#Civilization is going to crumble

[wisemansthoughts]

Day 541 of telling people to Have More Babies, The Pending Doomsday of Retirement!

Day 541 of telling people to Have More Babies, The Pending Doomsday of Retirement!

Photo by shutter_speed on Pexels.com The Problem The Developed world and even some parts of the Developing world are facing the largest ever demographic change in history. The combination of increasing life expectancies due to improvements of hygiene and in our diets, coupled with the issue of low fertility rates (approximately the total number of children born to each woman) being way below…

[lesbianpegbar]

i hope joe biden rots in hell

[thresholdbb]

Doing all these mental calculations about how much job I need to get maximum Star Trek

[ahaura]

.

sooo my brother showed up. and we got into an argument. and then after he left me and my mom got into a fight about my comments about him following his exit. and then both me and my mom cried. and now its 1am and things are fine now but jesus christ. also i had almost half a pie which was a bad idea because it's 1:30am now and im not sleepy at all. sigh.

[kunosoura]

anyway i’m done reading old books on my spring break. back to the skyrim mines i’m dog determined to finish every major quest and questline so I can not want to play this game for hopefully another 3 years

[honeytrap-graham]

hbo’s really gonna make me watch a whole season of filler episodes knowing damn well the story only starts in the second season i have to wait years for… wow

[nickywhoisi]

Hi again everyone. I have returned, maybe just momentarily, to let you know where I’ve been.

I took a lot of time off for myself to have a “redo” of my life. How this went was that, from Aug 20, I finally felt like I was free, moreso than I had in my life, and that was the best starting point for me to choose that year as 1993, my birth year. I have, through all of this time including now, realize that I have ultimately been battling a giant war against life for the sake of keeping pure and keeping corrosion out. And I mean NIGHTMARISH LEVELS OF CORROSION. It’s so hard for me to put those exact experiences into a perfect pure-feeling term, but basically it’s been like that for a shockingly long time...and one of the things that was so corroded was my own past and childhood. I desired to have a “reset” wherein I got to control life and my timespan for a while, and devote it entirely to the keepsakes I have from those times. I was beginning again, starting over with my life just how I wanted, and I let myself be a little baby for a while, then transition each day to adolescence, teenhood and then adulthood. It was all finally at my own pace. Though even then, the rare times I had to step outside meant that it had to be the current year again for a while, and I still ran across what I now know to be corrosion confrontations, which were sometimes so bad, I had to switch a year, and let it pass until the next day where I would redo it as well. I’m just glad that this plan worked out and it all fit into september before the last few days of the month.

There was also two giantly damaging events that occurred on the 26th...a certain governmental event I couldn’t afford to miss and was getting so stressed about (because I haven’t been feeling more than I can handle of that), and this resulted in me believing I needed to protect my most precious keepsakes, among which, my art and my videogame collection. This was from MY ENTIRE LIFESPAN, including my reset! And all I did was park somewhere where I thought it was going to be safe and untouched. But it so happened to be a kindergarten with apparently a private parking rule that I didn’t know about (and sadly, that part of the corrosive error is on me because I didn’t think to take some time to ask if it was okay, I was just too worried about being on time (additionally, I am aggravated that if I were not left in such a precarious situation, I would not have been so stressed out and thus careless about where I parked!)), and by the time I had a free moment to think about it, I checked on what was going on with my chosen parking space...and I got the shocking news that this asian prick decided, also at the fault of the police ordering him to, to THROW OUT MY THINGS WITHOUT ONCE WAITING FOR ME TO BE PRESENT TO EXPLAIN MYSELF. I had to run out of breath to that place, only to be confronted by the guy who did the deed AND look at the abject horror and misery that my two makings; my very history of being alive, my two greatest and purest of life’s passions...were thrown into a giant garbage bin without an iota of care. Not even an understanding that these items were covered in MY NAME, showing it defacto belonged to me, and nobody had the right to make the decisions they did. And what was all the worse was that I had every right to be livid at the guy and chew him out for what corrosive display he wrought on my HISTORY, MY PROOF OF BEING ALIVE ON THIS HELL ROCK, but he seriously thought he had any right to bombard me with angry accusatory words and ideas, as if he was openly victim blaming me for something I could barely pay attention to over the sound of my own crippling depression...how could I not continuously explode when I had to cry while rifling through the garbage and make sure that I rescued all of my poor keepsakes that I NEVER ONCE WANTED OR WAS PREPARED TO SEE AMONGST GARBAGE WHERE NONE OF IT BELONGS, all the while having my suicidal levels of stress upset and discomfort pressured even more by this unfeeling demon ch*** who never had a shred of shame for what he did saying the most useless, unhelpful and distressing things, likely on purpose, which naturally made me want to swipe at him with a cardboard box lid JUST TO GET HIM TO SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME IN PEACE. But that is when he said the worst thing; you stop or I call the police. I was screaming myself hoarse, wailing in such impossible misery, all because he refused to stop causing coarse corrosive stress towards me, and he was actually de-existing me. What de-existing me means, is that he was actively trying to delegitimize EVERYTHING that was happening to me right there. His profound offenses horrified me as these would never stop coming from him. I feel that this is the type of homonid,,,this inhuman thing, this “flesh homunculus”...is the very thing that I will have to kill one day in order for such corrosions in life to permanently stop, as I want. I got all of my posessions back, but it can’t feel like a true victory until I see this creature gone, and all like it. Please don’t worry about what this means. It just basically means I’ve figured out how to get rid of the things weighing down on my mind for good.

Sadly, just another one of these things bled it’s way into ruining another event that was supposed to remain pure. Some user who I don’t know at all made a heinous reply about me being “such a manchild” over a post subject that I had done nothing more than say my piece on, state that I would not accept anyone trying to @ me over having what just seemed to be different from the crowd opinion, and leave it at that. I learned that on some monday, around the time I left to give myself that long-needed break, I was entirely treated like trash, only fueling yet more of what I have lately been feeling...rather, I should say I’ve been collapsing under the weight of. I already feel bad enough that there are sociopaths like this on the world who troll and are so good at trolling that I do feel very defaced and wounded by. What hurts me even worse than that though, is the timing in which this happened. The one precise moment where all that has happened is processed, or as well as it can, that nothing else is going on, and I thought I had a free chance to muster up the courage and retry from where I left off. I gave this place just one more chance, or at least see how all of my friends are doing, only to see there is proof that people on tumblr, or perhaps tumblr itself, is no longer the place I thought I could have to be safe and I am surrounded by corroded sorts who don’t want me here, as a poor damaged person on the side of purity. I was about to say that I’m a pure person, but that would not be so true. I just want to be good and clear in my soul, and the corrosions of all life, from sirens and sickening-acting people in real life, the fact that real life has so much badness going on that it’s all become besmirched, to here online where corrosion and policing seem to have concaved everything to the point where nowhere is good and pure enough to promise the level of safety and comfort that I need most. Even Gaia online, another legacy site that I frequented from my life’s history as well, suddenly proved on the 25th that it apparently hated me for having a pure connection with it and for some reason hates me for not wanting to support it’s bad practises with money. Apparently they really are the scum who did not pay or support their artists the way they should, and it shows now in the latest “game” they have going on now.

So it’s a real damn shame, but I have to maybe...just never come back here. Ever again. Not seriously anyway. I wanted to do so much more here though. I wanted to be able to be like all of you, my friends, and you amazing artists in the choo choo groop, or the ttte/rws fandom for those unfamiliar. And be like VoiceBoss/Coco, and all of the other cool batman fandom artists too. Just happily posting my art, getting to know everyone, never having anything bad happen that would lead to a confrontation. But someone who bypassed the way I was trying so hard to curate my experiences here made me face the fact that I need a place where not just anyone is able to throw me out of a good thing, by any means. So I must look elsewhere, as I said, for a truly safe, quiet bubble to call my own and to get every ounce of relief and healing relaxation that has been so unreasonably denied of me. This sucks royal.

I believe the last things I might want to take care of is reblogging everything I have in my likes, catching up with my pals, letting y’all know about stuff, having one last farewell party to this blog, and...if I can manage it, I may only post my art/links to where I will be posting art from now on. Cause the last thing I want to do is promise good things I’d share, and then never make do. I’m not perpetuating that cycle of abuse after being a victim of it, no fucking way gang

https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/86557536

[finalgirllx]

thought you hated me | mattheo riddle entry 1 of a little anthology series i am starting with mattheo. as a way to practice writing without committing to a long series, i'll be writing a few blurbs for him based on the 'enemies to lovers' trope. 1.1k words | nsfw | minors dni | f!reader this is also a thank you for 2000 followers, like holy cow. that's insane. thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has supported my nonsense.

"Hey, hey! Watch it! The recipe calls for a scoop of rose petals, not the entire bloody jar," you scold the curly-haired prick. He abided by your warning, much to your surprise, but not without tilting the jar above the cauldron a few extra times just to savor your irritation. You can't help but wonder what past mistakes led you to be doomed by fate to be partnered with Mattheo Riddle for potions class.

The whole school was aware of your mutual hatred, and neither of you made any effort to conceal it. It had been this way for so long that you couldn't even pinpoint why you hated him. Well, besides his utterly insufferable personality and a pisspoor attitude that not even his stellar good looks could redeem.

"He's an arrogant prick." "What a wretched tart." "A hotheaded muppet." "An absolute menace to civil society."

These were just a few recent jabs exchanged between you, either spoken directly or whispered through the grapevine. As long as everyone knows how much you despise each other, it suffices.

After your taunt over the rose petals, Mattheo's gaze bore into you beneath impossibly full eyelashes before he released a huff of pure disdain at your rigidity.

"You can piss off with that attitude. I say the one of us who didn't cause an explosion in class last week gets the bigger say over our potion-making," Mattheo countered, to which you promptly stood at attention and turned to face him, hands planted firmly on your hips.

"If that's the qualification, then I've had the upper hand practically every week this entire term! I cause one explosion, and you think you're all that," you argued back, to which Mattheo responded with a tired eye roll before he fixed his spiteful gaze fully on you.

"Well, I do have the right. Especially when you caused the explosion by staring at Cormac fucking McLaggen while biting your lip like an idiot," he grumbled, his voice lowered but the intensity still sending a shiver down your spine. You knew the implications of his words and that the facade could crumble under the man's temper in moments if you didn't tread forward lightly.

"Yeah, well, I don't see why you'd care, but I'll keep my eyes off of him," you begrudgingly relented with a shrug. You would have given him an earful with just about any other provocation, but what he could risk revealing over this wasn't worth continuing to bicker over.

"Good girl," Mattheo purrs the next time he leans closer to grab an ingredient, quiet enough so only you could hear, causing the heat rising between you to stay put. "Guess I'll need to find another reason to cave the bloke's face in," he adds, much to your dismay. You wanted to say something then, but the professor's perfectly timed interjection to order you both to focus on your work momentarily set the matter aside. -----------------

"Are you really going to make an arse of yourself and beat up Cormac if he and I so much as exchange a glance?" You questioned Mattheo incredulously as he hastily pulled you into a nearby empty broom closet with little resistance from yourself. The door had barely clicked shut before he tore off his robe and moved on to remove yours.

"You want to fucking try something? See how that works out for you, I'll make your ass red for weeks," Mattheo growled into your ear as his hands roamed your still-clothed torso, finding purchase on your breasts as he began to knead them, growing desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Your insolence had gotten him painfully turned on, urging him to handle your attitude with touches he knew would render you pliant. The whimpers his groping solicited from you had become the answer to his prayers.

This little arrangement had become second nature to you by now. You give Mattheo lip, which gets him riled up, so you both seek a release for your pent-up frustrations by way of you taking his dick. Each time, without fail, you two agree that this would be the last time. But having 'hated' each other for so long, you know just how to test the other's patience, him becoming as weak to your taunts as you are to his touch.

"Care so much about who I'm looking at, huh?" you mocked Mattheo as he attempted to undo the buttons on your top, his thought capacity overridden by lust. "I thought you hated me," you continued to bait him with a hint of amusement to mask the genuine curiosity for what he might say. A gasp escaped you when Mattheo removed one hand from your chest to take your chin in between two fingers, lifting your head to meet his eyes that were already ruining you in his mind. He pressed his body against yours, letting you feel his hardness through his trousers.

"You know I fucking hate you," Mattheo replied through gritted teeth, his ferocity laced with arousal. "Doesn't mean anyone gets a glimpse of what's mine."

Your lips pulled into a smirk contentedly in response, not the least bit intimidated by him. In fact, you were pretty proud to have evoked such a reaction out of him. Sure, maybe you felt afraid for Cormac, but after witnessing Mattheo Riddle get on his knees to beg for your pussy, it had become difficult to take his threats seriously. The man was down bad, and you relished in the way you could reduce him to a needy mess, though he probably felt similar when you turned into a babbling slut every time he made you cum on his cock. If anything, the rage made you just as greedy for him as he was for you.

You took the lead in removing the rest of your top, freeing Mattheo so he could bury his face in your neck, latching on and sucking the skin to leave noticeable, possessive marks. He proceeded to cover you with hot kisses that trailed further down your chest, with each unclasped button giving him more space to work with until your top was fully removed and strewn on the floor with abandon. He sunk to his knees before you, letting you ensnare one hand in his hair to brace yourself as he took the peak of one of your breasts in his mouth, which brought a moan from your lips. Forgetting the animosity and allowing pleasure to take over, you've all but given up on believing that this time would be the last.

[omegasmileyface]

im so fucked up. theres a scene in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (the sequel to hitchhikers guide) where zaphod is rummaging through the ruins of a long-destroyed city on a lifeless, abandoned planet, looking for a way off, and he stumbles upon the crumbling remains of a spaceport, and miraculously one of the crafts is still intact, and there's still a quiet hum of power going into it from a connected cable, and it's making a quiet noise. so he rigs up a makeshift stethoscope and listens, and there's a PA system saying something like "we are very sorry for the delay. we are currently waiting for a restocking on lemon-soaked towlettes, for your hygienic and culinary pleasure. in the meantime, we will be serving coffee and biscuits on the deck." and he finds the remains of the arrivals/deparetures board, translates the dates and does a little math, and discovers the delay has been 900 years. spooky, yeah? but he goes on the ship, hoping he can get it flying, and it's perfectly well-functioning and an android flight attendant comes out and tries to force him to sit in the seating area, continuing to apologize for the delay. and when he gets to the seating area, every seat has a person in it. long-haired, long-nailed, and completely silent, but very much alive. and another android comes out with a tray of coffee and cookies, and all of the people wake up and start screaming in agony as she gives them their snacks. zaphod is terrified, so he runs to the control deck and locks the door behind him, and he finds the autopilot computer, which repeatedly tells him to return to the seating area, and he eventually convinces it to talk to him. "have you seen the planet?" he says, or something to that general effect. "there's no civilization! you're not GETTING a lemon-soaked napkin shipment!" and the autopilot says "the most likely path to us receiving our shipment is to wait until another civilization develops on the planet and they can deliver it. so we have put the passengers in suspended animation, and we wake them up once a year for coffee." and then? and then zaphod's friend who he was looking for shows up and the plot carries on and they don't say another word about the ship (at least, as far as i know from my place a couple chapters later). thats it. some classic Space Horror Of Grand Proportions, a doctor who plot, a twilight zone plot, an scp article, an asimov short story— that, when a ship ran out of a luxury amenity and didn't get it fulfilled quickly, the autopilot ai decided that, regardless of plentiful fuel and safety, the ideal way to deal with the situation is to suspend the lives of all of the passengers, waking them up once a year, until a new civilization could evolve around them to produce napkins— and it takes up about two pages total before being put aside completely!

[strawbeerossi]

August || Chapter Three

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid, fem!reader x Emily Prentiss (it’s happening!!!)

Description: Spencer has taken notice of how close you are getting with Emily, causing a good amount of jealousy to flow through his veins. 

Content/Warnings: Flirting, arguments, Spencer and JJ are starting to crumble.

WC: 1.4K

I’m going to California tomorrow for a mini vacation so I wanted to make a post before I left. Next chapter will purely be reader x Emily with the way I have things planned.

Navigation || August Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Request

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The conversation with Emily eased some pain in your chest. You weren’t alone, instead you had someone who you’ve known for ages directly telling you she’s going to stand behind you. 

You’d think that she would be forced to be unbiased, being unit chief as well as being friends with all three of the involved parties. Emily wasn’t always a rule follower though, everyone knew that. 

It was a month after the fact that you’d finally come to peace with the issues that you had with Spencer and JJ. You’d never be able to forgive them for that betrayal, however you were civil with them at work. It wasn’t a chore to have to sit in the same room as them. You thought that you might actually survive the whole ordeal. 

You moving on was a blessing to the team, the lack of tension and high emotions made working so much more comfortable. There were no sly comments, there were no exasperated expressions of frustration from someone saying the wrong thing. All was well. 

Spencer didn’t like that you were still avoiding him outside of the office but he had to come to terms with that on his own time. He expected things to get better, for the friendship to be mended. He didn’t get that lucky. 

It had gotten to the point that he lost himself in the efforts of making everything up to you by offering a healthy amount of distance, only being able to yearningly glance at you from the distance between you. 

All he wanted was to just force you to sit down and talk things out with him. 

While you were moving on in a healthy manner, he was festering in an ocean of self deprecation. The ultimate switch of your outward emotions became more obvious with each passing day. Instead of you being quiet and ignoring the world, it was Spencer. 

The old you would’ve felt bad and reached out as soon as he began acting like that. Now though? You felt.. Good when it came to seeing him miserable. He knew how bad he fucked himself over and you were basking in it. 

Revenge in the simple form of bettering yourself was just too sweet. It was better considering the work you put in was purely for yourself. 

The situation between JJ and Spencer was severely impacted, mainly because the former was so confused on why you were such a forefront after everything that went down between the both of you. In her mind, it made sense why you’d leave him alone, so why did he care? It wasn’t worth it.

Regardless, he wouldn’t take her advice.

Spencer had begun to notice that you were spending a lot more time in Emily’s office lately. He didn’t want to even think about what was going on behind that closed door, mainly because a pang of jealousy shot through his body every single time you took a file to her in order to discuss it.

Just like now, you were currently seated in Emily’s office, the both of you discussing a recent case and how you could approach writing your report. It was fully innocent, even if there was a lot of rumors about what was actually going on when you were alone.

“I appreciate you working with me on this.” You smiled while looking up at Emily, your cheek resting against the palm of your hand. You were spending quite a lot of time with her outside of the office too lately. She just knew how to make you feel better and you gave her credit for half of the reason you were doing much better.

“Don’t mention it. I’m happy you asked for help on it. Your reports before were..” She hissed in a playful tone. “Questionable.” She joked with you, causing your foot to gently kick hers under the table.

“They weren’t bad! I used to ask Rossi to look them over just to make sure they were good. Between you and me, I think I’ve been getting on his nerves so that’s why I came to you this time.”

Emily chuckled. “I’m a second option then. I’m hurt.” She sighed in a dramatic fashion, her hand against her chest.

“I saved the best for last.” You corrected, a smile gracing your features. You really felt drawn to Emily after all of her patience and help as of late. It was funny, you’d worked together all these years and didn’t manage to actually sit and get to know one another outside of your jobs. Maybe it was your undying love for Spencer that shielded you from fully expressing yourself to anyone else.

“You flatter me.” The raven haired woman mused while she was looking at her watch. “I’ll go ahead and keep this file since we are done. Wanna go out and pick up lunch with me?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. It was a quiet day, so it wouldn’t hurt to go out for an hour or so.

“Only if you’re buying.” You winked, pushing yourself to stand while the two of you were walking out of the office together. The minute the door was opened was when Spencer’s head immediately lifted from his assignment, landing on you and Emily as you both left the office together.

You’d briefly stopped to grab your bag before just continuing to follow the unit chief to the elevator.

“Guess they are going out again.” Tara commented while shaking her head with a smile. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What do you mean? This seems like a friendly interaction.” That pang of jealousy shot into Spencer's chest once again. 

“You’re joking, right? Do you see the way they look at each other? Hardly seems like a simple friendly interaction.” Luke commented from his desk, sipping from his coffee mug.”You haven’t noticed?”

“I don’t think you can determine anything other than friendship with just the way they look at one another. That seems a bit silly.” He commented once more as he shrugged, tapping the back of his pen against the desk.

“Why do you care?” JJ finally asked, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. “‘Cause it looks like to me that all this worrying is purely one sided.” For the first time since the incident, you weren’t the one causing all the tension. It was JJ.

“I care because she’s my friend. It’s not that I care about her and Emily anyway, I just wanted to inquire how they could be anything but friends.”

“Because you care. Spencer, she hasn’t spoken to you in a month. It’s safe to say that she isn’t your friend anymore. She isn’t interested in mending a friendship. So why don’t you just.. Stop being yourself for one minute and consider the other option.”

“I can’t just stop being myself. It’s all I know how to be.”

“But you can. You can stop showing the slightest bit of worry whenever she does so much as blink. She’s fine.” 

The bickering had everyone watching, enjoying the entertainment between the two people who were wrong in this whole situation. It was a shame that you were missing it.

“Are you two done?” Dave was asking from the doorway of his office, his arms crossed over his chest. His stance was reminiscent of a dad getting ready to scold his two fighting children. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that this bickering is ridiculous. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it, that’s all there is to say.” 

Spencer was falling silent again as he brought a hand up to rub his face. “I’ve done a lot of things wrong but me caring for her is certainly not one of them. I don’t deserve the privilege to have her in my life but I am never just gonna pretend like I don’t care.” He responded, making the blonde scoff.

“Right. You really showed how much you cared about her when you willingly got with me even after you had an inkling she had feelings for you. I was in the wrong too but that’s why I’m leaving her alone. You care so much for someone who you pushed away and made her feel so little care for you. Now she doesn’t even look at you. But sure, you care.”

JJ taking accountability was one thing but she knew she would never be able to force Spencer to. He was too stubborn and he wouldn’t believe that you were gone from him forever. Your friendship couldn’t be a lost cause. He knew there was a way to make things better. 

He could do that. 

He would do that.

[holylulusworld]

Sewer rat (2)

Summary: He broke your heart. Now he must pay for it.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, former Mobster!Tony Stark x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, scared reader, Bucky is scary as shit, mentions of a breakup

Sewer Rat (1)

Sewer rat masterlist

Prey. That’s what you are to James Buchanan Barnes. Well, at least you’re not a sewer rat to him. As long as your information is useful to him, you’re safe.

For how long, you don’t know. He’s, just like Tony, a cold-hearted man unable to feel compassion or love. Sadly, you realized too late that Tony Stark could never love you.

“Let me get this straight. Tony threw you out with nothing but a towel. Still, you got this.” Bucky holds up the little black book. “How did you manage to steal his black book in only a towel?”

“My bathrobe,” your voice cracks, and you drop your gaze. “Did you not wonder why I fought tooth and nail to get my bathrobe, not a pretty dress or at least shoes?” You lift your head to look Bucky straight in the eyes. “The moment Tony Stark stepped into my life, I knew it was too good to be true. Whirlwind romances and men fulfilling your every wish always come with a catch.”

“You hid the black book in the bathrobe, didn’t you?” Steve smirks. He’s impressed you thought about hiding something so valuable for hard times.

“In the first months, I was on cloud number nine, but the façade crumbled. I slowly realized that Tony is not the man he loves to pretend he is. I didn’t think he’d treat me like he did last night.”

“How did you get your hands on his black book?” Bucky is still not convinced you are telling the truth.

“He’s sleepy after—” You bite your tongue and look away. “You know, sex. I couldn’t sleep and got up to get some water. I saw his little black book and phone lying abandoned on the kitchen counter. He was so eager to fuck me in the kitchen, he forgot about it.”

Bucky clears his throat. He shudders; imagining Tony and you going at it is the last thing he wants to think about. “Go ahead, tell us everything.”

“I knew Tony had lots of these black books. He uses them for notes. I sneaked into his office and stole a new one,” you lick your lips as Bucky opens the black book to check on the first names. “That night, I copied the book, writing every contact and code word down. When I came back to the bedroom, Tony was awake. I didn’t get the chance to hide the book somewhere else but in the pocket of my bathrobe.”

“Smart girl,” Steve praises. “This probably saved your life. We are not the kind of people protecting others for free.”

“I know,” you wrinkle your nose. “If you’re not useful, you can rot in hell.” You chuckle humorlessly. “I’m not delusional nor blinded by my undying love for Tony. He showed his true colors, and all I got left is the little book in your hands and all the things I memorized to help you bring his business down.”

“I will check on the information. If you tried to trick me, the things Tony said and did to you will be a pleasant memory.” Bucky’s features darken for a moment. “Steve, ensure she gets food and show her the way to the guestroom.”

“Please come with me.” Steve holds his hand for you. You look at his large hand but refuse to take it. So far, they haven’t proven to be better than Tony. “Alright.” Steve shows his palms. “You don’t trust me. That’s fair. We don’t trust you either.”

Slowly getting up, take a deep breath. Bucky is still reading the names in the little black book. You only hope he won’t betray you too after you hand the only leverage you hold over Tony.

“The information is gold,” Jake grins while explaining every little detail he found out about the people on Tony Stark’s payroll. “He pays cops, politicians, civil servants, and prostitutes,” he laughs. “Man, even taxi driver. That man seems to be obsessed with staying informed.”

“We will start with the less powerful people. The taxi driver he pays,” Bucky points at a name in the black book. “We will talk to him first. Make sure he knows if he fucks with me, he’ll die.”

“Got it, boss,” Rumlow hums. “Do you want him in one piece, or can I rough him up a little?” He smirks at Bucky.

“We don’t want him to shit his pants yet. Bucky wants to talk to him, not scare the shit out of him. Maybe it’s enough to offer more money than Stark to him,” Steve huffs when Rumlow gets a knife out, grinning. “No violence before we tell you so.”

You’re starving. Until now, you didn’t know you were hungry. It’s been hours since Tony kicked you out of his house and life. It feels odd to give in to a primal need while your heart still lies in shambles, shattered on the ground.

“Good, isn’t it?” Bucky sits down on a chair at the kitchen counter next to you. He looks at the sandwich his cook made for you. “I hope they made something you’ll like for you.”

“I’m not picky,” you murmur before taking another bite. Bucky’s presence in the kitchen can mean two things. Your information is valuable to him, or he wants to kick you out too.

“You know,” he leans closer to steal a pickle from your plate. “I saw you at one of his parties a few months back. You helped a waitress pick up glasses after another guest bumped into her. I knew that you were different at that moment.”

“People are rude; the world too. This doesn’t mean I have to be rude too,” you sniff. “Maybe when it comes to Stark. He deserves to catch hell.”

“That guy,” Bucky steals another pickle from your plate. “Your friend. Do you think he was involved in this shitshow? I mean, he comes back to town to marry and wants to meet up with you out of a sudden.”

“If you already know all the answers, why ask questions?” You muse. “I guess he was paid to get me in trouble. I just don’t know who is behind this conspiracy and why anyone wanted Tony and me apart.”

“We will find out,” he says, eyeing the second half of your sandwich. “Your information was correct. So far. We will see if you are as valuable as you believe you are.”

“I’m not, but this,” you tip your forehead. “I memorized every shady deal and name. Whatever you want to know about his organization.”

“Jake, my smart little tech nerd, is working on finding out more about your friend and his involvement in all of this. If you are helping me, I’m helping you.”

“Quit pro quo, Mr. Barnes,” you reply, and hold out your hand.

“Quit pro quo, doll,” he says, and grabs your hand, making you squeak. "But,” he leans closer to whisper in your ear, “if you try to trick me or fuck me over, you’ll end up six feet under.”

Tags in reblog.

[wisemansthoughts]

Day 540 of telling people to Have More Babies, The Pending Doomsday of Retirement!

Day 540 of telling people to Have More Babies, The Pending Doomsday of Retirement!

Photo by shutter_speed on Pexels.com The Problem The Developed world and even some parts of the Developing world are facing the largest ever demographic change in history. The combination of increasing life expectancies due to improvements of hygiene and in our diets, coupled with the issue of low fertility rates (approximately the total number of children born to each woman) being way below…

[iatemitomt0day]

Note: I'm using the translator because I'm from Brazil but I love your arts and I wanted to make a request

Could you make a Y/N witch? or if you prefer to draw just cookies, a Beast version since in the last post it was an Ancient version pls

"All things are difficult before they are easy..."

May i introduce you to, The Witch Of Patience, Y/N!

She is one of the most beloved and a wondrous witches among the group of witches! Many says that she had been the one whom was most dedicated to the world of cookies, sharing them life and patience itself.

She has the closest relationship to The Witch Of Light! A loyal and great trustworthy companion! Y/N is a huge inspiration for the witches to continue going on forward with their duty.

Y/N puts a huge amount of effort into giving the world of cookies hope, giving them the patience and tolerance they needed. She attends every matter about the cookies, the rise and fall of the 5 great cookies as such.

She had only one singular wish, is to deliver patience and peace to every being... to see them thrive with hope. For the darkness to wander far away from the peaceful world.

She and the other witches all worked together, creating a wonderful world, shielding it from the unfortunate, the chaos and mischief, the darkness.

But... their efforts and hard works soon came into a watse, as just one singular prideful witch, had ruined everything they had worked so hard on.

It is said, that the witches all crumbled into mere powder, their souls slowly drifted away into the wind. Yet, The Witch Of Light used her very own power to put their souls into cookies, fuelled by her very own Life essences.

The witches all landed and scattered all around the cookie world as cookies, the world they have made, full of lively desserts and pastries. They all have the chance to witness their very own creations thrive and fall, civilization rise and flourished.

Yet, they have fallen into a long slumber, drifted into a deep sleep all across the world. Losing ther chance at seeing the cookie world. They waited to finally be awaken from their sleep for so long...

Will they ever be awaken?

In the abandoned halls within the castle walls, a seeker of truth has entered, wishing to seek out the true truth of the past of the castle.

It seems, her arrival to the castle walls has awaken the cookies from their forever slumber, as they finally opened their eyes, standing up once more.

In their very own world they created, born from The Witch Of Light's wishes.

The cookie of patience has finally, been awoken.

"I will protect this world, with all my might."

It is said that, if you ever feel an unusual amount of peace and patience in your dough... she might be nearby, watching over everything around.

She wanders all around Earthbread, exploring every bits and pieces of this world, seeking her companions, and wanting to witness the world of desserts thrive with her own eyes.

Every where she goes, she delivers patience to all the cookies and beings around her, filling them with a newfound hope and perseverance.

If you wish to seek her for yourself, you must accomplish it. Remember, patience is the key to finding her.

[holllandtrash]

haunted | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader (part 2 to fragile line)

Can't breathe whenever you're gone Can't turn back now, I'm haunted

you're racing. daniel isn't, but he's not gone either, is he? word count: 7.6k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: angst really, more incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps again, platonic love all around, not as big of a rollercoaster as part 1 but just wait till part 3 lol

“Do you know?”

“Do I know what?” You asked, wondering why that was the first thing your teammate said when you opened the door to your flat. 

Lando didn’t even bother with a ‘hey, how was your day, what’s up’, he was just straight to the point, only you had no idea what the point was. 

He was still on a high after coming in second place the other day, so you let the impoliteness slide. Usually Lando didn’t look like a mix between a sweaty mess and a confused child, but you assumed he was like this because whatever was on his mind was important.

“You haven’t- did you-” Lando stammered over his words. “When’s the last time you checked your phone?”

You felt around in your pockets and glanced over your shoulder with a bit of a shrug. If you were being honest, you hadn’t looked at your phone in a few hours. Your morning was spent training and running errands now that you had some time and were home for a little while before the next race. You were still carrying a lot of energy after your successful finish in Silverstone that sitting still and scrolling through your phone was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now.

“Can you just find your phone, please?” Lando asked, because he didn’t want to be the person to break the news. He came over to talk to you, to walk you through it, to be someone to vent to if you needed it, but the last thing he wanted was to be the one to say it. 

It took a minute, but you found it in your bedroom, the screen lighting up and vibrating with each notification. As you walked back towards Lando, you scrolled through them all, trying to see which was the most important. 

Eventually, you landed on one from the official F1 app.

Daniel Ricciardo Replaces Nyck de Vries

Daniel Ricciardo was returning to the grid.

Daniel was coming back. 

But did he ever really leave in the first place?

You hadn’t spoken to him since that day in Monaco, almost a year ago now. The day your relationship fell apart, crumbling to pieces around you. 

You thought maybe, maybe, he’d call you before the next race or at least try to find you somewhere in the paddock to have a civil conversation but that didn’t happen. 

Of course, neither of you had time for a conversation anyway.

Daniel released his video 24 hours before media day in Belgium, announcing he would be leaving the team. It broke your heart watching it in your hotel room, knowing he was only a few floors up and probably struggled to record it. You could picture him retaking it a few times, just to get the words right, his tone right. He didn’t want to paint McLaren as being at fault for this decision, even if that was the case. 

If you weren’t the driver who was set to replace him, you would have been there in that room giving him encouraging nods and telling him to just speak to the fans. You would have been there when his head fell back against the wall in defeat, eyes closed as the weight of his unknown future crashed down on him. You would have crawled onto his lap and held him, telling him that another team was going to be desperate for him. 

Instead you were in your own room, watching the video like the millions of other followers he had. The only difference was, none of those followers asked themselves if they were to blame. 

It was just you, wiping the corner of your eyes and asking yourself if this was your fault. 

Surely when your news dropped, people would start pointing fingers, people would talk. 

Daniel Ricciardo trained her, they would say. He helped her get to this point and now she’s taking his seat. 

They’d throw assumptions into the wind about how this was probably your plan all along. 

It wasn’t, of course. Your plan was to get a seat in Formula 1 and see Daniel as friendly competition when you stepped onto the grid. You wanted to keep the support system alive when you moved up, knowing you had someone watching your back when you climbed out of the car. You wanted to be able to go home with him at the end of the night on Sunday and watch the race back with him, playfully critiquing each other's moves and ideally celebrating your victories, together.

You never wanted to leave him without a seat. 

But part of you must have known he wasn’t driving next year, right? You never brought up the contract, he never talked about leaving, nor did he talk about potentially moving to another team, which seemed like something you’d talk to your partner about. 

Daniel said nothing. You said nothing. And in the back of your head you knew he wasn’t signed to another team, you just didn’t want to accept it. 

You didn’t want to admit that part of that was your fault. 

Zak Brown put you in the worst position possible. He was giving you the chance to make your dream a reality, but in doing so, you were losing the one person who shared that dream with you. 

It shouldn’t have been hard to put on a smile during that post-race interview in Spa. You finished second, your hot streak had continued despite the turmoil your heart was going through. So not only was the adrenaline pumping through your veins from the podium, but McLaren had decided that morning was the perfect time to announce you were replacing Daniel. 

They didn’t word it like that, though. They just stated that you were to race for McLaren for 2023. No mention of Daniel, even if that was all anyone had questions about. 

“Second place in Spa, how are you feeling?” The reporter asked as you struggled to get comfortable in the white leather chair, your trophy at your feet. 

You weren’t surprised he, Richard from the official FIA reporting team, jumped directly to you, bypassing any questions for Liam Lawson who finished third. No one had yet to get a comment on your official move to F1, not having any time this morning since the news was announced. 

“It's exciting, it’s good to be back as well,” you nodded, turning to Felipe on your right who nodded as well. “A break is always needed, but there’s really no better feeling than getting back behind the wheel.”

“You’ve never podiumed here before,” Richard pointed out, “There’s quite a difference in performance from last year to this year, we’ve all noticed.” 

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” You laughed, not caring at all if it sounded forced, and you knew it did because Liam raised his hand to mouth to hide his chuckle and tried to play it off like he was just scratching his jaw. 

“Well it’s just no wonder that McLaren has snatched you up for the 2023 season, with how much you’ve shown this year what you’re capable of. Care to comment on that?” 

There it was. The first official request to talk about McLaren. 

“I mean, we’ve all seen the news at this point,” another laugh but this time it was more out of discomfort. 

You looked at Felipe, he nodded again but it was short and encouraging, silently telling you it was okay to take the spotlight even though it was him who had won this race. 

You cleared your throat, thinking about what the PR team from McLaren told you. You’re focused on Prema. McLaren knows this. McLaren is supporting you while you finish your F2 season and by all means, shut down any topic regarding Daniel Ricciardo. 

“Really, I’m just focused on finishing the season off strong with Prema,” you told Richard, feeling your smile start to slip because how could you be excited over that or a trophy when you knew what he was thinking and what the whole world was thinking. 

You prayed he wouldn’t bring it up, but the media world was hell. 

“And Daniel’s departure-

Liam promptly lifted the mic to lips, cutting off Richard before he could finish that thought. “We’ll all miss her, I think that’s safe to say. But maybe it’ll be a bit easier for the rest of us to podium when she’s gone.”

Quiet laughter spread through the audience and you just turned to Liam and mouthed a quick ‘thank you’. He didn’t say anything back, just dropped his head to your shoulder for a second and smiled, playing up the whole we’ll miss her statement. It wasn’t an act, though. Most of the guys you raced with had stopped you at some point this morning sharing their congrats and giving you a hug, telling you that you deserved that spot in F1. 

Even Felipe said it and meant it, and he was on the fast track to win this year, also eyeing a spot in F1. You had a good support system in this series. 

He dropped his head to your other shoulder and your lips fell into a playful pout, raising your hands to the sides of both driver’s faces. It made a cute photo. The F1 social media team really played into the love you had from your competitors. 

You had a lot of support in the paddock, surprisingly, from other drivers. 

Mick found you before his own race started. He was your first teammate during your rookie season in F2, it only made sense he was the first current driver to congratulate you.  

“You deserve it,” Mick told you, arms tightly wrapped around your body as he gave you a comforting embrace that almost compared to the one you were craving from Daniel, but still something was missing. 

Mick’s contract was up at the end of 2022, and no one knew where he was going but he assured you that no matter what, he’d be on your side. 

You sort of interacted with Lando on Sunday after your feature race. When you passed him in the paddock, he held his hand out for a fist bump and gave you a wide smile. The cameras caught it, they caught everything apparently, and it was the first photo you saw on social media when you got to the airport late Sunday evening. 

First of many celebratory fist bumps, McLaren’s caption said. It was a nice photo, truly. 

Too bad the comments were anything but. 

Not McLaren hyping up the fact that Danny’s girlfriend is replacing himIsn’t she only fourth in the driver standings in F2 lol We don’t want her we want the honey badgerEven worse when you think about the fact that they are literally in a relationship and she’s taking his seatNo class from any of them

No one seemed to know that you and Daniel were done, but how would they know? Your relationship was private, your break up would be too. 

Your break up. 

And then it hit you. Right there in the airport. After the adrenaline of a podium had worn off. After the excitement of signing with a new team had passed. After you were finally left alone after being surrounded by your team and drivers and press all day, you broke down. 

It was embarrassing. The only saving grace was the fact that you were sat in the corner of the premium lounge, facing the windows, so at least no one could see you cry. You weren’t quiet though, you knew your faint sobs could be heard from anyone within a 3 metre radius.

And you knew how immature this was, crying in an airport. But when you felt things you felt them with every fibre in your being. You were overjoyed beyond words, shaking when you got first podium in F2, and then feeling that multiplied by fifty when you won in Monaco. 

You were madly in love with Daniel, despite only dating for a year. It wasn’t young love, puppy love, a whirlwind romance, or any of those sappy headlines. You were head over heels, ready to spend your life with the man who lifted you up above the rest of the world. Who not only put you on a pedestal, but made sure other people did too. He was always in your corner, even before you started dating. He loved you long before you even realised you could also love him. 

As an athlete, as a future world championship contender, as a friend, Daniel loved you. 

The day you knew you loved him, you knew you were screwed, you both talked about the risks. 

Fragile line, you called it, walking a tightrope, he joked. There was such a huge margin of error, so many things that could go wrong by falling in love with, not only a driver but the driver who mentored you. 

The media would turn against you. Sponsors would shake their heads. Your future could have been jeopardised. You’d be labelled as a poor role model for girls in motorsport. 

You walked a dangerous and delicate line with Daniel, but you didn’t think it would snap beneath your feet. You never thought you’d be the one to break it. 

So yes, you were full on sobbing in the airport as you waited to board your flight to Amsterdam. 

“Pretty sure podium winners aren’t usually this distraught.”

You heard the British accent and immediately sat up, wiping your eyes and sniffling to at least try and make it seem like you weren’t crying. You turned your head and watched as Lando sat down next to you on the dark blue chair, resting a leg over his knee. 

You didn’t say anything, you just stared at him, worrying that if you did try to talk, all that would come out would be more cries. 

Lando reached into the front pocket of his backpack and pulled out a travel size pack of tissues, tossing them to you without so much as a word. He waited a few minutes as you composed yourself, using some of the tissues and pocketing the rest for later. 

“You okay?” Lando asked, sounding concerned for your well being because he had a point, podium winners aren’t usually this distraught. 

“Am I okay?” You repeated back followed with a playful scoff. “Do I look okay?” 

“You look awful.”

“I feel awful.”

Lando nodded, clearly unsure what to do in this situation. His current teammate, his friend, was leaving at the end of this year and his new teammate, a girl he had barely had 5 conversations with, was having a breakdown in the airport. 

Lando, whether he liked it or not, knew he would be caught in the middle of whatever this mess was for the next few months or so. 

He knew you and Daniel were an item. Daniel told himself shortly after Silverstone, and only because Lando had asked, simply curious.

“You and Y/N,” he started off, hesitantly, seeing the two of you interact much more flirtatiously then you had before. “You two are..” he didn’t know how to word it. 

Daniel just winked, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

That pretty much confirmed it. And then when you started showing up in the back of the McLaren garage during race weekends, Lando sort of accepted it, quickly getting used to seeing you around. 

You were always friendly with each other, but your attention was always on Daniel, too. Lando saw the way you were quick to rush to his side after a difficult race. How you were the first one Daniel looked for when he stepped out of the car, eyes searching the sea of orange for you. Lando heard the way Daniel talked about you, the way he praised you, telling everyone who would listen that you deserved a spot in Formula 1. That man had a note saved on his phone of your stats, race wins, qualifying times, records broken, all of it. 

Daniel loved you. Everyone who knew him saw it, and Lando was no exception. 

So one could imagine the uncertainty he felt as he approached you in the airport. Surely you and Daniel weren’t together anymore, right? Or were you somehow going to work through this? Could you work through it? Taking his seat?

Lando, like everyone else, was dying to know. 

“Has he said anything?” You asked him before Lando had a chance to get a word out. That question alone confirmed that you and Daniel weren’t on speaking terms at least.

“About you?” Lando asked and when you nodded, he saw the devastation hit your eyes as he shook his head. “Honestly he wasn’t very talkative today, left right after the post race stuff.”

“How is he?” You then asked. “Has he- is there any word on him finding a seat next year?” You pulled your knees up to your chest, staring hopefully at the British driver. 

It pained Lando to shake his head again, “Not yet, but it’s still pretty early. I’m sure he’ll find a seat.”

You nodded, praying that Lando was right. When you dropped your chin to your knees, averting your eyes when you felt the tears well up again, Lando’s chest grew tight. He felt bad for you. This was a hard position for you to be in. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Lando assured you. “Danny’s one of the best there is, but the results just aren’t there. Zak didn’t see any point in continuing if it’ll just end up being more of the same.”

Lando tried to be encouraging, really, and you were thankful for that, but he got the hint after a while that you just didn’t want to talk about it. Before leaving you alone, he gave you his number and told you that if you needed anything, to just reach out. 

You were always friendly with Lando, but that was the start to your friendship.

It was Lando who shared your picture when you claimed first place in Zandvoort, celebrating your success with a cheeky caption stating how he better see you bring the hot streak to McLaren next year. He was the one who interrupted your post-race interview in Monza, spotting you in the paddock being interviewed by Will Buxton. Lando, despite needing to follow his own pre-race schedule, came and draped an arm over your shoulder and playfully interrupted whatever Will was trying to say.

“Look at that,” Will laughed when you struggled to shake Lando’s arm off of you, “Future teammates. Lando, how excited are you to be working with this incredible talent next year?”

“Oh extremely excited,” Lando answered, leaning into the mic gripped between your fingers. “She won’t be able to keep up with me though.”

And that it was it. He ruffled his hand through your hair and took off again.

He checked in on you between races, whenever a new headline was trending, whenever someone from social media had the audacity to compare yours and Daniels stats and pin you against each other as if there wasn’t already enough you were struggling with.

Lando didn’t want you to come into the new season already feeling defeated. He was still friends with Daniel, he always would be, but he had a kind heart. He wanted you to know that he wasn’t on anyones ‘side’, but more importantly, he saw you as a driver, as his next teammate. He didn’t see you as Daniel’s ex who was now stealing his seat like half of the world did.

It was also his car that you drove during the practice sessions in Austin and Abu Dhabi. Lando happily stepped aside for you, giving you a supportive pat on the back and strategically blocking your line of sight towards Daniel as he got ready for his sessions as well.

You still hadn’t spoken. You hadn’t even looked at each other. You tried, honestly, to catch his eye but he refused to even glance your way. He was in and out of that car so quick, finding any excuse to leave the garage while you were there.

It hurt. You knew his mind was made up. He was upset, he was hurt, he wanted nothing to do with you and seeing you in his garage sent him spiralling.

All you saw was Daniel turning his back on you, but what you didn’t know was this situation was giving Daniel constant headaches. He couldn’t look at you, the girl he loved, and watch you climb into the McLaren knowing that you’d be doing that throughout the entire next season and he wouldn’t.

All he ever wanted was to see you in a Formula 1 car, but not like this. 

You stood in Lando’s side of the garage during the last race. You wore your McLaren jacket, you had the orange headphones on as stared up at the screen. Your back was towards Daniel’s car, so you missed the way he did actually look at you. It pained him to see how well you blended in with the team, his team. He almost told himself it looked like you belonged there, but he quickly put his helmet on and climbed into his car, gearing up for the race.

He finished 9th. Lando finished 6th. And with that, the season ended.

Daniel was done.

You watched him celebrate with those closest to him. You stood off to the side and thought about how if things were different, you’d be clinging to him, sweaty race suit and all, waiting to congratulate him in your own way back at the hotel. You would tell him you loved him, that he didn’t need McLaren. You’d joke and say that you two could form your own team, because that’s what you should have been till the end, a team. 

But that wasn’t the case anymore. McLaren was your team now.

It was only a matter of days until Daniel spoke to the media about his departure. 

“I can’t speak ill of her,” Daniel said, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. He knew that coming on this podcast that he’d be asked about you and your contract. He was advised against it but the second his working relationship ended with McLaren, he agreed to talk, to share his side.

“But she’s the one who took your seat,” Jaycee so politely pointed out. “As happy as I am to see a female in Formula 1, it’s bittersweet knowing a driver such as yourself is left without a spot.”

Daniel sighed into the mic in front of him, “McLaren handed her her dream on a papaya platter and she grabbed it. I think a lot of drivers would do the same in that scenario.”

“But it stings a little more, doesn’t it?” Greyson, her co-host asked. “Because you two were-

“Friends, yeah,” Daniel interrupted. “Yeah we were close.”

“You mentored her,” Greyson pushed for more of an admittance as to what their relationship was. “You were seen with her and the Prema team during a handful of weekends. She even said you were her mentor.”

Daniel naturally hesitated, “I saw her potential early on and I wanted to help her grow. I really did want to see her in Formula 1, despite what anyone says about the situation she’s an incredible driver.”

“Everyone who follows Formula 1 knows you have a strong connection,” Jaycee said, subtly trying to pry for more as well. “After her Silverstone crash in 2021 you were in her garage. And then you were seen in Monaco together a few weeks later. You two weren’t just friends in the paddock, you worked closely together outside of race weekends too-

“Did your girlfriend take your seat or not?” Greyson blurted out, earning a glare from Jaycee on his left, but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He wanted to know, the whole world wanted to know what was going on between you and Daniel now that you were signed for McLaren. 

And you had to give props to Daniel, he played it off about as smoothly as he could. 

“McLaren sees more potential in her than me,” he said, still smiling because that’s who he was. A people pleaser, always grinning, always a breath of fresh air. “If they can give her what they promised me, then that’s good for all of them. Do I like how the situation went down? No, but that’s the reality of Formula 1. You’re not safe unless you’re winning and I wasn’t winning.”

“And your relationship-

“She doesn’t need a mentor anymore, does she?” Daniel asked, disregarding any ideas of the two of you dating. “She made it to Formula 1. That was what she wanted. I wish her well.” 

That was the closest thing to confirmation of your break up that anyone would get. 

And the interview ended shortly after that, doing wonders on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. You listened to it also, just waiting for Daniel to say something horrible but of course he didn’t. That wasn’t him. He was the good guy. He was the hero. He got you to Formula 1 and was holding his head up high, wishing you well and thanking McLaren for the last 2 years. 

You wished it ended there, the conversations surrounding you. It should have ended there. 

But fast forward to the awards dinner at the end of the year, just shortly after the last race of the season. 

You sat with your mum at a round table with Felipe and his partner and few other people involved in Formula 2. 

You had finished second in the standings, not first like you had dreamt of, but Felipe told you that first place in the championship would come in F1, don’t worry. 

And you weren’t sure who had made the seating chart, but from where you sat, you could easily see Daniel at his table, only a few metres away from your own. He sat with some of his friends and some people from his personal team. He was also purposely avoiding looking in your direction, knowing that if he did, he’d be making eye contact for the first time in months. 

He’d see your stunning features and bright eyes standing out among the rest. He’d see the low cut, thinly strapped black dress, showing off the collarbones he used to mark with his lips, the trail between your breast and down to your navel that he used to make with his tongue. If he looked at you, he’d think of all the ways the night would have ended if things were different. 

If he looked at you, he’d be reminded that the girl he loved was the one who broke him. He’d be reminded that as hurt as he was by your actions, by taking his seat, he couldn’t forget the memories you made, the moments he shared, the way he used to admire you. 

He didn’t love you anymore, though. He couldn’t. He forced those feelings out, replacing them with regret for ever deciding to help you because if he hadn't helped you, it wouldn’t have been you that took his seat. 

So Daniel looked at the stage, his friends, his food. He didn’t look at you. 

He didn’t even look at you when you walked up to collect your trophy, choosing that moment to be the perfect time to walk up to the open bar. He ordered a few more drinks and a shot on a whim, downing it back before walking to the table, 2 freshly poured glasses of rum and cokes in hand. 

Daniel got drunk that night. He didn’t mean to, but it helped him deal with all he had going on. It was a good way to end the 2022 season, to put it behind him. You, McLaren, all of it. 

Someone should have stopped him when he noticed you about to leave at the end of the night, a white coat draped over your shoulders. That should be my blazer, Daniel thought, thinking of the countless nights he had given you his jacket for warmth. 

You were in the middle of a conversation with someone from Prema when you felt a tug in your arm. When you looked up and saw it was Daniel who was pulling you off to the side, your heart sank. There were no butterflies anymore, just a lot of anxiety and guilt eating you from the inside. 

You could tell he hadn’t thought through what he was going to say. For a split second, his gaze was soft, almost like he thought about congratulating you for a successful season. For a moment, proud Daniel was back and for a moment, you got your hopes up. Maybe this line you broke could be fixed.

It was a bad sign when his eyes grew cold, features hardening along with them. This man, who was all you wanted, stared at you like you were a stranger, and maybe you were now. 

He opened his mouth and the room around you fell dark and quiet. It was your mind playing horrible tricks on you, putting a spotlight in this moment in time so it would haunt your memories after tonight. You knew the earth was still spinning, that people around you were still moving, but you couldn’t trust anything, frozen in this space with Daniel. 

“I hope you’re happy,” Daniel spoke softly, but his words cut through you like a knife. If someone told you that your heart was bleeding, you’d believe it. That’s certainly what it felt like.

He didn’t want you to be happy. He didn’t want you taking his seat. He didn’t want to see you live out his dream. He put on a beautiful charade for the press, but deep down you knew, he saw you as nothing more but a mistake. He no longer wanted you to succeed, despite telling the world he wished you would. 

"Daniel-"

You automatically reached for him and he flinched backwards. It hurt, seeing him react how he was. He didn’t want you touching him, he just wanted to get one more word in, wanted you to know that he was still bitter and would be for a while. 

You stood there and watched him walk away, haunted by the pain and broken trust in his eyes, a look that would become burned into your mind during your restless sleeps. 

And then there was the week where you just didn’t sleep. The week after Daniel’s contract with Red Bull was announced. 

He wasn’t driving with them, but he wasn’t leaving Formula 1 either. 

He’d still be around the paddock during selective race weekends. He’d be there, putting on a show for the fans because everyone loved him. Everyone wanted him on the grid, and if he couldn’t race, at least he was still there in the garage as a reserve driver. 

The same excitement couldn’t be said for you. 

Despite forming a close bond with Lando really early into the pre-season, it helped that he was only two years younger than you, you were not met with open arms and loud cheers. 

You had some supporters, a lot actually, but nothing compared to Daniel’s fans. You were pulled alert and critiqued for every move you made. You could understand the questions that circulated when you didn’t even finish the first race in Bahrain, retiring early because of an engine problem. Did Zak really make the right move by replacing Daniel with you? What could you bring to the team if this was how you started the season?

But it was the talk about what you did off the track that really got to you. You didn’t care if people weren’t a fan of your driving, you knew F1 fans had their favourites and you knew you weren’t everyone’s. 

However social media had a way of spinning everything. You lost count of the ridiculous rumours. Apparently, you were now replacing Daniel with Lando because that playful interview you did talking about red flags in relationships really gave away the fact you were sleeping together. 

Oh you were also sleeping with Mick Schumacher, because you had a thing for reserve drivers, it seemed. And the way he found you after your second race without points again in Saudi Arabia made it so obvious that you were with him. 

And you couldn’t forget about how big of a bitch you were, choosing to not acknowledge Daniel in Australia when you walked past him in the paddock. It was his home race, he was the reason you were even racing, and you couldn’t even stop and give him a smile? 

These rumours were truly getting annoying.

Of course, you couldn’t come out and tell people that Lando was seeing someone because it was so new and private and not your story to tell. No one cared that Mick was your teammate at Prema in 2020 and you guys had always been friends. No one would believe you if you said that you didn’t even see Daniel in the paddock, being too engrossed in your conversation to notice that the Australian was walking past. 

You grew to hate seeing him during race weekends. 

It was a constant reminder of what could have been. 

What if you had waited a year and signed with McLaren then? Would Daniel still hold this hatred towards you if his contract played out like it was supposed to? 

What if you signed with a different team like Williams instead, and someone else replaced Daniel? If Oscar Piastri had taken his spot, would Daniel be this resentful still to see you driving? Or would he happily walk by your side in the paddock, him in Red Bull polo, you in your Williams racing suit? Would he have accompanied you during the race weekends when he didn’t have Red Bull duties?

Was there ever a scenario where he stood in your garage and watched you race? Cheering you on, despite what place you finished? Despite where he was in his own career?

Or was that just a far fetched dream? 

Because let’s face it, if Daniel was still racing this year, it would be hard to support you and focus on his own season. How could he be happy if he DNF’d and you finished in the points? How could you be happy if the media would say that you were only using Daniel to get ahead? 

If you had signed for Williams and Daniel was still replaced, it would be difficult for him to watch you race, to watch you do what he loved. How could he be in your corner when he no longer had a corner of his own to stand in? 

Maybe you were doomed from the start. Fragile line, you said. How true that was. It was always going to snap.

You heard through the grapevine that Daniel had said you taking his seat before his contract was even up was the worst thing you could have possibly done. 

Was that in regards to McLaren? To your relationship? From a sportsmanship standpoint? You had no idea. You just knew Daniel wasn’t impressed that you were racing and he wasn’t.  

You hated seeing him during the few races he attended. You were petrified to run into him in the paddock, in the pit lane, in the hotel for christ sakes, you didn’t want to see him. At one point, you were desperate for even just a smidge of attention from him and now you felt sick whenever you heard he would be in attendance.

You went five races in a row without scoring any points. You could practically hear Daniel’s smug expression when you crossed the finish line each time. He was probably eating this up, knowing you were the one struggling now. 

The only difference was, you didn’t have him to turn to after a shitty run in the McLaren. 

Lando tried to be helpful, but he was struggling too. People called the car a tractor and honestly, so did you and Lando in private. You had a group chat with your personal trainers and the four of you called yourselves the farmers. The jokes made and lighthearted conversations shared were the only silver linings during this depressing start of a season.

Monaco was better, sort of. 

You finished 10th, so at least that was a point under your belt. 

But Daniel was everywhere. 

He loved Monaco, he lived in Monaco, of course it was no surprise he was there that weekend.

You found yourself jogging past his flat the Thursday before the race, and you didn’t do it on purpose but it was the same route you had taken all of those times you had spent days on end at Daniel’s. Sometime he joined you for those morning runs, sometime you’d return and he was making breakfast.

But you came to a stop on the opposite side of the street and stared up at it, recognising his balcony instantly. You saw the plant in the corner that you had given him a few months into your relationship and despite him claiming he wasn’t a plant guy, he managed to keep it alive.

Your heart felt heavy. All you wanted was to knock on his door and be welcomed in with wide arms and that stupid smile of his. You wanted to not feel anxious when you saw him in the paddock. You wanted to not be holding your breath every time you got out of the racecar, wondering what Daniel thought of your run. 

You were simultaneously on edge at all moments while also still dying to make him proud. You didn’t think that would ever go away.

Even during the weekends he wasn’t there, you were looking over your shoulder constantly. Even if you knew that he was on the other side of the world, he was still on your mind. He haunted your thoughts from the moment you walked into the garage to when you got out of the car at the end of the race weekend.

Lando called you out on it that Thursday in Silverstone.

“You’re in your head,” he told you, seeing how your main focus wasn’t racing, it was Daniel. You were unsure what he was referring to though and Lando just rolled his eyes, “Well actually, Daniel’s in your head. And he’s keeping you from being the driver I know you can be.”

That was all he said on the topic. 

And he was right.

You were so worried about Daniel. About what he would think of your races. About trying to avoid him during the weekends he was there. About still trying to make him proud but not too proud where he resented you more for taking his seat. About the hundreds of scenarios that could have happened if you had made a different choice.

Because of all of these thoughts, that seat at McLaren was still very much Daniel’s. You allowed it to be.

You needed to stop telling yourself you took his seat because that’s what it would always be then, his seat. Lando stood up, patting your knee after dropping those few words and you decided right then and there that it was your seat. 

You wouldn’t let Daniel haunt you anymore. 

And qualifying was where this new mentality really showed. 

You were buzzing with energy when your engineer told you that you had gotten P3 and were starting on the second row for tomorrows race. You climbed out of the car in parc ferme and ran directly to Lando. He hugged you, he was proud of you. 

“That’s the driver we all know,” Lando said when he pulled his helmet off. His hand was on your shoulder, both of you were wearing identical smiles of pure joy. “Where the hell has she been all this time?”

You didn’t even have an answer, too excited about what this meant for you, for the team. You post-quali interviews went by in a blur, your hands were shaking the entire time. You blacked out during it, still trying to process the fact that you had finished third in qualifying, but you did remember Lando reaching over at one point and dropping his hand to your knee. It was polite, it didn’t mean anything more than a playful stop shaking you’re making us all look bad, but god did the media run with it. 

You didn’t let anything on social media get to you, telling yourself that you had to stay focused for the race. In fact you even gave your phone to your trainer, Oliver, asking him to take it for the night and to just wake you up in the morning.

And Oliver was a good trainer, he had also become a good friend since you joined McLaren so you trusted him with your phone. 

Which meant he knew your password. 

So when he saw your phone light up that night with a text from Daniel, Oliver panicked. He knew the right thing to do would be to just leave it alone, you’d see it in the morning. You’d see the message. The short but seemingly sweet;

P3, nice job

But a text like that would send you spiralling and you didn't need that before one of the most important races of the season for you, Oliver knew this. He knew you were supposed to be getting over Daniel, he knew how much the Australian just being in the paddock messed with your mind. He knew you had to focus on racing.

There was so much uncertainty with the text. Was this him extending an olive branch? Was he genuine, or was this supposed to be taken with a bit of salt? Oliver could read it both ways. Either Daniel was truly happy for you, or this could be dripping with sarcasm. P3, sure, but remember who’s seat you’re in.

Oliver decided to delete the text. There was no trace of it when he handed the phone back to you the next day. 

Maybe that was for the best, no one knew. 

All you knew was you were starting third today.

All Daniel knew was you had ignored him, and now you were walking right past him down the paddock, side by side with Lando as you talked about today’s race. Daniel turned his head and saw the two of you, drawing his own conclusions. 

Whatever was going through his mind, one thing seemed certain. You didn’t need him anymore. You had the seat, the team, someone new supporting you, why would you still need Daniel?

You went about your day, the same pre-race rituals. Lando checked in more than normal, it was an exciting day for both of you, but he knew he was also a good distraction to keep your mind off of Daniel, he knew you would be struggling to keep from thinking about him. 

“It’s you and me,” Lando told you right before the race. “It’s our day, yeah? We’ve got this.”

Lando was in your corner. You were in his. 

Which meant you were there to celebrate after the race when he took home second place. You had claimed fourth, which was also something to be proud of, and you were, but you were also craving that podium. You could almost taste it, it was so close. 

“Next time,” Lando assured you, having full confidence that you’d be holding the trophy at the following race. He handed you a bottle of champagne, telling you to drink up and enjoy and for once, you did. 

You were happy. You finally felt like you could accomplish something amazing at McLaren, despite the horrible start. Lando had gotten a podium, yours was coming, you could feel it. 

You didn’t think about Daniel at all that night. It was the first night in a long time where you didn’t see his face when you closed your eyes. 

And you would have loved to keep celebrating after that night, to keep the high of Lando's podium and your 4th place finish last until the next race, but all good things must come to an end. 

You stood in front of Lando now, unsure how to take the news about Daniels’ return. Were you allowed to be happy for him? Of course you wanted to see him in a seat, this was the ideal situation, both of you driving this season. What would this mean for the two of you moving forward?

But he had done the exact same thing you had done by replacing a driver before their contract was up.

Daniel made you feel awful about that decision and now here he was, making the exact same one. He was no better than you. He was no hero, he wasn’t the good guy. He was a driver, desperate for a seat, as were you. As was every single person wanting to race in this series. 

You were on the same playing field now.

He was going to be at every single race for the rest of the season, as a competitor on the grid. Something you once dreamt of, both of you dreamt of, was finally coming true. 

But that’s all he would be. A competitor. Another driver. Another car to overtake. You always thought that when this moment came, you’d still be a team when you left the track at the end of the day and that just wasn’t the reality you found yourself in. 

“He’s back,” Lando said, hands shoved in his pockets trying to gauge your reaction. 

Daniel was returning to Formula 1, but you knew he was never actually gone in the first place.

He was in your thoughts, your dreams, your memories, he was everywhere all of the time. Even when you crossed the finish line in Silverstone, there was still a part of you that was wondering if Daniel was watching. As much as you tried to avoid him, your eyes still scanned every single crowd for him.

And now you didn’t need to look anymore. 

part 3 gone

----

taglist: @yunnie-f1 @torossosebs @whatthefuckerr @jspitwall @oconso @tsarinablogs @landowecanbewc @somanyfandomsbruh @christianpulisic10 @storminacloud @sunnytkm23 @formula1mount @azxulaa @icarus-nex @spideyspeaches if i forgot someone im so sorry

[writingquestionsanswered]

Describing Scene Locations

Anonymous asked: I've been writing for a decade, mostly short stories, and have recently started writing a fantasy set in the 17th century. My setting is a world pretty much like ours, but with made-up names for specific towns and whatnot. The characters are pirates, and a few are non-human. I'm finding it difficult to figure out where certain plot points take place when the story is mostly character-driven. There are parts where they need to be on land, but apart from 'vague port/island', I don't know what else to do with it. (Am I overthinking this?) I suppose my question is: How specific do secondary locations have to be for it to be immersive and realistic (for their world) without it being lackluster or overdone? I don't want it all be "it's a beach with a village," but adding a giant seaside kingdom seems overkill if it's only mentioned in passing once or twice. Thank you so much for taking the time to answer these - this whole blog is a gift, really.

[Ask edited for length]

First, thank you... that is very kind of you to say! ♥

So, I think it really helps to think of your story in terms of scenes, and to think of each scene almost like a scene in a play. Your scene's setting is like the stage in the play, and the amount of description is the amount of scenery and props on the stage.

If you've been to plays, you've probably noticed that the scenery can be very minimal or very elaborate, depending on the needs of the show:

With fiction, it works the same way. How little or how much you describe the scenery (setting) depends on the needs of the scene, but you do need to make sure to give the reader a sense of place. Looking at the first image, just with the little bit of scenery that's there, we know this scene is taking place in a home, perhaps a living room. If the two men were just sitting on chairs with no other scenery, we wouldn't have that sense of place.

However, that doesn't mean that any of your scenes need to be set in sprawling seaside kingdoms. There are all sorts of land-based settings for pirates:

-- bustling port town like Port Royal or Tortuga -- coastal village, town, or city -- isolated island or cove -- small fishing village -- seaside castles or estates -- pirate's stronghold on a hidden island/cove/cave/bay -- tropical jungle or rainforest -- remote island -- colonial outpost -- swamps and marshlands -- rural countryside -- ancient ruins

There are all sorts of reasons pirates might go ashore in these places:

-- to resupply (food, water, liquor, gunpowder, ammunition) -- to buy specific items (weapons, clothing, equipment for ship) -- to sell, trade, deliver, hide, or bury loot -- to hunt and gather resources -- to recruit crew -- to maintenance, repair, or refit the ship -- to meet with allies, informants, business partners, etc. -- to visit friends/acquaintances -- to avail themselves of various goods and services -- to drink in a bar, gamble and carouse with friends -- to enjoy some much needed rest and recreation -- to learn or exchange information -- to seek medical treatment/medicine/remedies -- to seek legal assistance or meet to discuss legal matters -- to "case" a potential target for a raid -- to visit family and love interests

Within these settings and potential errands, there are many specific settings you could use:

-- the docks of a bustling port -- the tavern of a coastal village -- a quiet moonlit cove where pirates are laying low -- the great hall of a seaside castle -- a masquerade ball at a country estate -- the crumbled ruins of an ancient civilization in an isolated jungle -- at a freshwater lagoon on a remote island during resource stop -- busy market at a colonial outpost -- fisherman's shanty in a quiet bayou -- an official's luxury town home in a big city -- the coastal farm belonging to a family member

So... having the different locations in mind, how much or how little do you describe them? Once again, all you have to do is create a sense of place for the reader. If your pirates are having a heated argument on the docks of a busy port town, you may at least want to give a vague description of the docks, whether it's night or day, what the weather's like, how crowded it is, and maybe a brief sampling of what the crowd is doing, notable sensory details (sounds, smells, visuals) etc. You can also weave those details into the narrative in a way that serves a dual purpose. For example, maybe in the argument, one pirate gestures to a toothless fish monger and uses them as an example in a point they're trying to make. Not only is this a necessary part of the dialogue, but it also fills in some of the scenery detail. Or, maybe instead, they're perusing spices in a bustling seaside market while they talk/argue quietly. Here are some posts from my description master list that will hopefully help further:

The Right Amount of Description (5 Tips!) The 3 Fundamental Truths of Description Description: Style vs Excess/Deficiency How to Make Your Description More Vivid Adding Description to Your WritingWeaving Details into the Story Guide: Showing vs Telling When “Telling” is Okay

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[cherryredstars]

First off, I love you.

Second off, I love you A LOT.

Okay so I’m losing my mind over a brain vomit where younger reader’s been harboring and hiding feelings for Miguel for the sake of being appropriate and it’s starting to make her frustrated like “fuck I’m gonna get actually fucking sick and vomit” because how much she’s crushing on him is CRAZY, so reader basically goes up to Miguel like “I can’t take this anymore.” Like reject me so I can move on type of thing. “ Do me a favor, and break my nose or something. Tell me to fucking go away” or something like that. My brain is burning.

Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader, John Price x civil!reader

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: For my baby, I LOVE YOUUUUUUU!!!

Edited (just for you boo)

| Miguel O'Hara

If you look at him, you will actually throw up.

Like projectile 'make yourself a laughing stock' throw up. It's just the way your body- your stomach- reacts when you see him. It gets twisted, fluttery with a fix of butterflies and disgust. It's down right disgusting, inappropriate at the least. He's almost a decade older than you, yet here you are pining after him as if you're some teenage girl. You feel physically sick when you think about it for too long: throat contracting and your stomach hurting. You aren't sure which of your delusions are the cause of such a horrendous crush, but you promise you'll strangle it when you find out. There is simply no way this could have ever worked out in your favor. It's simply impossible.

Miguel O'Hara would never go for someone like you. Young and naive, haven't even reached the appropriate age to have a mid-life crisis (but you're sure this is the closest fucking thing to it). You know this, hammer it into your thick skull every day before you have to face him. Yet, it all comes crumbling down when you lay eyes on him. It takes less than a second for you to skip after him, a stupid, lovesick look flickering across your face as you help him with whatever he needs. You simply can't stay away, even if you tried. You always fall back into his orbit, gravity pushing you towards him until you're practically glued to him.

You're sure he must find it annoying. Probably relates it to something like babysitting. It's well known Miguel doesn't like to be bothered when he's working. But there you are without fail, sitting around on his platform entertaining yourself by playing with LYLA when you aren't out saving universes. You don't miss the way his eyes flick to you every now and then with some emotion you can't quite place. But if you had to guess, it's probably something close to exasperation.

In all honesty, you're tired of it.

Tired of the false hope you delude yourself into believing after every minor interaction. Tired of trying to justify your affection for the older man. Tired of feeling a bit of resentment towards yourself. You're just... tired. He must sense it when you walk onto the platform, judging by the look he shoots you.

LYLA is muted mid-sentence as he angles his body slightly away from his monitors and towards you, watching as you plop yourself in your usual spot. He waits expectantly for your usual greeting, brows furrowing with confusion when you do nothing but play with the elastic quality of your suit. You haven't even looked at him since you got in.

"Everything alright?" His all so familiar voice asks, making your stomach ache and the urge to punch yourself stronger.

"Yeah," you respond simply, silence lapping over the two of you.

Miguel waits patiently, expecting something more. But, you don't continue. Miguel hesitates for a moment before turning back around. His eyes study the screens once more, his finger hovering over the button to unmute LYLA before you speak up again.

"Can you like... degrade me or something?"

Miguel almost chokes on his spit when he turns around, not expecting you to say...that. You're still playing with your suit and staring at the floor, face painted with frustration. You look up when he doesn't answer, brows furrowed when your eyes meet his shocked face. You quickly divert your attention to his muscular shoulder, not really having the courage to face him head-on.

"Not like the... sexy kind. More like the heart wrenching kind." You clarify, not that it's any better for Miguel.

He turns to full face you this time, arms crossed over his chest as he studies you. The request doesn't really make sense to him. Why would you want him to do that? Is it some universe-exclusive culture he isn't aware of?

"Why?" Miguel asks, trying to recall your past interactions to see if they have something to do with your strange request.

"I dunno, just thought it might make it easier?" You shrug, your eyes flicking to his again and then looking towards the ceiling.

"Make what easier, exactly?"

Miguel isn't a fan of cryptic answers, but he tries to be patient with you. He watches as your face twists, unsure how to word what you're feeling. You let out a heavy sigh eventually, actually meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for once.

"To get over you."

The words cause Miguel to freeze, his body going rigid. You groan, hiding your embarrassed face in your hands and scrubbing ferociously. This is absolutely embarrassing. You wished a random portal would just appear under you, throwing you into another universe and far away from this particular moment in time.

You're so caught up in your embarrassment that you don't realize Miguel is walking over to you until he's crouched down in front of you. He pries your hands gently from your face, giving you the softest smile you have ever seen on him. His thumbs caress your wrists absentmindedly, doing nothing to calm your raging heart. It practically explodes when he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes are wide and dazed as you look up at him, trying to commit the curve of his mouth to memory.

"Now, why would I want you to do that?"

_____________

| John Price

You aren't exactly sure when it started.

But the moment you realized you liked John, you've started hating yourself. It feels wrong. Almost disrespectful in a way. You aren't particularly sure why, it just does. John Price is a nice man, a good man. A man that could be easily mistaken as your father if someone didn't look close enough. The man you had happened to meet and befriended one day after he had been so kind and gentle with you.

Not the man you should be liking and forcing your feelings on.

You're someone John goes to for comfort, someone he seeks out after coming home from a battlefield. Someone that's supposed to help him distress. The idea of taking advantage of that gently placed trust, of expecting something from John just because he goes to you for help, makes you want to throw up until you're nothing but a useless husk. It's shameful, eating you up on the inside until you feel like your organs are on the verge of failure.

So your solution: Avoid Johnathan Price like the plague.

Does it hurt seeing his texts flash across your phone screen, asking you if you're free throughout the week so he can spend time with you before he deploys again? Hell fucking yes. It makes you feel guilty as hell. But you try to justify it to yourself, reassuring that it's only temporary. That everything will go back to normal once these stupid feelings leave you alone and John Price goes back to being the sweet man you grab lunch with every now and then when he's home so you can catch up.

But of course, your plans never go accordingly.

You startle on your couch when there is a firm knocking on your door, your hands rushing to pause the telly to see if it was just a hallucination. But sure enough, that same steady knocking sounds again. You get up hesitantly, brows furrowed as you try to remember if you ordered take away or something. You peak through the peep-hole, hand planted on the cool wood of the door as you squint.

The alertness in your body dies away when the familiar frame of John greets you, only to tense up again. John Price is at your door. The same John price you've been avoiding for a week. The same exact John fucking Price you're practically in love with. Your hand slides down to the knob, gulping nervously as you unlock it and yank your door open.

John is standing there with his hand raised again to knock, decked out in his military gear. His hands drop to grip the strap of his vest, his mutton chops quivering as his face lifts into his soft smile. You blink up at him, feeling the knob warm under your hand and your heart slamming against your chest. Why did he have to be so handsome, goddamnit?

You step out of the doorway, silently inviting him inside. He accepts it, stepping in and examining the area out of habit. You close the door quietly after him, turning to face him as he turns to face you.

"Missed ya, love? Been busy lately?" He asks in that comfortingly rough voice of his.

You don't trust yourself to not choke on your words, scared he'll see through your lies. Instead you nod, letting out a weak hum that he returns in a more confident note. Your eyes drop down to his military gear, a frown slipping onto your face. Is he being deployed again?

As if sensing the underlying question, John's hands let go of his military vest and he stuffs them into the pockets of his tactical pants.

"Heading out tonight, just wanted to say goodbye before I go since I didn't get to see you this time around."

You feel a stab to your chest at his words, resisting the urge to lift your hand and smooth the pain.

"John..." You start hesitantly, your mouth going dry when he hums again. "Can you tell me you hate me? Or... or that you think I'm stupid or something?"

John tilts his head in confusion, brows furrowing as his lips thin. There is a silent question in your eyes, an aura of demand wafting from him that orders you to explain further. Your hand comes to rub your arm, socked heel digging into your ankle as you debate how much to tell him.

"It's just... I like you and I don't..." You sigh in frustration, turning your head away to glare at the wall. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of how nice you've been to me or that I expect you to reciprocate how I feel."

It's quiet for a moment before John's chuckling fills the room. Your head turns away from the wall, meeting the sparkling amusement in John's eyes as he looks at you. There is a fondness there that makes your knees feel weak, your breath getting trapped in your lungs. John takes steady, reassured steps towards you, stopping when he's centimeters away. Your heart is practically lurching in your chest as you look up at him, watching as he slowly takes off his boonie hat.

Your eyes are wide as he places it over your head, chuckling when it slips down over your face before he readjusts it. He admires the sight for a second before he leans down, his facial hair tickling your cheeks as his lips press against the corner of your mouth. Your heart officially stops, your body dangerously close to swaying as he pulls away. You're in a daze as he pinches your cheek lightly, trying to call your attention away from the sparks lingering across your skin.

"We'll take about this when I get back, silly girl." He rumbles, his heavy paw landing on the top of his hat before he slips past you, closing and locking the door behind him as he disappears out of your flat. You're left in a daze as your shaky hands reach up and grasp the rim of his hat, the smell of him instantly invading your senses.

And when John reaches base and the lads pester him about where his usual hat is, he just shakes his head and replies that he left it at home for safe keeping.