms are that long for a reason god damn it.

Suguru Geto

…..He’s not a big cuddler- HEY HEY, PUT AWAY THE PITCHFORKS, LET ME EXPLAIN-

He’s not a big cuddler! It’s hot, he doesn’t know where to put his limbs, and his arm always falls asleep.

Which is why when you insist on cuddling with him and he's actually comfortable it’s kind of a big deal for him. (See? Put down your torches.)

He still doesn’t want to admit that he likes cuddling though. At this point it’s like, almost a pride thing. So he’s a sneaky cuddler.

You’re watching Hulu on the couch when suddenly there's an arm around you. You go to sleep on separate sides of the bed but wake up tangled in his arms. You’re quietly reading on your front porch and suddenly his arms are wrapped around you, asking you about the book.

My point being, He never directly asks for cuddles, he just kinda cuddles you then reads your body language to see if he’s welcome or not, ya feel?

I will say, and yall should see this coming, the only time he’s openly receptive to cuddles is when he’s showing you new music.

He’ll hold you close, playing with your fingers while the two of you discuss lyrical meanings and parts of the music you like.

He’ll tap out the beat of the song on your thigh while he holds you what feels impossibly close, kissing the top of your head. You could feel the vibration in his chest as he hummed along to the melody. Music will always be how Suguru feels intimacy.

I really do always bring it back to music with him, don’t I?

Kento Nanami

Nanami honestly feels neutral about cuddling. If you want it, cool! If not, also cool. He doesn’t crave it the way Gojo does, but he also isn’t against it the way Geto is.

The exception being after a mission. Especially the missions that take him away from home. When he gets home from those, he’s dropping his bags on the floor then holding out his arms and making grabby hands.

Missions always suck for Nanami since he started dating you, because now he’s scared of death. Don’t get me wrong, beforehand he wasn’t suicidal or anything- he for sure wasn’t going to make stupid moves or put his life at risk. But death also didn’t scare him, it just came with the job.

But now you’re here. And he knows that if he dies, It’s going to destroy you. He can’t have that, so his already stressful job just got 10000 times more stressful, because literally every mission is a brush with death for a first grade sorcerer.

So when he gets home, The only thing he wants is to collapse on your shared bed, and hold the person he does all of this for. It’s the reward he gets for making it this far.

It’s quiet too. Nanami is not one to talk about his work, but you can tell how stressful it was by how long he insists on cuddling with you. Only an hour or two? Eh, probably not that big of a deal. But one time he literally held you until you both fell asleep and well into the next morning. Satoru let you know that Nanami actually almost died that night, and only survived thanks to Shoko being a healer.

Nanami almost killed him for telling you. He never wants you to worry.

Also he’s definitely the big spoon. Look at him. Tell me I’m wrong.

He just takes comfort in your presence, knowing you’re there and you love him helps.

Someone give Nanami a hug for me, thank youuu

Ryomen Sukuna

Oh Ryomen, my boy. What are we going to do with you? You’re not a part of the request and you don’t fit it, but I have to force you into all things, don’t I?

As a heads up, Sukuna comes with a slight nsfw warning. It is suggestive.

Sukuna is not into cuddling. Really, he’s ambivalent at best, against at worst, any touch that doesn’t lead to sex.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t cuddle though. If you’re watching tv or going to bed and it's convenient, whatever. He won’t push you away.

He’s not going to hide anything that pops up either if you get what I’m saying. He’s less of a ‘oh my bad’ type of guy and more of a ‘and what are you gonna do about it?’ kinda guy.

Now, all of that being said, I’ve said before that Sukuna lives in a domestic delusion with you in his head. So if you go too long without asking him to cuddle up with you, he gets angry about it. Like, what, is he not good enough to cuddle you now?! Get over here and accept his affection!

If that sounds confusing to you that's because yes. It is!

Really, the tragedy of Ryomen is that he craves intimacy and affection, but he can never bring himself to admit that because that would mean weakness and vulnerability. He wants you to recognize that he needs these things without him telling you. Like, of course he likes cuddling! He doesn’t kill you when you cuddle him, does that not make it obvious! It shouldn’t matter he’s told you he doesn’t like it!

God I feel so bad for all the Sukuna girlies out there.

Me, it’s me. I may be Gojos-Thot-Patrol, but I am 1000% Ryomens thot 🫀

Oh, as a final bit, his favorite part about cuddling with you is your warmth. You heard me. He’s always cold as a curse, and can’t really generate his own body heat. So yours is intoxicating. If he could spend eternity basking in your warmth, he would <3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ryomen sukuna #satoru gojo #nanami kento #suguru geto #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #satoru gojo headcanons #nanami kento headcanons #ryomen sukuna headcanons #suguru geto headcanons

458 notes · View notes

strangeshoepatrolbandit · 1 year

Text

Found you again.

Leon S Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: After being saved by Leon in Spain, you find him again eight months later at a coffee shop.

Warnings: RE4R content, mentions impalement, mentions a therapist, and having a spotty memory, mentions government officials.

D/O = Drink Order.

~☆~

It was insane. After being trapped in Valdelobos for days and fighting to the brink of death, you were just told to go back home and live life like you did before the incident.

You were guided away from Leon and Ashley to fill in a report about what had happened, and the truth is, you didn't even know. You had no memory of how you got there or what you were doing there, something your therapist says is a trauma response.

All you know is that Leon had saved you from almost getting impaled by a pitchfork that a villager was holding. Then you joined him on a hunt to retrieve the presidents daughter, Ashley.

You remember the way that Leon reassuringly held you to his side by settling an arm around your waist. And how you begged him not to let you go when authorities wanted to take you in for questioning. He ended up having to hesitantly let you go anyway, promising that he would see you again.

Eight months later and you still haven't seen him. That is until you walked into your local coffee shop and noticed a familiar head of blonde hair attached to a familiar looking person. You couldn't deny that the feeling of hope that it could be him was the best thing you have felt in months. Slowly, you walked over to the booth he was in.

"Leon?" You spoke, still unsure if it could be him.

The man turned to look at you, shock evident on his face. "Y/N." He whispered.

"Hey, it's so nice to see you." You smiled down at him. He looks much better than he did in Valdelobos. He was clean and not sporting his usual furrowed eyebrow look.

He stared at you for a few seconds before speaking. "Yeah, it's nice to see you too. Uh, would you like to sit?"

You let out a small giggle before sitting down across from him. "Thank you."

"No problem."

You looked down at the table, there were papers with his writing all over them, and a closed laptop discarded to the side. "You workin'?"

Leon quickly looked back down at his papers and started putting them all in a pile. "Trying to get a vacation."

"Lord knows you need one." You mumbled.

"Uh, let me buy you a coffee." Leon offered.

"No, it's okay, you don't have to." You tried not to get him to spend his money on you.

"I want to." He smiled at you, a genuine smile that made you freeze and slowly nod your head. He had offered you tiny little ghosts of a smile back in Spain, not once has he smiled at you like that. If he continued to do it, you would probably do anything he asked.

Leon stood up from the booth, looking down at you. "What would you like?"

"Oh, um, D/O."

He smiled down at you one more time. "Alright, one coffee coming right up."

You watched as he walked over to the counter, stopping once he was finally talking to the barista. As he stood there waiting for your order, you decided to look out of the window next to you, not wanting him to catch you staring.

Subconsciously, you let a smile spread on your face. It was nice to finally see him again. You had been worried about him ever since you were put onto a plane back to your home without any word from or about him.

"What are you smiling about?" Leon asked as he set your drink on the table, sitting down immediately afterward.

"It's just nice to see you again, Leon." You admitted. "At least this time, we aren't getting axes thrown in our face by mind controlled freaks."

Leon stared at you for a few seconds before letting a small chuckle fall from his lips. "That was the worst part for you?"

You laughed at his words.

"How have you been?" You asked him, genuinely curious.

Leon watched as you took a sip from your drink before finding something to say. "I've been....well, I've been."

"Don't I know it." You sighed before chuckling.

"Sorry for not finding you before they brought you home." His eyes looked at anything but you.

You moved a hand to rest on his own, snapping him out of his thoughts. "It's okay, I was worried about you, but I was also in a happy to finally get back."

Leon turned his hand over, now holding your hand in his own. "I was worried too."

"You were worried? Leon Kennedy was worried about me?" You smiled at him, an act that he bashfully returned.

"Of course." He whispered, staring into your eyes.

A ringing erupted from Leon's phone, alerting both of you and forcing him to pull his hand away.

"Thank you for the coffee. It would be wonderful to see you again." You rushed out, reaching over to his side of the table to grab the pen he was writing with earlier and putting your phone number on a napkin. "Goodbye, Leon."

You got up from your seat and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quickly running out of the coffee shop afterward. Causing a wide-eyed Leon to turn and watch you run away, leaving his grasp once again. His phone was long forgotten because his mind was stuck on you... At least this time, he had a way to find you.

~☆~

Google says that the "Rural Village" Re4 took place in was called Valdelobos... I know a lot of people call it Las Plagas, and if it's that big of a deal, I can change it..

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #re4 leon #re4r leon #re4 x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil #resident evil x you #resident evil 4 remake #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy imagine

641 notes · View notes

vaspider · 5 months

Note

Hi Spider!

Firstly, I’m very sorry you have to deal with all those difficult people in your posts.

Second, could we possibly hear the tale of your ancestor Shotgun Shorty? And great grand pappy who ran off the priest?

If you don’t have the spoons no worries!

Hey look, I'm avoiding real work by answering very old asks and pretending that counts!

(It does count. Shh.)

Shotgun Shorty was my great-grandmother, and the man who ran the priest off of his farm (repeatedly) was my great-granddaddy. They were married to each other and immigrated from Poland together; we suspect, but cannot presently prove, that Agnes may have been born Jewish. (I've done as much poking and prodding about the topic as I can without actually going to Poland, I think, and it only matters so much to me, because I'm Jewish regardless.)

Anyway, they came over to the US shortly after the turn of the 20th century with my great-grandmother's sister & settled in central Pennsylvania. She ran the farm with her sister and the kids who weren't in the mines and had over a dozen children -- I think the final count was fifteen? -- and I think about 2/3 of them made it through childhood, and he worked in the coal mines and also ran the farm. My granddaddy was a breaker boy as a kid (though I grew up hearing it called being a 'picker'). Neither one of them spoke much English and my granddaddy wouldn't let my dad learn whatever they spoke, so most of these stories come through my granddaddy and his siblings to my dad and then to me.

So as you'll note from that little recounting above, most of the time, my great-grandmother and her sister were the adults at the farm. Great-grammy was built like a little teapot - short and stout - and was by all accounts both an absolute force of nature and... let's say "not too enamored of the Catholic Church." I have been given several different reasons why over the years, but suffice to say that neither she nor her husband liked the Catholic Church very much at all.

The nickname Shotgun Shorty started the day that my grandmother chased a vicious dog off the farm with her shotgun, and from there forward, if strangers showed up on the farm, she'd meet them on the front porch, all five feet nothing of her, barefoot, with her shotgun. Stories vary on whether she ever actually fired the thing at anybody, but I have heard multiple stories of warning shots. Again -- it was her and her sister and the kids during the day.

And then there's this guy.

He hated the Catholic Church. He especially hated priests. No, I don't know exactly why -- though, given the things we theorize about my family, I have my guesses -- I just know that he did. He especially especially hated priests asking for money.

And that is how, despite never having been Catholic, my great-grandfather was supposedly excommunicated after the third time he chased a priest off the farm who showed up asking for donations. No, not with a shotgun, that was the province of my great-grandmother. Great-granddaddy chased the priests off of his farm with a pitchfork. Why they kept coming back, I suppose we'll never know, since they're all dead now.

Sometimes I kinda wonder if maybe it was some sort of hazing ritual for new priests or something. "Oh, yeah, sure, go ask up at that farm, they love priests up there!"

#family stories #my peasant roots let me show you them #personal

158 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

PART OF THE ‘SEQUELS’ REQUESTS. READ SLUGGER HERE

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Steve didn’t look sorry, not one bit.

You got the call from Hopper just as you were about to start dinner, a pot of water on the stove waiting to be boiled. The phone rang, you rolled your eyes and then you were taking the spare keys from the hook and climbing in Steve’s BMW.

The chief met you at the front desk, moustache twitching as he tried not to smirk, too amused at the situation, at how your feet were stuffed in bunny slippers, your hair too messy and your legs bare in sleep shorts that were actually from Steve’s old basketball uniform.

“Did I interrupt?” Hopper asked, brows raised.

“My macaroni is going to be mush,” you said in reply, peering behind him to catch a glimpse of a wild haired boy on the other side of the glass. “Is he okay? Why’d you bring him in?”

The older man sighed, seemingly apologetic. He dropped his voice and scratched at his jaw, nodding subtly to the two young officers that were sitting at their desks doing paperwork. “Had new recruits with me. Had to set an example,” Hopper explained. “If I keep letting you all off with the shit you pull, I’ll have the mayor leading the town with a pitchfork to my front door.”

You winced, understanding. You’d lost count of the times Jim Hopper had pulled over Steve or Nancy, peering into the back of the car with a furrowed brow as he counted five, no, seven other bodies crammed together, walkie talkies and rucksacks in hand, all murmuring awkward greetings as they waved hello.

Eddie missed out on a fine for playing his guitar too loud at an ungodly hour, the rest of the trailer park wondering how the town menace got off scot free, how he was able to wave to them the next morning, guitar still in hand and a smug smile on his face.

Jonathan had crashed his car into a stop sign last summer - the dent still there, the pole never replaced - all because Dustin had yelled frantically about another gate opening, pointing into the trees at something that turned out to be a deer. Jonathan had panicked and sent the car off the road, mounting the curb and giving three of the kids whiplash for their unnecessary shouting.

“Anyway, he’s not charged with anything,” Hopper gestured towards his office, silently asking you to follow. The station was busy with beeps of fax machines, ringing phones and the gurgle of a too old coffee machine. “Wouldn’t do that to him. Joyce would kill me.”

You scoffed, trailing behind him, your fuzzy slippers slapping on the linoleum. “You don’t think I would?”

Hopper snorted, opening the door and letting you enter first. “You’re still on thin ice for the mall incident, kid. Cindy’s nose has just reset, don’t push it.” You had the decency to squirm under the chief's stare, looking contrite before he smirked. Your hand still throbbed at the memory. “Cmon, he’s in my office, sulking.”

Steve was indeed sulking. His head was bent when you entered, long legs spread out in front of him as he sat low in the chair in front of Hop’s desk. His hair was falling into his face, and you didn’t see the extent of the damage until you bent in front of him, eyes concerned. You caught sight of a new bruise, a split lip and some blood before he lifted his face for you, eyes widening at your sudden appearance.

“Hey, babe,” he tried, voice wheedling, nervous.

“Steven, what the fuck?”

Hopper snorted.

“I’m fine,” he immediately began, sitting up and reaching for you. His hand found yours, coaxing you to stand, bringing you between his knees. “Nice slippers, you get dressed up for me?”

You slapped at his shoulder, glaring. Steve grinned even with his bloodied lip, eyes bright despite the red that circled around his right one, the blue and black edges of a mark beginning to appear. He saw your expression falter, eyebrows ticking up, lips downturned.

“Baby, I’m fine,” he said again, softer and more serious now. His hand squeezed yours. “Promise.”

“Hagan looks worse, I can assure you,” Hopper grunted, opening desk drawers and seemingly looking for something. He hummed when he found it, throwing the small first aid kit across the desk to you. “Sort his sorry ass out, would you, kid? I need to go make his paperwork disappear.”

When Hopper left, you turned back to Steve, hands carding through his hair and making him look up at you. You raised your brows, questioning. “Tommy?”

Steve shrugged, looking surly, his eyes set on the ceiling instead of you. You sighed, letting go of him - much to Steve’s upset - leaning back on the edge of Hopper’s desk instead. Tommy and Steve were hardly best friends anymore, in fact, they’d barely spoken since the incident with Nancy and the cinema. But they were civil, nodding stiffly when they passed each other around town, tight smiles and raised brows when their parents forced them to country club events.

“He’s a dick,” Steve replied flatly.

You snorted. “Tommy Hagan has been a dick since second grade, Steve. You haven’t to maul him before. What happened?”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “I didn’t try to maul him, god. You hang out with Eddie too much.”

Leaning forward to caught his right hand, holding in between you both. His knuckles were an angry red, some split, blood dried and settling in the lines of his skin. You stared at him, deadpan expression. “No? This is just, what? A fist bump gone wrong?”

Steve glowered.

“What happened?” You asked again, opening the first aid kit as you waited, knowing Steve wouldn’t - and couldn’t - stay moody with you for too long.

The boy sighed, shuffling forward to let you drag a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic across his knuckles, hissing at the burn. But you held his hand in yours so gently, he didn’t dare snatch it away.

“He was saying shit to Max,” Steve finally relented, eyes hardening as he recalled the story. “She fucked up a trick or somethin’ sent her board into the wheel of his car. Didn’t even leave a mark or nothing.”

You stopped, waiting, throat thick. If the kids were involved, if Max had been involved… well. You weren’t sure you wanted to see the state of Tommy’s face.

“But he just started yelling. Got all up in her face about it, could tell he never knew I was there, he didn’t see me. And then— then he started saying shit about Billy.”

You held your breath. Fuck.

Steve swallowed hard, closed his eyes and set his lips in a straight line when you came closer, kneeling back between his legs to catch his chin in your hand, cleaning up the blood around his mouth. You wanted to kiss him, to tell him it didn’t matter anymore, you weren’t mad at him, but he kept talking.

“I know Hargrove wasn’t a good guy. Shit, we all know that. Even Max. But he was her brother and she had to watch him— she had to watch it. And Tommy was being fucking vile, telling her things that weren’t true and god, babe, Max started tearing up and I just lost it.”

You leant in and kissed him, square on the mouth, tasting metal and medicine, a little of Steve underneath. He flinched but returned the sentiment, a soft noise leaving his throat at your sudden affection.

“Is Max okay?” You asked when you pulled back, cotton balls and bandaids abandoned in favour of running your thumbs over Steve’s jaw instead. He nodded, telling you that Hop dropped her off at Eddie’s, warning the other boy that he wasn’t allowed to hunt down Hagan either. “Good. Are you okay?”

Steve wrinkled his nose, gazing up at you. “Yeah m’fine. You’re not mad?”

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, hiding your smile. You shook your head, smoothed your thumbs over his cuts and scrapes, over the line of his cheekbone and the sensitive spot under his ear. Steve shivered and leaned in, giving you access to do whatever you wanted.

“I’m not mad, no,” you said softly, voice sticky with adoration. “My baby’s a badass.”

His cheeks turned pink at that, all flushed and pretty looking, head tilting up until his nose bumped yours and you gave him what he wanted. A sweet kiss, soft and a little lingering, only breaking away when Hopper made a big fuss of shuffling back in, ripped up pieces of paper stuffed in his pockets, a small smirk on his face.

After, Steve let you drive him home, your bunny slippers on the pedals, his hand on your bare thigh. He perched himself on the kitchen counter without arguing, the same place he’d placed you after you’d brawled with Cindy. The boy was just as reluctant when you produced more antiseptic, cotton soaked and wielded like a weapon as you asked him to sit still for you. He didn’t need any Band-Aids, so you granted him another kiss, soft over his poor, split lip and he only let you go - albeit, grudgingly - to call Max and check in.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb

684 notes · View notes

babiebom · 4 months

Text

When You Fall (VIII)

A/N: i got the sweetest message from someone(idk if they’d want me to call them out) and somehow it made me want to start on this chapter so I guess it literally just takes someone being nice for me to actually do something lmao. Also happy new year!! Also also whenever I’m writing one of these chapters and the tumblr notif shows up it jumpscares me. Like how do y’all know?

Tw: depression, reader decides to force themself to be happy, cursing. The usual

Wc:3.0k

Previous Next Masterlist

Sweat dripped from your forehead as you attempted to clear some of the farm from debris. It was taking long to clear everything, and though you knew that most of the land would be unused until you actually got enough money to plant more things and get a coop or barn.

Shadow ran around wildly, barking happily as she snapped her teeth at the air. It’s funny, watching her as she runs. Getting pets didn’t make being in a depressive pit completely go away, but they did make that pit less dark, less daunting and lonely. Mango lazed around on the porch, his tail slowly waving side to side as he watched you.

Sticking your rake into the ground and wiping the sweat again, you grin at your animals, letting out a labored breath. “Okay, so, I love you both very very much. And I’m sorry that I can’t take you but they’re hosting an Egg Festival in the town and I’m going.”

You move to sit on the porch, Shadow dashing to crash onto your lap. You open your arms and let her move her big body onto you with a roll. “And I swear I’m not going to enjoy being away from you both, but I have to go as part of my healing. I’ll be back soon.” Neither one of them did anything other than stare at you and then go about their own business as you get up and head inside to shower. Shadow trails behind you after a moment, her tail wagging so hard her butt wiggles along with it. You take one last glance at her as you finally get in the shower, hoping the day goes by quickly.

Walking into the town’s square, it’s like a decorating bomb went off. There are banners and decorative flags and other things littered around in a way that made you think whoever decorated spent way too long out here only for them to be messed up by the wind. There’s so many layers of tape that you feel irritated for whoever had to fix it.

“Farmer!” Pierre calls out from behind his booth. You want to ignore him, not really ready for social interaction but go over to him anyways. Forcing a smile onto your lips you lean on the booth counter, looking at the things he has stocked.

Some strawberry seeds, lawn flamingos, plants, a painting, a bright pink banner, a plush bunny, and a….decorative pitchfork? What kind of stock is this? What does this have to do with the egg festival? You blink a couple times and attempt to control the look on your face, maybe you could buy a couple of strawberry seeds. Even if you don’t plant them this season you can always wait. “Hey Pierre! Selling some good stuff?”

He smiles and moves his hand around, gesturing to his stock. “Yeah, looking to buy anything?”

“Sure…a couple strawberry seed packets…and that plush bunny.”

“It’s pretty cute huh? Okay that’ll be 2,500g.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. 2,500g? The man has to be insane! What the fuck costed so much that you were being charged this much? “Yeah, prices are a little steep. But I have to make a living somehow,” he chuckles when he sees your expression. You try hard to keep your face in check, not wanting to snap on the man in front of everyone. You were here to make progress, not to make enemies.

After giving him the money you take your new things and stuff them into your backpack. The letter said the festival ended at two, and looking at your watch it was only 9:30. That meant 4 and a half more hours of agony trying to force yourself out of a depressive pit that you aren’t really all too sure you’re ready to leave just yet for the sake of getting better.

Well, at least there’s food…

Hurrying along, the sight of the buffet table makes your mouth water. Not eating breakfast and working all morning in a large field without totally knowing what to do is a bad idea, but now that you’re looking at all the different types of food you can’t help but praise yourself for how lucky starving yourself got you. Now you can eat, then when you get home you can pass out and sleep until tomorrow. Like another rest day that feels like a reward after running around in the dirt.

As you fill your plate with food, you can see Gus and what’s his name…’Clive?’ You think to yourself, nose scrunching in confusion, ‘No, that's a stupid name. Carl? It has to be Carl…what other C names are there?’ In your thoughts you almost drop your plate and gain the attention of the two men, Gus smiles brightly and waves you over while the other man averts his eyes. Weird…

“Hey Gus!” You smile warmly at the older man. There was a twinge of stress in his eye, but it seemed rude to point that out to him. His eyes moved over the rows and rows of food and it occurs to you that he must have cooked almost everything himself being the Towns Saloon owner and all.

“Hey farmer! I was just telling Clint here…you’ve met Clint right?”

You shake your head at his question. You had only seen him around maybe once and heard his name in passing from the blue haired girl who was talking to him when you passed by and from Maru when you were in the clinic. Thank Yoba Gus said his name or you would’ve been stood awkwardly just like you are but more so because you wouldn’t have known his name. “Oh well, he’s the towns blacksmith…anyways I was just telling him how I hope everyone’s enjoying the food. I’ve been cooking for days to get the food ready.”

“Days? Wow thats a lot of work…”

“Yeah I made fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, deviled eggs, scrambled eggs, chocolate eggs, you name it!”

“I mean it is the Egg Festival…”

“Yeah, not to mention the other foods. I’d be upset if it turned out horribly.”

You take a bite of whatever was on your plate in front of him, trying to make a show of how good it is, but not really needing to act because WOW can this man cook. How’d he even make this? His eyes light up at your expressions and mannerisms, his shoulders relaxing at the sight of you enjoying the food. “No Gus, I swear this is amazing! You don’t need to worry about anyone not enjoying the food at all!”

“Thank you for the kind words, Farmer, it means a lot to me.”

You nod vigorously, not wanting to ignore him but now overcome with the urge to stuff down as much of the food as you can. What the fuck was in this? Drugs? You can’t even remember the last time you were this hungry.

With your plate you walk around, smiling at anyone who talks to you, and try to carry on conversations that you didn’t really care much about. It had been weeks since you moved here, and you were just now meeting everyone personally. There were so many people living here in Pelican Town that you wonder how you had managed to avoid 60 percent of them whenever you ventured out.

As you make your rounds to the buffet table for the second time, the sight of a bright red cape catches your eye and the man with the eyepatch flashes in your mind. You hadn’t seen him since that day, but you had to find out what those stupid jelly things are.

“Marlon!” You call out, rushing to the man in the corner. He looked surprised that you were speaking to him, but made no moves to walk away or ignore you. Instead he looked slightly pleased. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His eyebrows quirk up in amusement, “I could say the same about you, don’t hear anything about you going around.”

You shrug and realize that just as much as you stick to your farm, he must stick to the caves and mountains. Neither bad, but awfully lonely when you think about it. You wonder if there’s anyone he lives with up there. “I just thought that you would prefer to be adventuring or something…like in the caves?”

“Yeah, but even with my bad leg I never miss a festival.”

“Oh…say you know down in the caves how there are…things right?”

“Yeah the monsters?”

“Yeah um, have you ever seen the little Jello creatures? They’re really tiny and all but are like really strong for some reason, and jump at you like they’re legless spiders?”

“The slimes? Yeah you have to be careful with them. They might be easy to defeat but can quickly overwhelm you if you’re not careful.”

He frowns at you and you swallow. That’s exactly what had happened. The stupid things were just too much the more you ventured down. But you’d be ready for them next time, and whatever else is down there. “Yeah, they kinda kicked my ass last time I went into the caves.”

He nods solemnly, as if he could relate. Maybe he could relate, having a bad leg and an injured eye and living up there. There had probably been times that he’s gotten overwhelmed and hurt. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. If he could get hurt down there, and you have already been hurt, who’s to say that you won’t just die the next time you go down? It’s weird to think just how lucky you truly were when you were saved.

Thinking of being saved…your eyes flit around quickly trying to spot the man that had saved your life. Maru and Sam had said that Sebastian had gone down into the caves himself to save you, and even though you hadn’t seen him personally since meeting in the Saloon, the need to thank him was always in the back of your mind. And now you have the chance, Yoba you wished you were home.

You bid goodbye to Marlon and shuffled your way to the trio standing off at the bottom of the town’s square. Rehearsing what you’re going to say in your head, you hope that it would be a quick conversation, that you wouldn’t stutter over your words and that you wouldn’t act so awkward that they think you’re weirder than you are. But as you clear your throat as you walk up to them, regret settles in your belly at the looks on their faces. It was like being in school all over again and the kids that you thought were cool were too tight knit as a group and hated outsiders.

Before you could say anything Abigail speaks first, staring straight at you. “Do you think I’m too old to do the Egg Hunt?”

You frown at her in confusion before shaking your head. “No?”

She punches Sebastian’s arm as soon as the word leaves your mouth. “Ha! I told you I wasn’t too old. It’s like, why stop if I’m having fun?”

“How are you having fun searching for eggs with actual children?”

“Hey! Searching for eggs is like going on a treasure hunt! Besides, your sister does it too!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes at her, looking towards the river without saying anything more, choosing to sip on the punch in his cup. Sam looks like he’s suffering and you tilt your head, silently questioning him. “Ugh…it’s my doze…allergies.” His nose is so stuffed up that his words seem heavy. You wince at him and nod in understanding, Springtime wasn’t the best for people with allergies.

Sebastian clears his throat after a minute. “You know what I miss? The rotten egg toss.”

Both Sam and Abigail agree quickly, words coming out both of their mouths too quickly for you to really understand anything they’re saying. They’re very enthusiastic about it, recounting things that happened in previous years. In your confusion you look over at Sebastian, and he swallows his drink quickly. “We used to do a rotten egg toss, a couple years ago. It was only for like two years, Mayor Lewis put an end to it pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, too many people complained that it stunk.” Abigail laughed. It sounded pretty fun, tossing rotten eggs at a target or something, but the smell…ugh.

Before you could say anything else, Sam says he’s going to get more food before the egg hunt starts and they put everything away. Abigail looks between you and Sebastian and smiles. “I’ll go with him, either of you want anything?”

You shake your head, plate still full from the second round. “Maybe some punch? If it’s not too much trouble?” She shrugs and looks at Sebastian who just hands her his cup. She leaves without another word and without turning back. Ha…now it’s awkward…

“I didn’t think you were one for socializing.”

You’re surprised at his words, but think that in a small town there are rarely secrets. Everyone must know that you’re suffering. “Yeah um, just had a bad couple of weeks. I’m better now, though, ready to mingle and become part of the town…being alone is no good.”

He snorts, glancing at you and your heart stutters in your chest. Did he think you were joking? Were you that obvious in your dislike of talking to others? “Yeah sure…been there once.”

You don’t ask him what he means, understanding that he’s seeing right through your fake chipper exterior. For a minute the silence stretches on, but it’s not as tense and awkward as it was before. Maybe it was a good thing he could tell you were faking, there was no need now that it was only you two. “Y’know I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“For?” He sounds disinterested, but when you look at his face he seems more…uncomfortable.

“You saving me? Your friends told me you went down into the caves to get me.”

“Fucking…yeah. It was no problem. You should be more careful, though, I was only able to help because I noticed that you didn’t come up.”

“Yeah…I really should…anyways. Thanks for saving me, hopefully you won’t have to do it again.”

He shrugs and says nothing.

“I owe you one.”

“Sure.”

The mayor claps his hands loudly, speaking into a megaphone that he’s holding. “If anyone is participating in the egg hunt, gather round. It’s almost time to begin!”

“You participating?” He asks, and for a second you almost say no before remembering that the whole point of coming was to become part of the community and bettering yourself.

“Yeah…you?”

“Nah…”

You nod and cough into your fist, unsure of how to separate yourself from him. “Well, I guess I’ll see you…later?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m either at home, or at Sam’s or the Saloon during the weekends…”

“Okay, cool.”

You walk away quickly, confused as to how you had somewhat made a friend of him? There was that saying that misery loves company…maybe he was the perfect person to be miserable with. He seemed like he had problems himself. Mayor Lewis claps a hand onto your shoulder a little harder than necessary, causing you to wince. “Enjoying yourself, Farmer?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s good! It’s about time you introduced yourself to the townspeople. Everyone was so excited to meet the new farmer in town and you just…disappeared. They thought you were a recluse or something!” He lets out a laugh that makes you frown. You had forgotten how much this guy could talk.

“Yeah well, family deaths will do that to you.” You keep your face straight as you stare at him. He coughs and sputters out some words before the conversation is effectively ended.

After another minute and a half the egg hunt begins and your heart starts thumping in your chest. The kids are already running off, and Abigail is darting around so quickly that you think that she’s going to knock one of them over. Looking at the other participants, the urge to beat them overcomes you. Winning at this means that you’re officially part of the community right? You’re putting yourself out there?

Your feet move without another thought from you and soon enough your basket is full with eggs. Looking at the others it seems theirs are too. You can hear Lewis counting down from ten and your heart races even more. How were you supposed to win this? You run across the square, hoping to get one last egg.

Five…

Where are the rest of the eggs? What the fuck is there no more?

Four…

In the corner of your eye something yellow gleams under the sun. An egg! Near the river!

Three…

You dash towards the egg, hand stretched out towards it.

Two…

A couple more steps to go, you’re unsure if you’ll get there in time.

One…

Your hand closes around the egg and into your basket it goes. Your heart thumps and your breaths come out uneven. But you made it! The last egg.

Lewis calls everyone back towards the center of town, eyes gleaming as he looks at everyone’s baskets. He seems happy to see more people participating in a dying tradition. There were only two kids in town so an egg hunt is bound to get boring as everyone gets older.

It takes five whole minutes for Lewis to count everyone’s eggs, yours being the last basketbhe gets his hands on. “Nine…ten…” Abigail groans in annoyance next to you. “Eleven! The winner is the Farmer! Come up and get your prize!”

Prize? If you knew there was going to be a prize you wouldn’t have tried so hard. Now someone was going to be mad at you for winning instead of them. You walk slowly to Lewis confused as to what he could be offering.

“Enjoy!”

He hands you a straw hat…well at least it’s helpful?

95 notes · View notes

agentstarkid · 23 days

Text

FOREVER IS THE SWEETEST CON ✦ DR3

✦ summary: While isolating in a hotel room, some things can't be ignored any more and, as stars fade in the dawn's light, some bonds were meant to be broken, like whispers carried away by the desert wind.

✦ pairing: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ words: 4.3K

✦ warnings: female!reader, latina!reader, established relationship, lots of angst, covid-19 & quarantine mentions, there's a nine-year age gap, forced proximity (if you squint), language.

✦ pit wall live: holis babes! before you all come for me with your pitchforks, I'd like to remind you that english is not my first language so I wanna give a big biiig thank you to Tally (@onceuponaoneshotfanfic) for englishing this baby and for encouraging me to write it when I told her I was thinking about it ❤️ I actually wrote this back in october and I can finally post it!! It is tied to Saudade, if you want more context to their story. This is not the end, okay?... or is it? hehe byeee

─── The Joker & The Queen (Masterlist)

Wednesday, just a day before his scheduled morning session, the symptoms began to show. They knew from the moment he started to complain about his body aching all over. The uncertainty and concern were present from the first moment, intensifying when, as a precaution, he underwent several medical tests to verify whether he suffered from Covid or not. However, the first test came back negative. It was a breath of relief, at least for a moment. But on Friday afternoon the alarms went off, and the Aussie driver's negative became a terrifying positive that further disrupted the false peace that they had tried so hard to preserve in recent weeks.

Practice for the opening race was scheduled for the following Friday, and having to isolate in accordance with local regulations meant that Daniel would go into the new season without having driven the car since last month.

Locked away from the outside world, tension brewed within the confines of a hotel room. This forced proximity only served to accentuate the strains that had long been present. The fraying edges of your relationship were now illuminated under the harsh fluorescent lights, magnified by the claustrophobic confinement of quarantine.

You entered the bedroom and found him lying on the bed, wearing a navy shirt and a pair of sweats, his feet locked at the ankles and his attention focused on his phone.

“How are you feeling?”

“’m fine,” he sighed.

“Do you need anything?” you tried again.

“Nope.”

You went to lay down on your side of the bed. “Heard Lando had problems with the car today.”

“Seems the car is even shittier than last year.” He let out a dry laugh. “But I wouldn’t know because I’m stuck in this fucking hotel room for the rest of the week.”

“Look on the bright side, you’ve got a couple of extra days to relax before the craziness of the season begins.” You gave a half shrug.

“Wouldn’t exactly call this relaxing. But you wouldn’t understand.”

“What does that mean? I know how you’re feeling-”

He shook his head and huffed, dropping his phone on the bed. “No, that’s the thing. You don’t know, sweetheart. How would you know? You didn’t get a fucking positive result and was forced to stay inside these walls, watching how everyone else gets the chance to freely try out their cars before they really have to focus on the season. You’re only stuck here as a precaution. It’s funny, you know…” He snorted. “You’ve been traveling a lot lately. And it’s been fine in the meantime. But as soon as you get here—”

“Are you saying that all of this is my fault?” The tension in the room was palpable as the argument raged on.

He rubbed his forehead as he looked up at the ceiling. He wouldn't even look at you — and somehow that annoyed you even more.

“Oh, I’m sorry for not being considerate enough to also get sick, it’s not like I can actually control that. But that might be my fucking fault, too. I’m too fucking busy being worried about your health. My bad.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm your beating heart. You turned back over to face away from him.

You felt so tired and hurt. In the last few days, these walls have felt like a battleground, waiting for you to engage in combat. And all you keep doing is try to stand tall pretending to be the bravest soldier.

It all began with the relentless hate that had been heaped upon you recently. At first, it was fine, it was expected, and you would laugh about the things they were saying. You must have been blinded by the honeymoon phase, as some people call it, but all things must come to an end. Lately, Daniel's devoted fans had turned into a fierce mob, outraged and blaming you for his performance last year, saying it was all the time he's been spending with you instead of focusing on his career. The hateful comments and messages had started to poison the relationship.

You guessed that it was easier when you were the only target. It was bearable to an extent; you could take it. Wasn't the first time it happened, and you supposed it was all part of the “big show”. But once they started targeting him too – things took a 180-degree turn.

Daniel and you had been inseparable for two years, celebrating your anniversary not too long ago. Now, you both lay silently in your hotel room; the once fiery love now reduced to smoldering embers.

He sighed and turned his head in your direction. “Babe, I—”

“It’s okay.” You mumbled squeezing your eyes shut, trying to keep in the tears that threatened to fall. “Goodnight.”

He covered his eyes with his hands; he didn’t mean to snap at you like that. He could hear you taking deep breaths, and something in his chest felt heavy. This need to bicker, to fight with you had been present for a few weeks, but lately had reached an all-time high.

The 2021 Formula 1 season had brought with it a surge of emotions that Daniel hadn't anticipated. As he settled into his new role with McLaren, the pressure to prove he was the more experienced driver in his first year with the team weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Every race was a chance to show the world that he still had what it took to compete at the highest level of motorsport. The expectations were high, and the scrutiny was relentless. Fans, the media, and fellow drivers all wondered if the Honey Badger could return to his former glory.

The season brought a mix of highs and lows. The highlight, undoubtedly, was the victory in Monza. It was a moment that should have been celebrated longer as a triumph for both Daniel and McLaren. However, amidst the jubilation, there was a bitter undercurrent of frustration. It seemed that the team's focus was already shifting to the next race, their first win in 12 years overshadowed by the relentless march of time.

Daniel's frustration grew as he watched the spotlight turn away from Monza's victory. He yearned for the recognition, the culmination of a year of hard work and perseverance. But as the season continued, the pressure only increased. The wins were non-existent, and the losses weighed heavily on him, each one gnawing at his confidence.

The expectations for the coming season were higher than ever. He knew that he had to perform at his best to silence the critics and prove that he still had that competitive edge. The weight of those expectations seemed to hang over him, a constant reminder of the challenges that lay ahead.

Each race weekend would become a test, a chance to prove himself once again. The roar of the engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the pressure of the competition were all part of the Formula 1 world that he loved, but they also added to the mounting stress.

You couldn’t sleep at all.

Sleep evaded you that night. Your mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to fix the fractured parts of the relationship. Where did it go wrong? The question replayed over and over again like a broken record.

You stretched your arm to grab your phone from the nightstand and check the time.

2:30 A.M. Just a little bit less than 4 hours until the sun would come out. And 5 more days until you both would be free to leave this room.

You stood up from the bed and went to Daniel’s bedside table to look for the fingertip pulse oximeter. Once you found it, you knelt down and took his hand, careful not to wake him, and placed the oximeter on the tip of his index finger. After a few seconds of waiting for the values to remain constant, you sighed with relief when a big 98 appeared under the oxygen saturation. Thankfully, his symptoms were not of great concern, and he showed constant improvements. But you didn’t want to risk it, so every few hours you made sure to check his vitals just so you could have a little peace of mind. Especially when he was sleeping.

You couldn’t help but look at him for a moment. He looked to be in a profound state of sleep, so calm and so beautiful. His features, usually animated and lively, rested in a serene calm. You observed the rise and fall of his chest, the tranquil expressions that danced across his face, and the gentle harmony of his breathing. In these hushed moments, it was like nothing had changed, where you were still you and he was still the same Daniel that promised you that you were a team.

As you gazed upon him, your heart was a mix of conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was the undeniable warmth and affection that comes from witnessing his vulnerability in slumber. Yet, a touch of sadness lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the unresolved tension from the previous fight. The serenity of his sleep served as a poignant backdrop to your disagreements, and you desperately longed for the chance to mend the rift and return to the peace you once shared.

It didn’t take long for the tears to appear again and you couldn’t help but curse being so sensitive. You stood up; you knew that going back to bed was useless, so you headed out of the room. You ended up curled up on the couch in the dark living room of your hotel room, the soft glow of your phone screen casting a bright light on your tear-streaked face. You debated whether calling one of the girls or just text them in need of letting all this helplessness out. But you didn't want to bother them with your problems, you knew they already had enough with their owns. So, you gave up on the idea.

Your relationship with Daniel had been a whirlwind of love and excitement, a passionate journey that had weathered ups and downs, but always coming out stronger on the other side. Now, you weren’t so sure you would come out of this unscathed.

Was it time to let it go? You couldn’t help but wonder. You weren’t new to this predicament. It happened before with your last relationship. But with Harry, the revelation that it was over came naturally and gently. You both were on the same page and knew it was inevitable. But with Daniel, your heart told you to continue, begged you to keep fighting while your mind was sending out warning signals that you chose to completely ignore.

The bright Bahraini sun shone through the big windows when Daniel, out of habit, rolled over to pull your body closer and instead felt the coldness of the sheets on your side of the bed. He opened his eyes and searched around the room. The bathroom door was open, and the lights were off, so you couldn’t be there. He stood up and left the room, yawning. He found you in the same place you ended up last night, curled up and holding a pillow to your chest.

The dark bags under your eyes were more prominent this morning. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest at the sight of you. He got closer and leaned down to place a tender kiss on your forehead and felt you stir for a moment before slowly opening your eyes. You rubbed your eyes before looking up at him silently.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said in a sleepy voice.

“What are you doing here?” he yawned, taking a seat on the couch as you moved back to give him space.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied in a muted voice, eyes downcast, fiddling with your fingernails.

And that was the routine after an argument: fight. One of you would try to walk away to calm down (most of the time it was you). Pretend nothing happened and go back to normal – well, whatever normal meant these days. Repeat.

A heavy silence settled between you. He leaned back on the couch, just staring at your face. He knew he should say something. Apologize even. But the words refused to come out. Meanwhile, thoughts swirled in your mind, doubts that had been lingering for a while now. Was it all in your head? Had you been the problem all along?

No.

As the seconds ticked by, the fog began to lift, and with it came a newfound clarity. It wasn't all in your head, and you weren't the sole problem. You had believed for so long it was your responsibility to make things right, to hold everything together. But it had been a shared responsibility, a partnership that had eroded in different ways.

Yes. You had both contributed to this.

You had underestimated the significance of his actions, his choices, and his words. In the process of taking all the blame, you had overlooked how he had let things slip away, how he had failed to communicate, and how he had allowed the distance to grow. You realized that it was a two-way street, and while you had been quick to accept responsibility for your part, it was time for both of you to acknowledge your roles in your shared demise.

Something within you was stirring, a growing realization that you couldn't keep shouldering the blame for everything. It wasn't fair to you, nor was it the path to a healthy and equal relationship.

"I can't do this anymore, Daniel," you murmured, your eyes brimming with sadness.

"No, no no— no we're not doing this—"

“Amor, please,” you pleaded in a whisper. Tears welled up in your eyes, but your resolve held firm. “We've been arguing about everything lately. All of this is hurting us. Your fans—”

Daniel's heart ached, but he lashed out in defense. “You know it's not that simple! I can't control what my fans say—”

Your irritation boiled over. "But you can defend me, Daniel! You can stand up for us!”

Frustration welled up in Daniel, his voice growing sharper. "I'm trying to protect what's left of my career, YN! Last season was awful for me, apart from one win, which was insignificant, apparently. I've got my own fucking problems!” He stood up forcefully and started to pace around the room.

Your anger flared and big angry tears streamed down your face. “You think it's only your career that's on the line? What about us? We're supposed to be a team, supporting each other. ‘Us against everything else’, remember? But you're making it all about you!” you screamed at him, standing up from where you were previously sitting.

He suddenly stopped in front of you. “You're too young and naive to understand the pressure I'm under. It's not just about us. It's about my career, it’s about my life! And that’s very rich coming from you,” he scoffed. “What about your fans, huh? The hate I'm getting from them and other people, it's taking a fucking toll!” he hissed. You stared at him, feeling shocked by his words. He kept going. “And let’s not forget how fucking clingy you’ve been. You suffocate me sometimes. Must be nice to have a job where you can just drop everything anytime you want and take paid vacations to follow me around.”

His words left you feeling as though the ground had been yanked from beneath your feet.

You're too young and naive. How fucking clingy you’ve been — You suffocate me sometimes. His words echoed incessantly in your mind like a stuck playback.

When did the insecurities shared transform into arrows, aimed at your most profound wounds?

You snapped, “You knew what you were getting into when we started dating. And I warned you. I gave you an out so many times, but you decided to stay.” A bitter laugh left your mouth. “You said I was the greatest risk you’ve ever taken and the greatest reward—”

“And I did think that, YN,” he uttered. “We lived inside a bubble for so long, but reality is different. Maybe we rushed into this too soon.”

“Come on, bury my heart deeper, Danielito. If that's what you're trying to do— it's working,” you said with a pained smile, eyes only focused on him.

The room seemed to grow colder, and your voices decreased in volume. But the damage had been done. Daniel realized the pain his words had caused, but his own frustration clouded his judgment. “This wouldn’t even be a problem, if you wouldn’t make one out of it,” he muttered bitterly.

“Please, don’t make this worse than it already is,” you agonized; your voice was shaky. Invisible claws of grief and anguish were tearing at the muscles and tendons in your chest. You never knew that emotions could possess such tangible, physical presence.

“If only we had met on different grounds. Then maybe things would have been different, we would be different.”

You couldn't help but add more fuel to the fire. You lacked the capacity for a graceful exit, and if you were aflame, you'd ensure that he, too, would turn to ashes. “Do you mean what if I was different?” A new wave of anger swept over you.

That question caught him off guard, forcing Daniel to pause and stare at you, honest surprise and confusion coloring his face. “What?”

Your voice trembled with a mix of frustration and hurt as you confronted him. “Heidi's constant presence in the paddock these past few months, the way you've been talking to her, and how people are speculating about you two... It's causing me to doubt myself and my place in your life.”

Daniel's brows furrowed, and his voice carried irritation. “YN, this is ridiculous. Heidi is just a friend. We've been through this countless times.”

You inched forward as you tried to make him understand. “I know she's your friend, but the way you've been spending time with her lately... it's different. I can't shake off the feeling that there might be something more.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, his frustration mounting. “You're being crazy, YN. We're just friends, and it's unfair of you to accuse me, and especially her, like this.” In a further defensive move, he shot back, “You're the one who had those cheating rumors circulating, not me. You should know how destructive and unfounded these accusations can be. And now, you're doing the same thing with Heidi?”

It felt like a hard punch to your gut, you took in a sharp breath, “So, you're bringing this up again? We already cleared the air about those false accusations when they hit us. I would never dare cheat on you!” Your frustration was palpable.

“And why is it so fucking hard to believe I wouldn’t either?” Suddenly, you could clearly see how sadness clouded his features.

The room seemed to close in around you both. Then, all of a sudden, you realized that healing from this and moving forward required a level of understanding and compassion that seemed beyond reach in the heat of this argument.

In that moment, you knew for certain that it was over. The love you had once celebrated, the memories you had shared, now felt like distant echoes of a happier time.

How did you both allow things to spiral into such chaos? This living room had transformed into a battleground, where words cut like knives. Where were the Daniel and YN who were deeply in love? The ones who, for the first time, felt safe to be vulnerable and discuss a future they had envisioned together; one with a couple of tiny little feet running around the farm in a couple of years and joking about how wild a perfect mix of Australian and Latino genes would be. Now, you stood face to face, unrecognizable, refusing to show any sign of surrender.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

It wasn’t supposed to end at all.

The silence in the room was suffocating. All the energy and adrenaline left your body at once. You felt emotionally drained, as though a storm had swept through your heart and left it battered and exhausted.

You took a sit back on the couch and ran your hands across your face, squeezing your eyes shut. “We can't go on like this.”

So, this is it, Daniel thought. Dread twisted in his gut; he felt like he might throw up. His shoulders slumped and he raked his fingers through his hair as he took a seat next to you. The vulnerability in your words cut him deeply, but he understood the gravity of the situation. "You're right," he admitted, his voice choked with emotion. “We tried, didn’t we? We gave it our best shot” a sad smile adorned his tired face. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” he murmured as tears shone in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, too. I wanted to make it work. I always just wanted to be the one.” Your heart seemed to shatter into even smaller fragments. As you wiped away a single tear that trickled down your cheek, the physical act of brushing it away only served to accentuate the profound pain that had settled within your chest. It felt as though each tear carried with it a piece of your shattered dreams and the love that was now slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. In that fleeting moment, your heartache intensified, and you realized that this breakup was leaving you more broken than you had ever thought possible.

As the final words echoed in the room, you, your tears spent, turned and walked out into the bedroom, leaving Daniel alone with the weight of what had just transpired.

As soon as you left the room, you locked yourself in the bathroom and texted Blake. You asked him if there was any chance, he could talk to the hotel so you could get another room for the remaining time you had to be in quarantine. The request took him by complete surprise, and you explained shortly that Daniel and you had just broken up.

He assured you he was going to do everything in his power to get you a new room. You were sure that as soon as you hung up the phone, he was already texting Daniel asking for a better explanation.

As you sat on the bathroom floor, the pain was all-encompassing, a relentless throb deep within your chest that left you gasping for air. It felt as though a gaping void had taken up residence in your heart, and you weren’t sure how to fill it.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Numbness had started to settle in. A surreal feeling that this couldn't be real, that you would wake up from this nightmare at any moment. You wished that a switch would flip and make it all go away, but the pain persisted.

Bitterness and anger boiled within you. You felt wronged by the universe, by the cruel twist of fate that had torn you both apart. You resented the public scrutiny, the relentless judgment from fans and strangers alike, and the demands of your high-profile careers.

You felt unbearably alone. You longed for Daniel’s presence, for the familiar comfort of his arms, but he was no longer yours to hold. Your heart ached for the man you thought, for a short period, you would spend the rest of your life with, even though you knew that was no longer possible. The pain of heartbreak was, for you, an agonizing and inescapable reality, and you had yet to discover how to heal and move forward.

Turns out Blake went beyond of what you initially asked for. He arranged for you to take the PCR test again to confirm that you had not contracted the virus while sharing a room with Daniel.

After two slow and torturous days, where you spent your time curled up on the couch and Daniel spent his in the bedroom — a decision you made, he was the sick one after all. After two consecutive negative results, you were given the green light to leave. You had already packed your things after your call with Blake a few days ago, hoping you could change rooms. He had asked you if you needed anything else, saying he was willing to facilitate everything for you. He saw you as a fundamental part of this little dysfunctional family and had developed a deep affection for you. You couldn’t thank him enough.

Soon you had a plane waiting to take you back to L.A., to a house, not a home, all alone. You were leaving behind what you've come to realize was your home in the last two years.

You awkwardly said goodbye to Daniel. Your voice sounded tired, while he shifted on his feet on the threshold of the bedroom door. Curls wild, beard a bit longer than the past days and the bags under his eyes looked even more prominent. Despite the visible signs of weariness on both of you, you still couldn't draw any solace from the shared pain.

You knew you had to find your own path, to heal from these wounds, and to rediscover who you were outside of the relationship. As the plane took off, you made a silent promise to yourself to emerge from this ordeal stronger, wiser, and ready to face the world, no matter how unforgiving it might be.

#daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #latina!reader #daniel ricciardo x female reader #daniel ricciardo angst #( agentstarkid's works )

86 notes · View notes

moonmeg · 2 months

Text

A little addition to "Curious"

“D’aw and yet here ye are unable to live wi’out me”

Robyn rolled his eyes as a smile began tugging on the corners of his mouth. There was some truth to it. Micah was his best friend, the person he’d trust with his life and imagining a life without those red curls, trilled Rs and filthy tongue was impossible. At the very least, Robyn thought, it would be a rather unhappy life without Micah.

As he stared at the ceiling of the barn the thoughts came rushing back. Endless trains of thoughts pulling him from one question to the next. That was nothing new. His mind was always restless and always made it difficult for him to concentrate on something fully for a longer amount of time. It’s been this way since his childhood but this train of thoughts was different somehow. Vivan’s words didn’t let him go. Who was his “somebody else”? What does Vivian know that he doesn’t? And instead of sitting and thinking of who it is, all his thoughts could be stilled with a little glimpse into a crystal ball. The solution is right there. And Robyn certainly didn’t care much for rules. He could ask someone else to take a look but…

Micah was right. Oracle magic is not to be underestimated and knowing your future may be more dangerous than one might think at first. And what if he does suddenly know who he’s going to be with? Wouldn’t it feel forced? Like it didn’t naturally develop but because “it must happen”. That would affect the whole relationship, no? Isn’t that the nice part about romance? That you yourself don’t know what will happen. That your unknowing will make the little things and the firsts of a relationship so much more meaningful? Even the kiss with Vivian has a meaning now that it wouldn’t have had in a case of knowing how she felt and that she will kiss him.

A bunch of hay suddenly poking his face ripped him out of his deep thoughts.

“Ey!”, he exclaimed disgusted. “Ew, Mike, what the heck?!”

“Oh, sorry, was that not the wheelbarrow? Oopsies.”, Micah grinned.

“You bastard-”, Robyn started grinning himself and stood up from the hay seat, gently pushing Eilidh’s (the unicorn) head off his laps, “-I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Come and try, Shorty.”

“Alright that’s it!”

Robyn picked up small piles of hay and threw them at Micah, who dodged them without throwing anything back. Laughing and with another pile in his hands, Robyn approached Micah. The freckled boy however, held out the pitchfork to his attacker.

“Put the pitchfork down.”, Robyn halted smiling.

“Put the hay down.”, Micah replied, “Then we’ll talk ‘bouta pitchfork.”

“You’re a very unfair opponent, good Sir. You attacked me first! Now you’re using weapons I don’t have. Make it fair. Hay against hay.”

“Only if there’s ceasefire while I put it away.”

“You have my word.”

A moment of delay. Nothing happened as they both smirked at each other. Micah placed the tool on the ground and kicked it behind him, never once breaking the eye contact with the brunet.

“Good.”, Robyn tried to suppress his smile and be fully in the role of a dueling opponent, who would ensure to be on the winning side, “Now eat hay!”.

Micah dodged the hay attacks once again, still not throwing anything back. He instead attempted to flee, running around in the barn with Robyn right behind him. Both laughing heartily in this game of chase. Robyn chased after Micah for a good minute until Micah’s reflexes were too slow and gave Robyn the opportunity to pin him to the wooden wall by the shoulders.

“Where to now, Freckles?”, he smirked up at Micah.

Micah smiled, panting and catching his breath, trying to still his heart beat along with it.

“Alright, alright!”, he laughed, “I surrender.”.

Robyn didn’t give a response. He tried to catch his own breath and only managed to stare at Micah. Stare at his face as if he’s never seen the light brown freckles all over it or the reddish brown of his eyebrows and eyelashes. As if he looked at those golden eyes for the first time and as if he first notices the chunks of red hair falling into that pale face. As if this was the first time he noticed how beautiful all those traits were together. His breath calmed.

“Rob? Ye- uh… ye can let me go now.”.

Robyn blinked rapidly a few times and pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, right. Sorry.”, he let go of Micah’s shoulders and backed away, “I uh.. I spaced out for a little there.”.

Micah chuckled. “I noticed. It’s alright.”.

The redhead looked around the hay-covered barn with a long uttered “Well”.

“We better get this cleaned up again before ma dad notices.”, he rubbed his neck.

“Yeeeaah”, Robyn chuckled, “Sorry about that too.”.

“Nonsense, I got myself into this literal mess. It was fun though.”, Micah turned and smiled at Robyn.

“It was.”.

Robyn picked up a broom from the corner of the barn. He better forget about whatever that intense stare of him just was. He wasn’t staring in that sense.

Right?

Micah was attractive to him. But that’s nothing new.

There wasn’t more to it.

…

Right?

#running late to work for this #tdaac #robyn clawthorne #micah bower #pls excuse any typos i had no time to proofread 😭

66 notes · View notes

lu-sn · 11 months

Note

Rank the VegasPete kisses 😈

suz i stg this ask is gonna get me super mega cancelled. when you find my mangled body in a decrepit alleyway tell my family i loved them

6. i love you, pete.

listen, no okay, LISTEN, put down your pitchforks, this is an s-tier kiss okay, i know!!!!! I KNOW BUT EVERY VEGASPETE KISS IS INSANE!!!! SOMETHING HAS TO BE AT THE BOTTOM

i did and still do think it's a lil cray cray of vegas to say he's in love with pete like ten days after dicking him down, but the blood-streaked mouths and vegas's devastated face as he pushes pete away afterwards sure do make up for it

5. you must suffer until i'm satisfied

the thing that gets me about this one is the total lack of artifice on vegas's part. despite every touch of his before this having been part of a long, cruel, twisted performance, this one is so gentle. so unassuming. a gift, more than anything else.

the conversation after is critical to their relationship, and i'm not sure pete would have wanted to open himself up like that without this kiss as proof of vegas's... sincerity? vegas isn't playing a game anymore — and pete can finally stop playing too.

4. psycho

head in hands!!! i can't believe this isn't in the top 3 someone send me to jail rn

i don't need to talk about this yall Know. third eye opened brain chemistry rewired brainrot permanently acquired "you like me like this" "i know exactly what i want" the way their hands paw at each other the way vegas smiles the way pete's KNEES GO WEAK I'M FOREVER SCREAMING

3. you're the most important person in my life

ugly sobbing in the gutter they trust each other they cherish each other they're going to work so hard to stay together they're coming together as EQUALS in the LIGHT AFTER THE STORM I'M—

it's the way they cradle each other's faces in their hands, okay. it's the unbearable tenderness, and it's the promises they're making to each other!!! that shit just gets me real bad 😭

2. (we only kiss people we like)

their entire sex scene is characterized by an unexpected, intense tenderness, and this last kiss is really the nail in the coffin for me. the way pete is leaning up into this, chasing vegas's mouth — the way vegas is so unbelievably soft as he presses himself into pete — the space they've carved out together in the darkness for this moment of startling intimacy — something has changed here, in both of them. and it's going to be their undoing.

1. i need you, pete.

I DON'T CARE IF YOU DISAGREE WITH ME I WILL DIE ON MY LITTLE HILL THIS IS THE BEST KISS IN THE ENTIRE SHOW. SCREENSHOTS DO NOT DO IT JUSTICE. vegas is TREMBLING into this kiss he is TERRIFIED he's made an awful awful mistake and he's about to lose the best thing he's ever had he is CLINGING TO PETE trying to press all of his monstrous love into pete's skin i'm so sorry i didn't mean it i need you i will worship you look at how gentle i can be with you? look at how desperately i want to cherish you please please pete don't leave me MY GOD I AM CHEWING ON THE WALLS IT HURTS SO GOOD

and pete is so vulnerable to this kind of touch. he's shaking too, he's gasping and sobbing and almost can't believe what he's about to do in return. pete intends for this to be their last kiss — and vegas has no idea.

#i'm feeling so insane about them rn #that's just the vegaspete effect #obligatory THAT'S MY OPINION disclaimer obv all of these are top notch superior #oh but i am right about the last one tho. like objectively correct #hehe thank u for the ask suz 💜#kinnporsche #vegaspete #pete saengtham #vegas theerapanyakul #mine: asks #rainy day asks

257 notes · View notes

horseshoegirl · 9 months

Text

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 15 - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

📖I need to make two apologies. First, I am so sorry for the long delay. While work was beating my ass, I actually received a rude comment on my Wattpad account for the last chapter that triggered a horrible writer's block. It was taken care of, and it didn't bother me at the time, but I didn't realize how much it affected me until I started to write. Then I decided to use it for inspiration!

Secondly, I'm so sorry for what is about to unfold. This one was planned from the get-go (which is also probably why I struggled because this is the one chapter I dreaded having to write).

(I'll be running from the pitchforks as they come, Woot Woot!)

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.

#6k words

Part 14 | Masterlist | Part 16

The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.

It all started with a game.

You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library, loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.

You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus, there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.

You had to get creative.

Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.

The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?

Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.

Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media post from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?

Which one would murder the other first?

That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.

Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.

"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."

She was right. So you did.

You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."

"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.

You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.

You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck.

Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.

The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.

The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.

They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'

And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.

Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.

Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.

That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.

But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.

Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.

This guy?

Not a tourist.

He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.

But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.

Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.

Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.

He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.

It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.

You suspected Jake was behind it.

"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.

"Your number and the name of a good hotel."

You should have known better.

If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck too.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."

"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"

"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.

He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.

"Whiskey. Straight."

You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.

Good old southern Texas Charm.

Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward, then made your way over to the other side of the bar.

The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.

"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."

You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."

Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.

You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy."

He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?"

You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?"

It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory."

You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning."

You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."

"It does on the women back home," he answered you.

"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."

They'll beat that attitude right out of you.

"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about."

You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue.

"Still playing hard to get?"

"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer."

"Wow. Subtle."

You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get."

He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."

Well, shit.

You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.

Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.

George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.

Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.

Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy.

George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.

He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were.

And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.

"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"

You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.

"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."

You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake’s brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.

George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.

The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.

Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away, old habits dying hard. Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.

George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.

You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.

"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"

George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.

You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.

You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.

You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.

"What did he do to warrant that?"

You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George.

"What do you think?" you laughed at him.

Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."

"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."

"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie."

You stiffed a giggle.

George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."

"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."

George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head.

"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."

George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."

You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."

George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"

Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.

"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."

You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.

"Wham."

Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.

"Bam."

Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.

"Thank you, Mam."

Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.

You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"

He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story. As if he was assessing you for any threat.

"Sure."

You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"

Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.

He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons.

George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."

—-

With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."

The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"

You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."

"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."

"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."

He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."

You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"

After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn’t find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.

Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, “Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!” and underneath that, “Pilots who fly solo.” Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot’s callsign into place.

You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm’s way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found.

Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.

She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.

You needed to tell Jake.

With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.

The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible.

You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. George’s voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table.

"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."

Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"

You weren’t stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake’s attempt to one-up him on something.

“You know why I'm here,” you heard him say firmly. “Dad doesn’t approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake’s battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question.

But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.

"Yeah, you're right."

A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George’s reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin.

“You know I am,” he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. “

There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders.

You couldn’t hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them.

“So Sadie and I were just a game to you?”

Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. “Liz,” he held his hands out in front of him. “It’s not what…”

“Not what?” you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. “I heard plenty!”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that.

The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.

"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."

"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"

“Liz, don’t.”

“Enlighten me, Jake.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn’t a game. That getting close to my niece wasn’t a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date.”

You sobbed. “Taking me up in that damn plane.”

The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn’t help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. “Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?”

There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.

"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.

This man reminded you of your father.

Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none.

Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?

Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter.

Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.

She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right.

It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her.

Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out.

Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back.

He really did leave you out to dry.

"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."

You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself.

You had a hard time doing so.

There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."

You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good.

So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.

You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.

That should have scared you shitless.

Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.

Ridley - dead.

Sadie - hurt.

Tyler - lurking.

Bradley - damaging.

It was all too much.

George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.

Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.

"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."

George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Dad loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"

George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.

"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."

If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.

You were too far gone.

George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?"

He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack.

"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life."

Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either."

Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake.

"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake’s here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.

"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn’t. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance.”

Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.

"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong,” your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. “You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment."

As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.

You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.

You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."

Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.

The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.

God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.

You were going to throw up.

God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.

There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.

It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this.

It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.

It didn't matter.

You just needed your friend.

With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.

"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."

Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."

You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had, crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.

Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.

Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.

And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him.

Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.

.... So... Who is going to pitchfork me first? 👀

Tag List:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook

Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

158 notes · View notes

groenendaelfic · 1 year

Note

do you think wille will/should abdícate in the future or do you think he’ll become king one day?

The way this is worded I am 99.9 percent sure this is one of my friends trolling me, but I'll bite anyway even if it is, so strap in, because I have many messy, convoluted THOUGHTS. (in case it isn't sorry for presuming Anon and thanks for your question and being curious about my opinion)

The reason why I think this is a friendly troll ask is because you can't make this an or question and I have been very vocal about that in the past. I mean you can, Young Royals fandom is doing it all the time everywhere, but you shouldn't and yes I'll keep being nitpicky about that.

Why? Because In the context of monarchies and royalty the word abdication only applies to crowned monarchs and yes it does make a difference.

Let me use a (simplified) irl example: Harry didn't abdicate, William can't abdicate (yet), only Charles can and only now that he's king. Charles could have given up his rights to the throne in favor of William when he was still Prince of Wales, but that wouldn't have been an abdication, not if he had done it before becoming King himself.

The same is true for Wilhelm. Wilhelm can only abdicate after ascending the throne. If he's not king, it's not an abdication.

Yes I'll keep harking on about this until the end of my days, because while it might not seem like a big deal what word you use here, it actually makes a big difference legally and politically and on all levels if it's a crowned monarch and head of state formally abdicating or if it's an heir giving up their place in the line of succession.

So what we're actually all discussing here (most of the time) is should Wilhelm give up his place in the line of succession and right to the throne, and my immediate reaction to that (after no, never, but also he's sixteen, it's way to soon for any of that) is, how and in what way?

We're all rooting for Wilhelm and want him to be happy, of course we are. Wilhelm is my absolute favorite, but I hate this trend in the fandom that's romanticizing what everyone likes to call "'Wille's abdication" or abolishing the monarchy in general, because just because "it's right", doesn't mean it's in any way easily or quickly done in a "haha and now Sweden no longer has a monarchy" kind of way. That's not how it works.

Don't get me wrong, I'll never romanticize the monarchy or any other systems enforcing hierarchies and inequality, not in irl nor in any of my fics. Tax billionaires until they aren't anymore, eat the rich and yes, of course get rid of all monarchies, but you can't just go "lol no longer a prince", especially when like Wilhelm, you're still a teenager and can't make a properly informed decision about what you're doing.

Now before you all come at me with pitchforks, of course teenagers can tell right from wrong and make informed decisions, but Wilhelm grew up not only with immense privilege, but also extremely sheltered and in a bubble. Yes he started out his first semester of 'high school' in a public school, but I promise you the majority of his classmates' parents weren't plumbers or tax accountants.

Wilhelm has no idea of real life, not even rich people real life. He doesn't go to the store or buy his own clothes, and neither do his parents, nor do they randomly go to restaurants or whatever. Wille has never been able to go out in public without being photographed and noticed and everyone making a fuss, and he has no idea how most things work because there's always staff doing everything for him quietly and in the background.

If, and I say if, Wilhelm is sure he wants to step back from his role, then he should still wait until his early to mid twenties before doing so, because doing so is complicated and not something he can change his mind about later. Also he needs to learn about normal life first.

But I digress. Lets say Wilhelm does want to give up the throne. He's brought it up himself as a possibility when he was still desperately trying to get Simon back in any way he could. That still makes him a prince and a duke.

He'd still be a member of the royal family/house (I hate how that seems to be used synonymously in English). Not being king wouldn't mean he wouldn't be expected to become a working member of the royal family once he's an adult, except now there'll be a different monarch, one he'll have to obey within the family hierarchy, and chances are it'll be August.

Okay, so we take this a step further. Wilhelm gives up his rights to the throne and doesn't become a working royal, but that would mean betraying his family (his words) and stepping away from them. Not just his parents but everything he's grown up with and everything he knows. And he'd still be a prince and a duke.

Wilhelm will never be Joe Average Wille (is Harry now? Was Diana? and neither of them were next in line), no matter how much he might want to, especially not after S02E06 and I know I've said it before but I'll say it again: he'll keep being hounded, he'll keep being seen as royalty, and the only thing that'll change is who pays for his security.

(which btw the security thing is no joke, I know Wilhelm has no Diana levels of celebrity yet, but he's now the first openly queer modern royal and heir to the Swedish throne, there will be significant international media interest and it will stay, especially now with smart phones being able to capture his every move, and I'm old enough to remember the shit show that happened when Diana no longer had official protection officers and police protection and it was not fun, hounded is an understatement and professional 24/7 security is expensive and private security will never be as good as those who also have government/Security Service resources)

Also I firmly believe that what Wilhelm hates is not being royalty or the future king, but being forced into a role, handed a script and expected to perform without any of his own input.

When that changes, and it will, his attitude towards it will also change.

People argue that he'll be happier once he gives up his place in the line of succession, but I disagree.

I think he might have been happier had he been born a normal kid, but also maybe not because then he'd be a very different person, so there's no telling, but he'd always live with the guilt of betraying his family and heritage, and people, both well meaning and not, will never let him forget that.

Yes he struggles now, and I don't want to make light of his struggles, but every teenager struggles with their identity and place in life and things will be different once he's grown up and more secure in himself.

My 'ideal' fantasy solution were this irl would be for Wilhelm to become the last King and to work with the government to ensure a smooth transition once he retires, because abolishing the Swedish monarchy is complicated, but do I think that'll actually happen? No. Because that's not the kind of person Wilhelm is.

Also Wilhelm has been born to immense wealth, privilege and soft power, all three of which he will to a degree keep all his life no matter what happens.

Of course he needs to put his own mental health and wellbeing first, and I'm aware that he never asked for any of this, but he still has it, and with that comes a duty, and I think it'd be absolutely selfish of him to just take that wealth, privilege and soft power and to let the "common people" deal with the mess he left behind, because let's not kid ourselves, if he announces he'll give up his throne tomorrow and sticks with it until he's eighteen and beyond, do you really think people in power won't do anything they can to keep the system in place?

Kristina loves her son and wants what's best for him, even if she's not the best parent, but she'll not dismantle the system for him.

She knew what August had done, and she still would've rather had him as heir instead of even so much as considering anything else.

The Royal Court most certainly won't, and even if the elected government wouldn't be opposed to getting rid of the monarchy (if, there's a chance but not a guarantee, depending who is in power when that happens), that's not the end of it.

You can't abolish the monarchy and keep the nobility (edit: as it's been pointed out you can in theory, but my point is that the nobility won't be happy about it because it's a threat to them as well, and not just socially, and why would a Sweden in the 21st century do one but not the other, elites don't like changes in the status quo, even if at first glance it doesn't directly affect them, and this does), and there will be plenty of people, both obscenely rich and averagely well off people, who will do their utmost to keep their position of privilege.

It will not only become a matter of equality, Sweden is one of the most egalitarian countries in the world. It'll be about history and heritage and tradition.

It'll be a giant mess and if it wants any chance of succeeding, it'll need someone in power to actively work towards it, someone whose position the monarchists and traditionalists and conservatives respect, and that has to be a King Wilhelm, not a Crown Prince Wilhelm or a Prince Wilhelm or a Joe Average Wille who took his wealth and privilege and soft power and ran away because he chose to be selfish and leave a system in place no one was better able to do something about than him.

Now of course I'm once again talking about an adult Wilhelm, canon Wilhelm is still a teenager and shouldn't have to deal with or worry about any of that, and he gets to want to be selfish, because he's sixteen, but he won't always be sixteen, and when he isn't any longer his outlook will have changed as well.

Now we come to another point though, and that is that Wilhelm is not a revolutionary. He has his own head and a temper and doesn't want to blindly do as he's told, but he's not the kind of person who goes and topples a system.

I don't even think Simon is. He wouldn't mind the monarchy being abolished, sure, but I don't think he has the energy to become a political activist and to fight the system all his life, especially in a life without Wilhelm.

With Wilhelm it's different, there I'm sure he'll use the power he has for good. He'd be aware that he can change things and do his best to choose his engagements carefully should he become a member of the royal family.

That said, in time I don't think Wilhelm will mind being King, not if he also gets to be with Simon at the same time, and I don't think he should give up his place in the line of succession.

Finally, and most importantly, because we're talking about a TV show and a fic fandom here and not irl, I love playing with the idea of the Royal Court, the Swedish upper class, and all the conservatives and monarchists having to (figuratively) bow and scrape to an openly queer, headstrong monarch and the gay, biracial love of his life who also happens to be the son of a poor, immigrant single mother, because that is a very, very cathartic thought, and so yeah, King Wilhelm and Prince/Duke/King Consort Simon all the way, always.

That's what drew me to this show in the first place, a queer Crown Prince, and not a random queer teenager going about his normal life. There're plenty of other (great) shows for that.

#king wilhelm ftw #ask me anything #young royals meta #young royals #random ramblings #rant

259 notes · View notes

thepinklink · 4 months

Text

@selkies-song I wrote this for you when you weren’t feeling well, and I intended it to be longer but ran into some troubles. Regardless I hope it brightens your day 🩷

"Legend, can you get the pitchfork?"

It's a simple ask, but his headache filters it through layers of honey, so that by the time he registers what's been asked of him, Malon is watching him with concern.

"Is everything alright, Veteran?"

Legend swallows, words caught in a dry, gummy throat.

“Yeah.” He rasps. “I’m fine.”

He turns to walk back to the barn, but a dizzy spell freezes him in his tracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Goddesses, was it always this hot out? Where was the cloud cover? Hadn’t it been overcast this morning? The light is making his head hurt even worse.

“Veteran. You’re ill.”

It’s not a question.

“What? No, I said I’m fine.” He scowls at the ground. Farore, it’s hot.

“You’re clearly not, dear. You’ve been sluggish and silent all morning. Look at you, the only thing keeping you on your feet is the Hero’s Spirit.”

“I’m fine. Just tired, nothing I haven’t handled before.” He is tired. He’s also in pain, but Malon doesn’t have to know that, and besides. He’s always in pain, the result of years of adventuring without always being able to take the time to care for himself or heal properly.

“I’m fine.” He repeats again, and with a little more firmness.

Malon reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can. His skin is freezing.

“You’re cold.”

He frowns at her. “What? No, I’m—it’s blazing out here.”

She frowns back. “You don’t feel cold?”

“No!”

Malon places her hand against his forehead.

“Well no wonder, you’ve got a fever. And look at you, all glassy-eyed and pale.”

Legend pulls away, scowl returning, wrought with anger at being cornered.

“I’m fine.” He hisses, insistent.

“You’re sick,” Malon replies, equally unyielding. They stand for a few minutes, glaring each other down, before Malon’s gaze is drawn over Legend’s shoulder. Legend follows it, and winces as he sees Time approaching. Time will side with Malon, he has no doubt.

“…I came to inquire about dinner on the Champion’s behalf, but I see I have stumbled into an argument.”

“Of a sort,” Malon tells him tensly.

“That does not inspire much confidence.” Time takes his place beside his wife. “It’s not too heated, is it?”

“Quite, actually, it’s got a fever.” Malon looks up forlornly at her husband, and then back at Legend again. “Our Veteran is sick.”

“Oh?” Time raises an eyebrow, eye now trained on Legend, who does not meet them. Time doesn’t say anything, but somehow he pulls all the information out of Legend faster than Malon did, and with less effort.

“I’m fine,” Legend snaps defensively, feeling raw under Time’s one-eyed gaze. He’s getting sick of the phrase. “I swear, I’m just a little tired. It rained yesterday, made my joints hurt and stuff, I’m just feeling the aftereffects right now. It’s fine.”

“Legend.”

It’s just his name. Not even his name, his nickname. And yet, the way Time says it, Legend knows immediately that he’s lost the battle.

“You have put up an excellent fight up to this point, however, it is truly bordering on pathetic.”

It hurts. Probably because it’s true. It gets worse when Time steps up next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and lowering his voice.

“I know it is not easy to remember when you’re safe. To stop pushing yourself out of habit, out of that underlying pressure to keep going because that is what you have learned. To keep going, because the fate of Hyrule is in your hands, and you cannot afford to waste so much as a second. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to learn that, and I’m sorry that because of it, you don’t know how to recognize and take advantage of situations like this. Situations where such pressure does harm, not good. You’re in a safe place, Link. Hyrule’s fate is not is your hands, not in a way that pushing yourself will help. You are not alone anymore. There are people who will pick up the slack while you recover. There is time to heal, so take it. There is strength in recognizing when you are weak, and stepping back to change it.”

Legend desperately wishes Time were not so wise. Suddenly, his fighting against Malon feels silly and rude. He doesn’t even really know why he was arguing with her, what it would have accomplished. He nods numbly. It was hot a second ago, but the clouds have returned and in their shade, he’s cold.

“M’sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be. It’s a hard lesson, one we heroes are terribly unprepared to learn.” Time squeezes his shoulder gently before releasing him. “Now, go ahead and let Malon walk you to the house. And I say that because if you don’t walk, she will carry you. I had to learn that the hard way.”

Time chuckles and Malon huffs.

“You heroes and your selfless tendencies.” She turns to Legend, expression softening. “Come on, dear. You’ll feel better with a hot cup of tea in hand.”

#plink writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu malon #lu time

97 notes · View notes

artiststarme · 1 year

Text

Van Vandalism

The not-so-long-awaited van vandalism fic based on this snippet! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you have any title ideas, please let me know in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Eddie was having a rough time. While the events of Spring Break were in his rearview, he was still facing the consequences of being branded a freak murderer by the police in a small town. The overzealous Christian townsfolk, now aware of his glaring differences and eccentricities, seemed to make it a goal to make his life as hard as possible. Eddie could hardly leave his trailer without being chased with metaphorical pitchforks. Whether it be by threatening to kick his ass at school or vandalizing his van in the grocery store parking lot, the people of Hawkins were relentless. Eddie didn’t really care about the threats to his own safety or even some minor beatings, he’d gotten used to it through his years of high school.

However, when the townsfolk started to come after Wayne is when Eddie got concerned. Wayne had lived in Hawkins his entire life and now the people that he grew up with, the people he was friends with, were turning on him because of Eddie. They were spray painting nasty words on the trailer, slashing the tires on the van, and smashing the windows on Wayne’s truck. And Eddie and Wayne? They were losing their patience. They didn’t have the extra money to fix the windows or keep replacing tires. Wayne was pulling doubles at the plant to try to bring in some more money and Eddie was picking up shifts at the garage but they still weren’t bringing in enough to cover for the damages.

One day after school, Eddie came out of the building to find all four of his tires slashed. He couldn’t even safely walk home either because old Herbert Green and his son had threatened to jump him the day before. So, he stood on the curb staring at his van for three minutes before tears started to drip down his face.

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t hurt anyone. All he’d ever done was try to create a safe space for outsiders, the people that couldn’t feel safe anywhere else, and now he was paying the price. He wasn’t a murderer! He was just a gay metalhead kid who liked nerdy shit and couldn’t focus in school. But in the minds of all the townspeople, everything about him was grounds for a lifetime in prison.

He was still staring at his van when he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm. Eddie didn’t even think before spinning around with a fist in the air.

“Woah,” Steve said as he ducked out of the way of the punch. “Jesus Christ, Munson! I can’t get another concussion, do you even know what Robin would do to me?”

Eddie sighed in response and sagged against his van, Steve’s hand still wrapped around his bicep. “Sorry dude, you scared me. I wasn’t expecting Sir Steve to be back at his abandoned castle. Which quest hast summoned you to return to your former dwelling?”

Steve’s eyes squinted like they always did when he tried to translate Eddie’s language into modern English. God, it was one of Eddie’s favorite things about him. After a moment, the squint left his eyes and his mouth opened in understanding.

“You, man. The kids called and said the basketball team fucked up your tires. Thought you could use a ride,” Steve said and shrugged. He was still wearing the ugly Family Video vest over a gray polo that hugged his shoulders in all of the right places. “Eddie?”

He shook his head to snap out of it. No straight guy wanted their gay, albeit still in the closet, friend checking them out when they’re trying to do them a favor. Or so Eddie would imagine.

“Um, yeah. Yes please. I do need a ride. This is the third time they’ve pulled this shit and I won’t be able to afford new tires for a good three weeks. Fuck, how am I going to get to work now?”

Steve hummed before lightly smacking Eddie’s shoulder and ignoring his affronted glare. “I know! You can use my car! I mean, you’ll have to drop me off at work before school and pick me up after but other than that, I don’t really go anywhere anyways. You can just take the Beemer to work, school, and wherever else you go.”

Eddie was absolutely dumbfounded. Sure, he and Steve had become good friends after Spring Break but he was going to inconvenience himself by letting him take his car? “Stevie, I can’t take your car. What if you need it? It’s too much-”

“Eddie. Look man, you can use it for however long you need to. If I need it back, I’ll call you for the keys, okay? Just give me rides to work and pick up the kids if they need to go somewhere. The little shits aren’t riding their bikes anymore.” Steve told him and pressed his keys into the palm of Eddie’s hand. “Now, leave the van for now and give me a ride back to the video store, I still have 6 hours left on my shift and if I’m not back by the end of my break, Keith is going to lose his shit.”

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. He still couldn’t believe that Steve “The Hair” Harrington was actually a good dude. He’d dragged his sorry ass out of hell, lied to the cops to be his alibi, and now was loaning him his car just to make Eddie’s life easier. How’d he get so lucky as to have Steve in his life? Now if only he could get him to switch from the Tears for Fears moaning from the speakers to Metallica.

When they pulled up to Family Video, Eddie made a move to get out but Steve just grabbed his arm with a, “hey, wait. Where are you going? Your shift at the garage starts in 20 minutes.”

“Yeah so I have to go. If I start running now, I can make it before my lungs give out and kill me.” Eddie said, shaking him off.

“Dude. I was serious about you taking my car, I wasn’t just going to have you go out of your way to drive me to work in my own car. Take it and be back to pick me up at 11:30, okay? Have a good shift,” Steve murmured, patting Eddie’s hand and running into the store.

And then Eddie was left in the car alone, utterly bewildered and still reeling at Steve’s generosity. But he did have to go to work so off he went. Driving in the Beemer was a lot different than driving in the van. Firstly, there were no weird banging sounds coming from underneath the hood or any screeching noises of the brakes. The ride was silent aside from the horrendous pop music squealing from the radio station Steve had left on low. Next, the ride went smoother. Eddie didn’t have any jocks tailgating him or blonde-haired mothers glaring at him from the curb. He did receive a couple of double takes when other drivers realized it wasn’t Steve Harrington driving his signature Beemer but Eddie enjoyed the looks of shocked befuddlement. Huh, maybe Steve was onto something.

(What Eddie didn’t know is that everyone that took a double-take wasn’t wondering why Eddie Munson was driving his car but instead, when had Steve gotten back together with Nancy Wheeler?)

When Eddie finished his shift at the garage though and made his way to pick up Steve from work, goddamn Officer Callahan pulled him over. He hated this fucking guy. He especially hated how cocky he looked as he strolled up to the driver’s side window and leaned against it.

Eddie could only glare at him completely unimpressed as he asked, “can I help you, Officer?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I think you can! You see, all day we’ve been getting calls of a curly-haired imposter joy-riding around in Steve Harrington’s BMW. Can you explain that?” Officer Callahan was smirking as he explained himself, obviously finding joy in interrupting Eddie’s peaceful night.

“I’m not joyriding, I went to work and now I’m picking him up from work. Steve lent me his car because someone slashed my tires for the third time this month. You’d know about that though, right? You know, considering I’ve tried to file a report each time. You ever going to do anything about that by the way?” Eddie rebutted.

“You expect me to believe that Steve Harrington let you, Eddie Munson, borrow his car? How much grass have you smoked?”

Eddie just sighed in frustration. “Look Callahan, I’ve tried to be nice but you’re pissing me off. Here I am, a law-abiding citizen, and you’re just accusing me of these heinous crimes? Grand theft auto, drug use, what’s next… murder? Oh wait! We’ve been there and I was found innocent of that too! Let me leave or next time I see the Chief, I’m going to tell him that his least favorite deputy was harassing me. Do you want Hopper mad at you? Is that what you need in your life?”

“What… um no. You don’t have to do that. Just, just get where you’re going and make sure Harrington gives us a call at the station about his car. Um, have a good uh night,” Officer Callahan said while awkwardly ambling back to his car.

Then, Eddie was off again. This time with heavy metal blasting through the Beemer speakers and through the open windows into the wind. He was going to pick up Stevie and treat him to a night full of movies, weed, and junk food like he deserved.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @trippypancakes @straight4joekeery

(@anzelsilver you're the only person who reblogged the snippet so here's a tag to the whole fic!)

#Steve appreciates the break from driving anyways so he might as well let Eddie use his car #his love language is acts of service and it shows #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #officer callahan #fanfic

374 notes · View notes

deathisararemercy · 1 year

Note

Hello! Can I plz request Death x wolf! Immortal! Reader where Death gets jealous when someone flirts with his s/o? It's ok if no! :)

Kind of the Jealous Type

Death x immortal!wolf!Reader

A/N: Howdy anon. I'll have you know that I literally started going "hehehehe-" reading this request. I was absolutely thrilled to write this. It turned more into Muerte defending a reader from unwanted advances but I hope it still works? I'm sorry it took so long to finish your request. Thank you for your patience and for sending in a request! Also I did finish writing the last part late at night without my glasses on, so please yell at me if there are typos/glaring obvious errors.

Content warning for mentioned attempts at murder/violence (no death), unwanted advances

Wandering the world alone isn’t very fun, especially if you’re immortal. An immortal’s life is spent drifting around like a ship on the sea, drawn towards each and every light on the distant shore. But all of those sparks of light eventually begin to blur into a hazy glow with no real distinctive source, and in the end, there is no real home for you to sail back to.

What makes it worse for you is the fact that you were a wolf, an immortal wolf that dozens have tried to kill and failed to do, an immortal wolf that people couldn’t help but fear, just a little, even though you really meant no harm.Who’s to say those little lights on the distant shore were not just torches accompanied by pitchforks, ready to drive you out of town? Wolves are social creatures, but you had no one to talk to, and no one to wander with.

That is, until you met Death.

It was after another attempt at your life. People didn’t seem to get the message that you literally could not die. Any attempt to end your life was fruitless. But that didn’t stop them from trying. You survived like always, and there in front of you, as you wiped away the dirt from your muzzle, was Death.

Initially, you thought that the wolf would resent you. He could watch you get hurt, beaten, and bruised over and over and over again. But he could never see you die. He could never collect your soul. He could never take you to the spirit world. You were invulnerable to him and his silver sickles.

But to your surprise, he asked you to walk with him. He helped you find what you needed to heal your body, silent and solemn, and set you off on your way. But you saw him more frequently, even when you weren’t being hunted down with a bounty on your head. And over time, you grew used to each other’s presences. You recognized each other from a distance and every so often, would fall into conversation.

And though you two kept away from those lights on the distant shore, each conversation you had with Death felt like a lantern being lit on your ship. With each conversation, you felt your eternal life come alive with color and distinction. You never had to fear Death, but you could fall in love with him.

So when he asked if you thought it was possible for Death to be in love with someone, you hesitated.

“Maybe? I don’t know.” You picked up the drink you had ordered, spinning the cup and not letting a drop spill. The cantina the two of you were sitting in was busy, but few people paid you any mind, more focused on their drinks and food. It also helped that the two of you wore your hoods inside. It was temporary refuge and peace. You glanced at the wolf sitting next to you from the corner of your eye. “Death being in love…Are we talking about death, the concept or Death, the…you?”

He flashed his pointed teeth with a slight tilt of his head. “Either, or.”

“I’d give it a solid maybe for both.”

“That’s a paradox, lobito,” the wolf chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink. “ ‘Maybe’s can’t be solid.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little too, still spinning your cup.

“Death being fond of an immortal like me sounds a bit strange to me, you know.”

“I never said it was you.” He recoiled at the sharpness of his own words. You felt your heart sink. Death placed both paws around his glass so tightly thought he might break it. “But…it’s not every day you meet another immortal talking wolf.”

“Yeah, what are the odds, right?” A drop of your drink spilled onto the bartop. You wiped it away with your paw. And someone placed their hand on top of yours. You looked up.

A grizzled beard covered most of the man’s face, but charming black eyes leered back at you. “ ‘ello there, pretty.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a slight edge to your voice as you quickly drew back your paw. Please don’t try to kill me. Not here. Not now. Not next to him.

“What? You should be thanking me. I figure a wolf like youse hasn’t gotten many compliments before, eh?”

You blinked. Was this guy serious? You shook your head, downing the rest of your drink in one go. “I get plenty. They call me the Unkillable Beast.”

The man guffawed, sitting in the empty stool next to you. “Seems to me you’ve got a pretty twisted idea of what a compliment is.” He moved his seat closer, leaning uncomfortably close. “I can call you all sorts of pretty names, little beastie.”

Something slammed next to you and the bar went silent. Death had drawn one of his sickles, slamming it into the bartop. The wood had splintered, and reflecting the wood in the candlelight, the sickles seemed to gleam a rusty red. Like dried blood.

“We were just having a friendly little chat. Now, I don’t want any trouble. But,” the man sneered, pointing at the sickle, “You don’t bring farm tools to a bar fight. What poor chap did you nick those off anyway?”

You felt a cold but firm paw on your shoulder. Now, Death was horribly close. You could hear a low growling from his throat. “They’re mine. Always have been. Since the beginning.”

“Come out with that thing in hand, eh?” the grizzled man cackled.

“You could say that.”

You didn’t see him move. You just felt it. The release of weight from your shoulder. A slight cool wisp of air. The flap of cloth. The quiet shing of a drawn weapon.

The man leaned half out of his seat, the tip of the sickle pressed beneath his chin. Within seconds, his breathing became hoarse and ragged. Death’s eyes flashed with a devious spark.

“Muerte,” you hissed, tugging on his poncho.

He ignored you, licking his muzzle. “Life flashing before your eyes, amigo?” The man gulped, nodding furiously. “Good. I want you to look back through it and think of all the unwanted advances you’ve made, all the people you’ve made feel uneasy, while all the people who hold them dear either are unaware or have to watch, unable to speak. Is that a life you want to see before you die?”

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered breathlessly, “I don’t want to die. Not like this. Not now.”

“Do you regret it?” The wolf pressed, leaning over you to get closer. “Do you regret what you did?”

“Yes, yes, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please, please.”

With a relaxed smile, the wolf quickly sheathed his sickle and sat back down at his seat. He held your paw tightly in his, leaving the man to catch his breath. Nonchalantly, he ordered another drink for you. His eyes widened when the man still sat at his seat, blubbering a little and clutching at his chest. Death leaned back over and quietly said, “Run.”

The man leapt up from his seat and was out of the bar in the blink of an eye. “You really didn’t have to do that,” you murmured as he slid your new drink to you.

“Nonsense. You paid for my drink last time.”

“You know what I was talking about, Muerte.”

“What else was I supposed to do when the wolf I’m in love with is getting hit on? And when they’re clearly very uncomfortable.” You blinked rapidly as he took another sip of his drink. He swept the wood splinters to the floor. “Besides, that man deserved to have a lesson taught to him.”

“You’re in love with me?”

“Was it not obvious before?” he teased in mock disbelief. “I thought it was obvious by the third time we went to a bar together. And all the pet names, lobito.”

Your tail was wagging now. Dammit. Well, why not take him down with you? You kissed him on the nose, quick and chaste. “Well, I suppose I can say I love Death, even though I can’t really die.”

“Really now?” You peeked down and his tag was wagging furiously. He made lame attempts to stop it, refusing to break eye contact with you when you looked back up. The grin on his face was infectious.

You grinned. “Really. I love you.”

=x=x=

“But as much as I appreciate the sentiment, please don’t kill anyone for me.’

“I’ll try not to.”

“¡Lobo!”

#puss in boots #puss in boots death #puss in boots muerte #death x reader #muerte x reader #x reader #.writing #request #anonymous

276 notes · View notes