Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader
Summary: Miserable and lonely after Chucho drags him to the farmers' market in town, Javier's day turns around when he runs into you asking for his help.
Warnings: Javi being a little depressed/down on himself, fluff, meet-cute, tiny bit of possessiveness, flirting
WC: 3.2K
For @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese's fall challenge: I picked Javi P + Farmers' Market 🍂
thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️
-
Javier stared out the passenger window of his father's old truck, sulking in his seat with his arms crossed. The changing leaves blurred by on the side of the road: deep reds, bright yellows and oranges, and the occasional stubborn green. Fall was certainly in the air, so much so that he had to pull on his red checkered flannel before Chucho practically dragged him out the door, muttering to him in Spanish about how he never leaves the ranch and getting a change of scenery would be good for him.
But Javier didn't like to leave the ranch. He didn't like the looks he got, the whispers he heard, and especially hated when some stranger insisted on stopping him with a firm handshake to express how proud they were of him.
He always had to bite his tongue. He politely nodded and smiled, but inevitably the ride home was always filled with distressing images of innocents caught in the crossfire, or the shady deals he felt he had to make with the wrong sort of people just to get a lead. Every time he shook one of their hands, more blood transferred to his own palm, and now he felt like he could never get them clean.
But he couldn't explain all that to his father, although Chucho likely had some inkling. He must have noticed the change in him, the shift, when he returned home. When he asked his son why he didn't want to buy a place of his own, why he didn't want privacy, Javier replied it's easier, don't have to wake up so early and drive over to help.
But Chucho wasn't stupid. He knew Javier had nightmares, he saw the clouds in his eyes the following mornings, could practically see the weight pulling his son down around his neck.
Javier didn't want to be alone, but he was too proud to say it.
"Quit pouting. Maybe you'll meet someone," he offered from the driver's seat. Javi scoffed and shook his head.
"What? You're a catch, m'hijo."
"It's not that, Pop," Javi said, although a big part of him was beginning to wonder if he really did have anything to offer a woman anymore. "I know everyone in this town. There's no one here for me."
"You don't know that," his father replied sternly. "The farmers' market brings in customers from all over. You could meet the love of your life today."
Javi tilted his head and gave Chucho an incredulous look.
"You gettin' sick of me, Pop?"
His father laughed heartily and shook his head as he turned into the parking lot.
"You know I love having you around, Javi. Just wish you'd have a reason to smile more."
Chucho abandoned him ten minutes into arriving, claiming he wanted to check in with a couple friends from neighboring farms, and encouraged his son to wander around to see if anything interesting caught his eye.
Javi was beginning to think his presence at the ranch wasn't as necessary as he thought. When he left Colombia, he had expected to arrive home to a mess, but the ranch was in surprisingly good shape. Not only that, but his father was busy. He had to give his dad credit - he had a lot of friends and a hell of a lot more night and weekend plans than himself. Chucho was even casually seeing a woman he met at the pharmacy two months ago.
Javier was wallowing in self-pity when he heard a man and woman's voices a few feet away discussing which cheeses they should buy that would best complement the crackers they had waiting for them at home.
He glanced up and saw the man and woman holding hands and gazing at one another like they were madly in love. Something sharp twisted in his chest at the display, so he tore his eyes away to focus on a package of bread he held in his hands, doing his best to ignore that familiar twitch in his fingers, the one that wanted to lead his hand to his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there.
"Hey, buddy, excuse us," the man's voice said, cutting through Javier's fog. His eyes snapped up and after a moment of confusion, realized he was in the happy couple's way. He dropped the bread and stepped back with a tight smile, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away.
It took all of thirty seconds to realize he was completely surrounded by happy couples picking out flowers, fresh produce, and unique trinkets sold by locals. He normally wouldn't care. His focus lately had been entirely fixed on his father and the ranch, surprising even himself that women were the furthest thing from his mind. But something Chucho said that morning must have gotten under his skin because on that particular day, he felt lonely. Out of place. Tainted.
He saw a few people doing a double take as they passed by, no doubt recognizing him and whispering to their partner about his exploits. And just like that, it all felt like too much. The sun was too bright, the scent of apples and cinnamon was too heavy, the laughter was too loud.
He didn't belong there.
Javier swiveled around on his heel, deciding in that moment he would rather wait by his father's truck for an hour than subject himself to... whatever was happening to him. He managed to take one step when a pair of arms wrapped around his bicep, surprising him when he looked down to find a pair of bright beautiful eyes staring back up at him.
"I need your help," you whispered, fingers digging urgently into his arm. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he scanned the crowd for danger. When you realized that you sounded a little alarmist, you quickly corrected yourself.
"Not like that. My ex is standing right behind you and I need you to play along because-"
You didn't get to finish your sentence and Javi hardly had a chance to process what you just said because the next thing he knew, your eyes flickered over his shoulder and you plastered a fake smile across your face.
"Charlie, hi!" you gushed, clinging to Javi's arm.
"Hey," a shorter man with light brown hair replied slowly, followed by your name. Javier repeated your name over and over in his head while Charlie's eyes bounced between the two of you, the gears churning. Even Javi could see the look of disappointment slide across his face.
"I've been thinking about you, wondering if you changed your number, but..." Charlie trailed off weakly. Then, for some reason, Javier stood up a little straighter when a flash of annoyance shot through him. Who the hell did this guy think he was? For all Charlie knew, you were in a loving and committed relationship with him. How dare he admit to trying to contact you with your boyfriend standing right there?
"Javier," he suddenly said, deepening his voice and stretching out an arm while simultaneously giving Charlie a stern look that said back off.
"Sorry!" you exclaimed from his side. "Charlie, this is my boyfriend, Javier."
Javi puffed up his chest and shook the man's hand a little harder than he usually would, secretly enjoying the look of discomfort on his face.
"Hey, man, nice to meet you," he replied, then Javi saw it. The flash in his eyes, the double take, the familiar look of someone trying to place who he was.
Javier cleared his throat and slid his arm out of your grasp, only to drape it protectively around your shoulders instead. Much to his delight, you leaned into his side and rested your hand on his chest, your touch making his heart unexpectedly flutter.
"Is there something wrong?" you asked Charlie innocently while batting your lashes. Slowly, your ex shook his head and forced an awkward smile.
"No, just... just happy to see you. Glad you're doing well."
"We're great," you replied. Javi's lips twitched and he had to look away. For just a moment, he wasn't the pathetic single guy at the Farmers' Market. For those few minutes, he was yours.
"Alright, well, I'll see you around I guess," Charlie said as he took a single step backwards. His eyes slid to Javi and he added, "Nice to meet you."
"Take care," he called after Charlie, his arm remaining around your shoulders until he slinked back into the crowd. You let out a huge sigh of relief and stepped out from under his hold, Javi's side instantly feeling cooler from the lack of contact.
"Thank you so much," you said, gazing up at him while you readjusted the bag over your shoulder. "You're, like, the only other person here without someone so I figured you were a safe bet, I hope you don't mind."
Javi smiled. So he wasn't the only one who noticed all the adoring couples. "Not at all. Is he bothering you? I know some guys down at the station-"
"No! Oh, god, no, nothing like that," you exclaimed with a giggle. "He's harmless, he just can't accept it's over, you know?"
"Yeah," he replied, but he didn't know. Not really. Not when he filled the past several years of his life with quick trysts.
You quirked an eyebrow at him, scanning his face for something, and then he felt that familiar churning in his stomach begin. You were about to connect the dots, about to recognize him for who he really was, so he dropped his gaze to the ground. But then your next question took him by surprise.
"How do you know people at the station? Are you a cop?"
He dragged his eyes up to meet yours again, searching for any sign that you were messing with him, but he found none. Just genuine curiosity.
"No," he replied, then awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "Well, I used to be, but not here. I work on a ranch now with my Pops."
"Oh, that sounds nice. How kind of you to help out your dad," you said with a sweet smile that held him in a trance for a moment.
"Uh, y-yeah," Javi stammered before tearing his gaze away. "Seems like he doesn't need me as much as I thought, though."
You laughed again, the sound like music to his ears.
"I'm sure that's not true. I bet you're very helpful. You helped me today, so, there's that," you reminded him, leaning forward a little bit and biting your lip playfully. Were you flirting with him?
"That was nothing," Javi replied sheepishly. His mind began to race, trying to desperately think of ideas to keep you around before it became clear his usefulness had come to an end. Then, to his delight, you came up with an answer all by yourself.
"Well, do you mind continuing to help me? Because I wanted to buy some pumpkins and a hay bale for my front porch -"
"Yes," he responded almost immediately. The eagerness in his voice made you both blush and you reached out for his hand.
"My hero."
He grinned and let his fingers lace together with yours, your warmth spreading to his palm as you walked hand in hand through the market. Javi couldn't stop smiling. He was still surrounded by couples, all the smiling and happy faces, but now he didn't feel so out of place. Now he blended right in with everyone else because he had you by his side, leading him around to different vendors to show him something you found interesting or strange. And in those ten short minutes, he realized he wanted to hear it all. He wanted to know why you wrinkled your nose when you passed by some eggplants, or smiled fondly when you saw some colorful homemade crafts.
You suggested getting some hot chocolate and finding a spot to sit down, something he felt foolish for not thinking of first, but at least he had the good sense to insist on buying while he waved you off to find an empty bench.
"So, Javier," you began, saying his name in a way that made warmth bloom in his chest. "You said you used to be a cop and now you work on a ranch. Is there a story there or were you just looking to shake things up?"
He squinted at you over his hot chocolate, like he was trying to figure out if it was possible you really didn't know who he was. But you just kept looking at him so sweetly, your fingers curled around the paper cup, your lips blowing air over the liquid to cool it down, giving absolutely no indication you were being dishonest.
"Do you really not know who I am?" he blurted out. Your eyebrows shot up and you cocked your head to the side.
"Should I?"
Javi smirked and leaned back on the bench in disbelief.
"No. Well, not necessarily. Guess I'm just used to it."
"Used to... people recognizing you?" you asked. He nodded and figured now he was in too deep, so he told you. He told you about Escobar and the Cali Cartel while leaving out a few of the sensitive details, details that still haunted him at night. He didn't tell you why he wasn't a hero, he didn't tell you about Los Pepes. He didn't tell you how all the pain and lives lost made hardly any difference.
He didn't tell you he felt like a complete failure every time he saw those damn boats cruise by the ranch.
"Oh," you finally murmured when he stopped talking. He chewed anxiously on his lower lip, waiting for your reaction. But after you took a moment to absorb what he said, you brightened up and shrugged.
"I'm so glad you're working on a ranch, now. It sounds much safer."
He slowly nodded in agreement.
"Except when the cows get hungry, they get a little pushy."
You giggled and a wide smile stretched across his face.
"Jav! There you are," Chucho's voice called from a few feet away, putting a quick end to both your laughter. His heart sank when he realized his time with you was about to end.
"Pops," Javi said in greeting. You both stood from the bench to face him, ignoring the mischievous look on his father's face when he introduced you. Javi pulled nervously at his hair when he ran his fingers through the thick locks, scrambling to figure out what to say after Chucho announced he was ready to leave.
"Wait, I promised I'd help carry the pumpkins and hay-" he began, grateful that he thought of something to prolong your time together. Your eyes dropped shyly to the ground and you lowered your voice.
"I didn't actually come here to buy that stuff, I was just looking for a reason to keep talking to you."
His father coughed into his fist and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll meet you at the truck, m'hijo."
Javi nodded and he may have said something but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. His heart was thudding too loudly in his chest at your confession. You liked him. You wanted to keep him around.
"Well, uh, it was great meeting you," he said, thumb and forefinger swiping over his mustache. You smiled up at him, murmuring your agreement and thanking him again for saving you from Charlie.
Do it. Do it, you coward.
But he couldn't. His nerves got the best of him and he took a couple steps backwards.
"Maybe I'll see you around," he said, cringing at how stupid he sounded. You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face when you gave him a little wave, then turned back to the bench to collect your bag and hot chocolate.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
He shook his head at himself as he began to slowly walk in the direction of the parking lot. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, his anger and disgust with himself growing with each heavy step. He thought he knew everyone in town, thought everyone knew him. Or, at least, of him and his reputation. If it wasn't his work in Colombia, then the rest of the town would have remembered how he left Lorraine. He thought he had to hide away on the ranch to avoid the attention and scrutiny, and he was content enough to do that. But now? The thought of going back home to his quiet little life, knowing he would spend countless days wondering about you made him suddenly stop dead in his tracks and spin around.
He spotted you walking in the opposite direction, your off-white tote back draped over your shoulder, about to disappear into the crowd. Panic clawed at his throat and he broke out into a jog, calling your name as he made his way closer and ignoring the looks he got from strangers as he went.
When you heard him, you immediately swiveled around and broke out into a smile, looking just as relieved as he felt.
"Hey," he said, slightly short of breath when he slowed his pace to a stop in front of you.
"Hi," you replied, gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes he would dream about later instead of the nightmares that usually plagued him.
"I meant to - can I get your number? I'd like to take you out sometime, if you-"
"Yes!" you cried out excitedly, making both of you laugh. He handed you his phone, then wiped his sweaty palms over the backs of his jeans and watched while you entered your number. You handed the device back to him with a dazzling smile and he felt his nerves start to settle.
"I'll call you," he promised, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
"You better, Javier," you teased with a poke to his shoulder.
It might have been the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him or the sweet way you said his name, but before he had a chance to overthink it, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against yours. He felt you melt into him once the shock wore off, and his lips curved into a smile before pulling away.
"You taste like chocolate," he said softly, mouth still hovering over yours, and you giggled when you swiped the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.
"So do you."
He grinned and forced his feet to move, walking backwards a few steps so he could continue to smile at you like a fool until he finally had to turn around before he ran into someone, but not before shooting you a quick wink just to hear you laugh one more time.
As he walked through the farmers' market, already dreading all the questions Chucho would be firing his way the entire ride home, he looked around at the happy couples in a completely different light. His stomach no longer churned and his chest no longer ached when he saw them kiss or laugh, because with any luck, he might just find himself in their shoes soon enough.
Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️
Summary: Din Djarin is an honorable man. He will not take what is not his.
Pairings: Din Djarin x Female reader
Warnings: M, cursing, canonical type violence, implied smut. Eventual smut. Will change rating accordingly.
Notes: A grouping of one shots centered around Taylor Swift’s Folklore and Evermore albums.
cancelled my plans just in case you called
been saying yes instead of no
that’s the thing about illicit affairs
she would have made such a lovely bride
faith forgotten land
Title: Self Check-Out
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x reader/you (no y/n) (f!reader)
Word Count: 1260
Rating: T
Warnings: Language.
A/N: For @brandyllyn for my Back To Action Prompt List the prompt was “Marcus Moreno: asking a stranger to hide you”
Marcus Moreno Masterlist – Author Masterlist – Taglist– Tip Jar
You knew she was following you.
Dammit.
Shit.
Fuck.
All the curses.
Turn right at the next aisle and — shit shit shit they were stocking, the whole fucking thing was just covered and you couldn’t get the cart out and you couldn’t….
You backed up fast, so fast the little boy in your cart said Wee and nearly dropped your phone onto the floor.
Your eyes were darting around and you nearly bowled into some very nice guy minding his own business and debating on a breakfast cereal.
“Shit! Sorry!”
He smiled and oh well hello.
“No worries.”
Now this wasn’t fair.
You were trying to escape and this man was hypnotizing, utterly unfair. Completely not ok.
Your mouth opened and closed like a dying fish and you fumbled with, “I’m sorry, I’m….escaping.”
Keep reading
Hello everyone.
I think we’re all aware of how much of a hold Rough Day by has on the Din/Pedro fandom. It’s had countless pieces of fanart, recommendations, fan videos, and so on. It’s everywhere. You can’t go on any social media platform without seeing it. It’s basically its own fandom at this point; some fans are so loyal to the fic that they claim that it’s the “best” of Din fics and compare other people’s writing to it.
And now, people are comparing my art to it.
Keep reading
summary: The thought of Din plagues your mind—and it won’t be long until it’s forced onto your lips.
note: “Streets” by Doja Cat. That is all.
pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader
warnings: angst, fluff, a ~hint~ of spice, a classic cliché is used
rating: M
word count: 3.406k
previous ⟸ masterlist ⟹ next
“… lodging.”
Keep reading
Links to each of the individual segments of a series about Din as Death and You as a Cupid that sprouted from a one-shot. Thank you everyone for the overwhelming support so far as we ride this emotional, slow burning roller coaster together.
Part 1 - 1,100. Death requests your presence at a train station.
Part 2 - 1,000. Din describes his potential soulmate to you.
Part 3 - 1,500. Din and you discuss what it means to be Death and a Cupid.
Part 4 - 3,100. Din and you learn the universe is full of surprises.
Part 5 - 2,075. One of your bosses threatens to split you and Din apart.
Also on AO3.
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x reader, (ex)Steve Rogers x reader
Plot: Steve has a tough conversation with Bucky.
Catch up here
My work
Requests are open
Prompt list one
Prompt list two
Character/Actor list
Keep reading
I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.
-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a
~*Spiritual Experience*~
I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.
Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.
He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.
So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.
He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.
Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.
His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.
Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.
There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.
I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.
However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."
For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."
I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."
Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.
The Gods were not merciful today.
It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.
Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.
So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.
The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.
My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.
Which is when the hail begins.
"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"
I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.
So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.
---
(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)
—CHAPTER TWO: little things
pairing: Javier Peña x f! reader
previous part | next part | masterlist
a/n: a little look back in time, a little insight into what’s going on, a lot of pain and angst but maybe some hope ? these two a easily carving out a place in my heart, I hope y’all are as invested as I am bc there is def more to come
Falling in love with Javier had happened pretty fast.
It wasn’t the exact moment you saw him, but it may as well have been.
There was a gorgeous kind of levity to him as he hid his laughter behind the neck of the bottle of beer dangling so casually from his grip, a beautiful kind of stoicism to him as the mood around the table died off and the blonde man sat beside him pulled himself to his feet, tossed a few bills down and shuddered him with a sturdy hit to the shoulder. He surveyed the crowd out of what seemed to be genuine curiosity, scanning the field just like all the single men seemed to be, but there was a reverence in the delicious color of his deep eyes, something you didn’t know how to quantify as they landed on you. There was a depth to him that words could just never come close to describing.
Maybe it would have saved you a lot of hurt if you had turned away the second you caught sight of him across the bar, but even at his worst, even as you cradled yourself, desperate for warmth beneath the thick woven stitch of the dark tones of the afghan blanket thrown over your shoulders, you couldn’t really imagine doing it different.
No one made you grab your glass and meet him at the bar. It was all you.
Keep reading
I can't help but notice that the number of you has increased exponentially in recent times and that more and more content creators are pulling away from the fandom as a result of the influx of ridiculousness that has accompanied your arrival.
I have compelled to ask, will you finally be happy when you've worn all the content creators down with your bs vague ass 'call-out' posts that you can't back up with facts coz the posts are just about you projecting your shit onto others, or just shite talking in order to garner attention for yourself? Or will you be angry when there's no-one left to complain about?
Someday the fandom will just consist of you and your moots tearing eachother down coz you believe you deserve more recognition than the next person coz you believe you shouted the loudest in order to protect a 46 year old man who doesn't know you exist. Oh and don't worry, this WILL happen because its like Groundhog Day in here.
FYI, there's no way to get noticed by Pedro here. Anything you do is in your own name and not his. He has never been one to shy away from standing up for himself and fighting back on twitter so please stop complaining about content on here that does not meet YOUR standards. If you have an issue with someones blog/content/opinions/fic then block them, block the tag, just fucking jog on like any reasonable adult in the real world. If someone is bullying others then maybe have a word but apart from that stay in your lane and you'll have a happier life for it.
If you are a total arsehole and can't contain yourself (it would be helpful if you could look at yourself objectively in this matter) then maybe consider checking out my Pinterest which just has pictures and links. There you can live out your utopian fantasy without feeling attacked by the existence of real people who have opinions that differ to yours.
Please, do enjoy what's left in the fandom after you've bullied everyone out or just made them embarrassed enough by being associated with you that they've gone on hiatus!
This ones for you💋
UNDER CONSTRUCTION!!/ 14.8 billion years old. (jk I'm 25). she/her. welcome to my on fire garbage can blog! you're friendly neighborhood mom friend. I DON'T WRITE SMUT! I am absolutely horrid at that!
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