#looking into the better paying closer to where i live yet temporary position

[carcarrot]

dear god i might finally be breaking out of here

[peachy-panic]

Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

[silverynight]

Change my mind

As Newt sits in front of the counter, he wonders if he should just go find a hotel room where he can spend the night instead; he's tired, but definitely glad he's finally in Brazil.

The pub is quiet and yet the bartender seems to be busy at the moment. Newt looks around and is about to rise from his seat again, when a man sits right next to him.

"Can I get you something to drink?" His voice is deep, it seems a little bit familiar, although he hasn't tried to look at him in the eye yet. It's difficult for him, especially after meeting new people.

What makes him curious about that man is that he decides to speak to him in english; he sounds like an american.

"Perhaps I'm coming on too strong, but you're really..."

Unfortunately, Newt doesn't pay too much attention to what he's saying at that moment because he finally turns around and realizes he's sitting right next to Percival Graves.

His hair is a little bit longer and he's using black jeans and a black shirt, which makes him look more relaxed and it's a little bit weird at first (or perhaps it's because Newt didn't actually meet him but Grindelwald instead).

Newt smiles at him, thinking that Graves has probably read about him and recognized him or maybe he's in a mission for MACUSA. However, Tina hasn't mentioned anything about him in her letters.

"I'd like a firewhiskey, please," he mumbles shyly and watches as Graves's grin turns into a hopeful smile. He speaks with the bartender in an excellent portuguese.

"What are you doing in Brazil?" Graves asks, leaning closer to him. "And most importantly, how long are you gonna stay?"

Newt tells him all about the fire slugs he wants to study and Graves listens to him like everything he says is absolutely fascinating.

"Aren't those illegal?" Graves asks, prompting the magizoologist to worry for a moment, but then he notices the amused grin and the kind glimmer in his eyes.

"I'm not keeping them, well... unless they're hurt or in danger... But I just keep them until they're ready to go back into the wild, like I do with all my creatures."

When Graves puts a hand on his knee to move even closer to him, Newt finally notices the golden earring and suddenly finds him really attractive.

He blushes, but pushes those thoughts aside to tell him everything about his other babies.

"A nundu?" Graves looks like he's not sure if he wants to laugh or narrow his eyes at him. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"No creature is dangerous!" At Newt's outraged tone, Graves finally chuckles and tries to calm him down putting a hand on his cheek. He asks for another couple of drinks.

"I'm sorry... I'm not used to this... I don't know much about them; I used to think of magical creatures only in terms of the law and those rules are not usually too kind with them," Graves admits. "But I'm willing to learn more, perhaps you can stay with me so we can get to know each other as well..."

"You're very kind," Newt beams, as soon as he realizes Graves means well. He also enjoys all the advice he gives him about the habitats he has created for his babies.

"I'm sorry... I haven't even asked your name–"

"I'm Newt Scamander, I thought Tina had talked you about me, Mr. Graves."

Newt is sure he did something wrong as soon as he sees Graves freezing on the spot.

"Have we... met? I'm sorry, I–He must've messed with my mind too..."

"No, it's alright," Newt puts a hand on his shoulder immediately, realizing he's remembering the time Grindelwald imprisoned him. "We don't know each other. I thought Tina or Queenie had said something about me. I actually met–"

"Him," Graves's face twists with anger and pain; Newt takes his hand and intertwines their fingers together, watching with relief as the man slowly calms down. "No one knows I'm here. Don't tell them, please."

"Oh. Alright," Newt mumbles, suddenly puzzled. If Graves didn't know who he was, then why he approached him in the first place? Perhaps he mistook him for someone else? "Well, I need to get going–"

"Wait. You can still stay at my place," Graves rises from his seat as well, following Newt.

***

It's a small house, but cozy. Newt likes it. Graves looks nervous though, he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to Newt.

His face turns bright red.

"You can sleep in my bedroom. I mean, I thought we could... You know I was trying to–"

"Nonsense! I can take the couch," Newt insists; he doesn't want to be a bother.

Graves suddenly looks sad, just for a moment, before he clears his throat and looks away from him.

"It's fine. I'm not offended, I understand. I'm not–We can be friends. I have a spare room."

Newt really doesn't want to cause him any trouble, but the wizard insists on leaving him a room all to himself.

"Thank you, Mr. Graves."

"Please, call me Percival."

He stays a couple of weeks with Percival and he learns a lot about him; he enjoys helping Newt to make his case better and more secure for his creatures and although he is an excellent and talented wizard, he could be a little bit clumsy sometimes.

"Good morning, Newt. Would you like–" he stops as soon as he turns around, staring at him as his cheeks turn completely red. He starts pouring coffee all over the counter instead of his cup. "Your shoulder has f-freckles as well."

"Your coffee!" Newt says at the same time and Percival curses and blushes even more before he cleans the mess with wandless magic.

Newt fixes his oversized sweater to cover his shoulder and Percival spends the rest of the morning looking anywhere but at him.

"Your legs are long," he comments another day and curses himself before mumbling. "I meant to say: morning."

Newt looks at the long shirt that covers very little of his thighs and thinks that maybe Percival doesn't like to see Newt being such a mess in the morning. He changes his clothes immediately.

They talk about MACUSA and what happened sometimes, Newt knows Percival misses his life in New York, but he's still hurt and bitter because no one seemed to notice it wasn't him.

He escaped from Grindelwald and traveled for a while until he decided to live in Brazil; he thought no one would find him there.

"But you came," Percival smiles fondly at him. "And found me, even though that wasn't your intention."

Newt has the feeling he wants to say something else, but doesn't push him, instead they feed the mooncalves and sit for a while with them. Newt falls asleep quickly and wakes up in his bedroom.

Percival doesn't make any comment on it in the morning.

The magizoologist doesn't realize how much he enjoys Percival's company until it's time to say goodbye.

"I'll miss you, Percy."

"You can go back anytime," the wizard says, with a desperate tone in his voice.

"I can't... Not soon at least. I just accepted a job as a consultant in MACUSA," Newt mumbles, truly lamenting it.

"Oh... right. Well, goodbye."

"I'll write to you," Newt promises, although he notices that Percival doesn't look too happy about that.

***

Newt keeps his promise, however, he can't stop Queenie Goldstein from finding out; he's not very good at occlumency and his friend has gotten used to his accent.

"Please, don't tell anyone. He doesn't want it," he whispers to her after following her to the kitchen.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I won't. Although I think he'll be coming here pretty soon," she assures him, winking at him.

Newt is not sure about that, he's sent a couple of letters now and even though Percival seemed really enthusiastic about writing back it's been a couple of weeks since Newt received the last letter.

Part of him is worried and the other part of him is hurt. Perhaps he just wants to be left alone after all.

Tina is having a horrible time with the new Director, Collins, Picquery told him his position was only temporary but he's acting like he's going to stay forever and is MACUSA's king now.

Newt thinks he doesn't like him (he's constantly following him everywhere whenever he sets foot in MACUSA) but Queenie thinks it's quite the opposite.

"Although I wouldn't go near him if I were you," she tells him. "I think it's an obsession."

It's difficult to avoid someone when he's in charge of the department one's working for.

But Newt tries anyway.

"Oh, you're here doll, I've been looking for you the whole day," Collins grins, taking Newt by the arm. "Turns out there's something wrong with one of the permits Madam President gave you. You have to come back to my office."

For some reason, Queenie looks angry (it's weird to see her like that) and quickly storms into her sister's office.

"Don't worry, doll, I'll make you a new one," he grins and Newt's about to thank him when he adds: "If you have a date with me."

"But... I don't think it's a good ide–"

"It's that or you'll have to give me your Nundu."

Instinctively, Newt pulls the case closer to him. He rescued Nancy a couple of months ago, which means the only human she trusts at the moment is him (and Percival, actually). If she sees someone else she could have a panic attack and hurt someone and if she does not even Picquery will be willing to forgive her.

"Well... Then I'll acce–"

There's a noise outside the office; it's like people are running... For a frightening moment, Newt thinks one of his babies escaped, but he realizes his case is still firmly closed (besides, Percival taught him a thing or two about magic locks).

"What's that?" Collins growls, irritated before storming out. Newt follows him with caution and then sees Weis running down the hallway with a huge grin upon her face.

There are a couple of people gathering around someone in the cafeteria, they all are talking excitedly at the same time, someone is sobbing.

"Let him go, he wants to see Newt," Queenie chuckles happily before the people around move out of the way.

That's when Newt sees Percival Graves again, smiling at him nervously.

"I missed you so much," he says, out of breath, before rushing towards the magizoologist.

He takes his face in his hands and presses their foreheads together; Newt didn't know how much his heart had ached for him until now.

"You didn't write back, I thought you didn't want to be my friend anymore."

"I apologise for that. I was nervous because I was getting ready to come back here, Newt. I..."

"Mr. Graves, in case anyone hasn't informed you, I'm the new Director of Magical Security and he's my consultant magizoologist, so I'll ask you this once–"

Without even looking back, Percival makes Collins fall to the ground using wandless magic, no one around offers to help the new Director.

Then Madam President gets out of her office and requests Percival's presence.

Collins starts yelling at everyone to help him when Percival comes out again with a smirk on his face; he moves his hand to change his clothes for a suit, but he keeps the earring and his long hair.

Newt finds himself really attracted to him in that moment, but tries to push those thoughts aside.

"I'm back. I'll be your Director again," he informs everyone around as Collins finally gets up and everyone in the hallway cheers.

Collins rushes into Picquery's office with a furious expression on his face and gets fired a few minutes later.

***

Percival asks Newt to stay in his house after the magizoologist helps him with the magic locks and the decoration.

It'll take a while for the Director to feel like he's at home again, but he's quickly getting there.

"I need to tell you something first, Newt," he says, taking his hand as they both sit on the couch, exhausted.

"What is it, Percy? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine... I'm just–I need you to know I'm in love with you. I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did and I couldn't stop it. I was very attracted to you since we met and I know you didn't want to (you probably still don't) be with me like that, but you have to know..."

"Wait." Newt turns around to look directly into Percival's dark eyes. "I had no idea you were attracted to me when–"

"I invited you a drink, Newt."

"I thought it was because you recognized me."

Percival doesn't seem upset, though he rolls his eyes. He's smiling with hope.

"I asked you to sleep in my bedroom."

"I thought it was just you being nice and that you were going to sleep on the couch." Newt mumbles, blushing as he realizes how obvious it was that Percival wanted to have sex with him then.

The Director chuckles and kisses Newt's hand.

"And now? What if I asked you to sleep with me?"

"I'd say yes." Newt says, still in a nervous whisper.

Percival takes him by the chin and kisses him until they're both gasping for air.

"What if I asked you to give us a chance? To start a relationship?"

"I wouldn't say no to that because I think I'm in love with you, Percy."

"Come here, love," the Director grins as he pulls Newt closer for another kiss.

***

Patreon

[clairecrive]

“All the time in the world”- Bob Saginowski x reader

I’m honestly so happy with the response of the Bronson piece! I love you guys so much <3 so here’s a little Bob fluff that never hurts. Also, this is my first time writing him so if he sounds a little bit off that’s why. 

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog​, @br0ck-eddie​, @of-love-and-of-the-sea​, @evelynshelby​, @deaflikehawkeye​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @fandom--0verdose​, @sopxhiea​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @fuseburner​ (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

You did it. You finally had sex with him. You had only been going out for a while, a couple of weeks, maybe a month. However, you had known Bob for way longer. You were a regular at his bar, either with your groups of friends or by yourself. That would be the case in which you had met Bob, well you actually had talked to him. When you were tipsy, you tended to marvel about the stupidest things out loud. Bob thought you were amusing and decided to humour you. That had led to a really long talk and long walk home since you were drunk and he refused to let you go home alone. Then one night when you were there on your own, he told you that his shift had ended early and asked if you wanted to grab a bite with him.

From that moment you began unofficially dating. You would see each other every other day and not only at the bar where he worked. Then after the third date, before you could climb off his pick up, he kissed you sealing the deal. Seems like you were dating then. 

You would be lying if you said that you didn’t like him. Well, of course you did, otherwise, you wouldn’t be dating him. However, your feelings were shifting from “like” to something more. And that bothered you to no end. You didn’t get attached to boys. Especially those who you had been seeing for less than a month. Nothing good ever comes from that. You were a pro at hiding your feelings. Been doing it for so long that you felt now unable to suppress these feelings any longer. 

That was going to be a problem.

 It was way too soon to feel like you did and even sooner to let him know. But you couldn’t go on this way anymore. Seemed like the sex only brought it up and made it impossible for you to ignore. You were laying down next to him, Bob had dozed off and your mind had gone wild. Suddenly, it was all becoming too much for you and you felt like you needed to leave. Without giving it a second thought, you began to pick up your clothes and got dressed quickly. 

When you were about to leave his room, something made you stop and look at him. Sprawled over the sheets half-naked, his face restful and peaceful, he looked so innocent. Bob had always been good to you and this was how you were going to repay him? By acting like one of those assholes in those rom coms that you hated? You couldn’t leave like this and you knew it. You owed him at least to tell him something. So, before leaving, you looked for a pen and a piece of paper and left him a note. 

“I need to sort myself out and think things through. Last night was amazing though. Don’t take this personally because you have done nothing wrong.”

Those were the words that met Bob when he opened his eyes. Waking up to an empty and cold bed wasn’t what he was expecting and your words left him even more dumbfounded. Despite what you said, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something wrong. Furrowing his eyebrows, he quickly went through your time spent together. He was totally clueless though because he genuinely thought that everything was going great between you. Apparently, he had been blind because they were not. He wondered if he needed to give you some space but thought against it. The only way to solve this was by talking things through. Even if it meant breaking up. So he got dressed quickly and headed over your house. After climbing the stairs of your patio, he was about to ring the bell when your voice met his ears. It came from the back of the house. Walking towards it, he stopped just before he came into view when he overheard something interesting.

“So you left him in bed, after your first time together, because you’re afraid?” Your friend's Nadia incredulous voice met his ears.

“I know, I know, I’m a terrible person.” You groaned but your voice came out muffled and peeking from his hideout, he saw that you hid it in your palms.

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand, what are you afraid of?”

“Haven’t you heard a word I said?” Now it was you who was incredulous. It seemed like you two had been talking for a while.

“I did but it’s all bullshit it you ask me.” Nadia sassed earning a glare from you.

“I can’t tell him how I feel Nadia, I’ll scare him away.” you sighed sounding defeated.

“Well, I think you’ve already accomplished that by running away after sex,” she pointed out and when she received your you’re not helping look, she continued, “you should talk to him y/n, really. It’ll solve everything.”

“I know, I know that communication is the key to every healthy relationship but I… I just can’t.” Shaking your head you let it hang from the backrest of the swing you were sitting on.

“Talking to him means that I need to explain why I left and that would lead to my feelings for him, which he can’t know about yet,” you continued sighing, eyes looking up to the sky.

“You had no problem talking about it with me,” Nadia pointed out scrolling her shoulders.

“Are you dumb? That’s different,” you retorted snapping your head in her direction, “if I tell him that I think I love him, he’ll run away!” exclaiming, your expression resembled one of those teachers after they had repeated the same thing for the hundredth time and their students still weren’t grasping it. “It’s been three weeks Nadia, it’s way too soon for the “L” word,” defeated your head went back on the backrest. “Besides, who’s to say that he’s even looking for a serious relationship? He’s really busy with work, he has a lot on his plate right now.” You didn’t believe that. Bob could hear it in your tone and so could Nadia. Both knew you very well.

“Bob doesn’t strike me as someone who’s seeking a one night stand or something temporary.” And in fact, he wasn't. Everyone who knew him was aware of that. It was as plain as day even for Nadia that didn’t know Bob that well.

“Maybe I should just put both of us out of our misery and break up with him,” was your totally unrelated consideration. 

“Are you out of your mind? God, what does your mind tell you? You’re in love with the guy and you want to break up with him?” Bob shook his head at your total illogical thought process while Nadia looked completely confused by you. She was having none of it, what the hell.

“This is not what I signed for when we started dating, Nadia. This got way too serious way too fast,” looking at her you defended yourself. “Look at me! I’m here worrying about a guy when I promised myself I never was going to again.”

“Bob’s not the problem here. For all we know, he could be in love with you too and be heartbroken that you run away-” Nadia wasn’t able to finish her sentence.

“Please,” you scoffed, “have you met me? Why would he love me? And stop saying that I’ve run away, I’ve left him a note,” huffing out annoyed at your friend, both of them knew that they were getting closer to the true motive of your actions.

“-what I think it’s the problem here is you and your inability to let yourself go and feel your emotions instead of repressing them,” now it was her time to interrupt you.

“I hate that you know me so well,” you whisper under your breath, “I just- I don’t want to put myself in that vulnerable position again where he can hurt me.” And here it is, thought Bob. This was the problem then.

“Everyone’s bound to get hurt once in a while y/n, that’s life. And you ought to live it to the fullest and not repress every feeling and avoid any deep connection. You’re missing out on a lot, plus, it’s not healthy,” Nadia observed with wisdom that Bob would have never associated with her. But she had a point.

“If you think that it’s too soon to confess your feelings for him then don’t. Show him instead,” she added when you didn’t say anything.

“I’ve been doing that for the past week. Smothering him with kisses and affection, romantic dinners and shit that I’ve always despised in movies. I went over his bar often and stuff. He probably thinks I’m clingy now and he’s fed up with me,” you confessed listing with the help of your fingers.

“Sounds to me you just stopped being distant and started being a loving girlfriend,” Nadia commented with a patronizing smile. “Oh, and he probably already knows too. He’s very attentive and he knows you so…” Scrolling her shoulders she stated what she thought was pretty obvious while she observed your face scrunch up in desperation.

“It’s only been three weeks goddammit, why am I feeling this way?”

“Time is relative y/n. Stop worrying about it too much. Couples have married after two weeks of dating.” Nadia pointed out thinking to help her case but she got the opposite reaction from you.

“That’s madness,” you spat with wide eyes. 

The two girls continued talking but Bob had heard enough. As Nadia said, he had noticed the change in behavior and despite what you thought, he had thoroughly enjoyed it. But he had also been wondering what had caused it. Now he knew. Deciding to pick up Nadia’s advice, he turned around and headed back home. He knew how to solve this. He was just going to show you.

At home, Bob prepared a nice dinner. Nothing too complicated but he knew you liked it. He wasn’t good with words and apparently neither were you when it came to your feelings. So he needed to find another way. And he thought that paying attention to the details in a way that showed how much he cared, was the right one.

Show, don’t tell.

That was what he was going to do. Since the very first time you two had eaten together, you had always been very passionate about food. Bob was a much better bartender than he was a cook, hence his occupation, but he tried anyway to deliver a delicious meal. Your favourite nonetheless. From what he’d gathered, it was best for him to take matters into his own hands. Otherwise, if he had to wait for you, he’d probably wait a long time. So he sent you a text, mentioning the homemade diner he asked if you would join him. As he predicted, you’d said yes. You’d never turn down an invitation where food was involved. That alone showed how much Bod knew you. Surely, he wouldn’t pay so much attention to someone he didn’t care about, right? He thought your reservations were fair. He understood where you were coming from. On the other hand, he thought it was very clear his stand on relationships, yours in particular. Apparently not. He was to rectify that soon though.

When dinner time came around, you parked in front of Bob’s house right on time. He had probably heard you pull up because when you walked to his door you saw that it was open and Rocco was waiting for you on the threshold.

“Hello, you handsome boy,” you cooed at his cute little face giving him some well-deserved belly rubs until you noticed that he was holding something in his mouth. Gently pulling it out of his mouth, you saw that it was a folded piece of paper. 

It said:

“Please don’t run away like that again. If you don’t talk to me then how is this going to work?”

As you let the words sink in, your eyes flickered to Rocco who was now looking at you with his head tilted to the side. The pang of guilt was impossible to avoid and you knew that this dinner wasn’t going to be like any other. 

Closing the door behind you, you made your way through the hallway that leads to the kitchen expecting to find Bob dealing with your food. And there he was.

The table was already set, two sweet-scented candles were lit and he had just set your plates down when you walked into the room. You lingered near the door for a bit, not knowing what mood he was going to be in. You had left after having sex with him after all.  Still drying his hands with a cloth, he turned to where you were standing and as if he felt your insecurity, Bob gave you a small smile. 

Feeling a little more confident in yourself you crossed the room to meet him before you’d sit down at the table. 

“Hi,” you started shyly.

“Hi, babe,” two words and he managed to make you swoon. Oh, how you loved this man.

“I’m so so sorry for this morning, I-” he didn’t let you continue and you were secretly grateful for it ‘cause you would have probably made a mess.

“I know,” he reassured you holding you gently by the waist.

“You know?” How could he possibly know?

“I get that you have reservations when it comes to relationships, I do too,” he shared putting a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You do?” If you weren’t so damn confused by what was going on, you were sure you’d have punched yourself for being so stupid.

“Of course. I have been alone for a long time. Being in a relationship after a while can be difficult.” Gently cradling your face in his hands, he added, “But I want you to know that you can always talk to me.”

“I’m scared that what I’m going to say to you will make you run away from me. And I kinda like you so I don’t want that to happen,” you confessed quietly. He was so close to you now that you could whisper and he would hear. Somehow it made it easier to talk.

“I won’t,” he promised and you believed him. Why? Good question, it’s just one of those things that you just know. 

“I just-,” how were you going to tell him? “my feelings for you scare me,” by just saying it, you figured.

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now. Just know that we can turn that fear into assurance. I and Rocco are always up for some cuddles, aren’t we buddy?” And as if on cue, Rocco barked agreeing with his favourite human. You couldn’t help but giggle in happiness, you were really a lucky gal.

“Now let’s go eat. The food is getting cold.” And with that both your minds were at ease, ready to enjoy the night together. Yes, there were some things that needed to be discussed still but you had all the time in the world for that. It seemed that neither you not Bob had any intention to leave.

[remsmoonlight]

Title: safety net

Pairing: daryl dixon / original female character

Chapter: one

Summary: In a world designed to test your humanity, a woman fights to keep hers. But she walks a fine line between staying human and welcoming death and darkness. [ S2 - S4 ]

The light coloured gaze that belongs to a lone female almost darkens in frustration as she notices the sky beginning to dull and bleed into beautiful tones that always signified the oncoming approach of the night and the glistening stars that could only be seen more prominently ever since the world had passed its very own death day. Light pollution has become a thing of the past. Cassie hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but she had wanted to prove to herself and members of the Greene family that she was able to survive out in the town as she scavenged for things that would be useful to them.

Maggie had made many trips into town, always refusing Cassie’s help. Now, whether or not that was because she couldn’t trust her friend to hold her own, she doesn’t know but this was something that would only bring concrete proof that she was able to survive. She lets out a sigh at the whole situation, digging into her backpack for the half full bottle of water that she’d managed to ration very well -- you couldn’t be too careful those days. Such as when you lose track of time and end up staying out hours later than you should. They’re so gonna kill me later Cassie mentally remarks to herself, she thought it would be a quick trip but she’d gotten too distracted by trying to be useful.

The woman drops the bottle back into the backpack as she drags her feet along the cooling dirt that had suffered the heat from the punishing Georgian sun. She scans every building in her line of sight, call her a perfectionist but all she can see are the defects with the potential safe shelter. Are you trying to die out here? she asks, as she thinks negatively to herself. Too many breaks in that window, that door looks weak, not enough exit routes. The slow dragging of a pair of feet and snarls causes her to turn suddenly, she hates this part. Cassie knows she can handle herself, she’d done so with those things before she’d found refuge at her old school friend’s farm but it isn’t something she enjoys. It wouldn’t even be the first thing she wished to do, but it had to be done.

I don’t have to like it but I’ll do it.

Gripping the knife, Cassie slowly advances to meet the dead being halfway, studying its movements intently  -- a few seconds and it’s over. She pulls the knife from their head with little less fight than she was used to, I’m getting better at this she comments to herself in her mind, though a heavy feeling soon begins to settle in her heart as she realises that this person used to have life. They used to have friends and family, they used to have bills to pay, they used to have favourite songs to sing along to. They were human. Cassie doesn’t want to believe that she disregarded their humanity so easily in favour of thinking about herself and how well she was able to cope.

This is what you were afraid of. You’re losing yourself faster than you thought.

She pushes herself up harshly with a verbal shudder, tears beginning to build. She rubs her eyes with force to banish them away and sniffs. The young woman needs to collect herself before she finds herself in a situation she can’t get out of. One of the things she has feared ever since killing the first of those things was losing her humanity.. even before the world turned she knew how despicable people could become. She didn’t want to think about who she could become if she survived this world, Cassie didn’t want to lose her light or her life -- the world was dark as it was.

As if planned perfectly, her eyes settle on an aging liquor store.The cobwebs and dried spray paint were visible from the distance she sadly stood. I remember that, she mused fondly. It was when she and some friends were caught trying to convince someone to buy a bottle of alcohol for them as teenagers - before her father forced them to move out of the town to the next one over. It was a strange sight to see, how these places that held so much life now dead and silent.

Still, the stone walls and bars on the windows are perfect and wash a warming comfort over her entire body, it was safe enough to spend the night in. She only prays silently that  trouble doesn’t follow in her path.

A small grunt of effort is dropped into the open air from her parted lips as she dedicates little energy and force to open the doors into the building. People had been there before her, the assumption is only confirmed when she makes her way through the door and scans the area - everything, empty. A disbelieving chuckle erupts from her. The end of the world where the dead roam the Earth and what do people go and do? They leave the shelves bare from bottles of alcohol. When you need your wits about you and they want themselves inebriated, Cassie didn’t want to believe it. Human nature was still a surprising thing.

With a bicycle lock secured to prevent anything or anyone gaining entry into her temporary housing, the woman allows herself some steady breaths before she overturns one of the few chairs from it’s upside down position on the floor to sit down on it. There isn’t much effort when she lifts the bag to the table, not much was left to scavenge. Cassie is happy with what she did get however, smiling to herself when she pulls out dried food that would be beneficial in the long run and the batteries that would be needed soon. There were a few other trinkets that may or may not be of use but she proved something to herself -- and for that, she learnt something about herself.

Despite laying herself on the floor to sleep, it doesn’t come easy. Her mind is too preoccupied with the noises from the outside of the building, sometimes they were too close to be able to tell if they belonged to the living or the dead. She tries, however, to give a mighty fight with her own mind to fall asleep by scrutinising the dust that littered the creaky floors but it’s a fight she’s destined to be defeated in. When she finally spots sunlight beginning to break through the clouds to fill the dirtied room, Cassie makes no hesitation in deciding it is a good enough alarm clock. She swiftly realises that she isn’t  going to be getting anymore sleep and she’d rather be back at the farm anyway.

There’s an energetic spring in her step despite the lack of sleep she had been able to get but that doesn’t matter, she’s happy to be home soon. The nagging thought of Maggie and her family being furious with her lack of notification of her whereabouts lay heavily on her soul -- though she was good with confrontation though, her patience was almost never ending.

Her heart beats rapidly as she spots a group of people she had never laid eyes on in her life, they surrounded one of the wells on the property, standing out against the warm shades of the ever growing grass and oversized bushes that were everywhere. The only solace granted to her weary soul is that Maggie is standing with them and does not appear to be in any distress by their presence. She cautiously steps closer and closer to the scene, mentally placing the pieces to make a puzzle -- yet even then it’s as if her fingers are trying to force pieces that do not fit together.

“ Maggie! What’s going on? “ she calls out to her friend, closing the distance between them with each growing second.

“ Ca- where have you been ?! “ Maggie shouts, ignoring the question put to her. Maggie storms forward to her friend, eyes have been ignited with a growing fire as she sets her sight on the other woman.

“ I went out on a run, I .. I just lost track of time, I guess. “ Cassie shrugs effortlessly with an upbeat tone despite the tense atmosphere.

“ How do you lose track of time? “ scoffs Maggie, she could feel the panic merging with the pain in her veins to form a melted pot of furiosity. “ You didn’t -? We didn’t know where you were! Cassie, Otis is dead. “

The optimistic glow that had powered her journey back to the home is instantaneously diminished until it’s no more than dying embers as she allows the words Maggie had just spoken to her to soak in completely. The bag that she held on one shoulder fell to the hay covered grass with a flat thud as she moves closer to her friend to embrace her. In the time Cassie had known the man, he was nothing more than a gentle giant. She can physically feel her heart break into pieces at their loss, the woman clinging to Maggie as she disregards the others who watch curiously momentarily.

“ Mag’s.. I’m so sorry. “

“ Come on, let’s get you back. “ Maggie speaks, pulling away from Cassie. She tries to paint a lighter image on her features as this. She was grateful that her friend had not suffered a fate that is a mirror image to that of Otis. “ Everyone will be happy to know you’re here. “

“ What happened to him? Who are they? “ she asks with curiosity, as she’s led back by her friend with an arm around her shoulder.

“ They showed up last night, one of their guy’s with an injured kid on our doorstep. '' the two walk up the steps of the large house, facing one another. “ Couldn’t exactly say no. They showed up after. “

A storm slowly battles its through the woman’s features as she tries to come to terms with how inverted their situation had quickly become in the hours she had not been present, she doesn’t want to shed her tears in front of strangers but you never expected to lose your friends or family under such circumstances. She brings both of her hands to wipe her face - as if to wash the pain away until it was no more than a ghost across her image.

“ He died gettin’ equipment dad needed to help their boy. “

Cassie is hardly looking forward to any lecture that every Greene in the household probably had for her absence. She admits to herself she should have told them that she was going but her stubbornness prevented her, to her, it was just a quick trip. However quick trips were not to the corner stores now, but what used to be people’s own homes. Their sanctuaries that now have become their graves.. providing they were not graced with the blessing to escape from one nightmare into another, one they had more control over.

Her knees bob up and down at a brisk pace as she watches Hershel walk into the room from her seated position on the plush couch in the living room.

“ What you did was very irresponsible, Cassie. We wouldn’t have been able to send anyone out after you. Between the boy and Otis.. “ Hershel’s tones are filled to the brim with disappointment, especially as they had the little boy to deal with.

The eye contact shared is broke harshly, she’s unable to hold the connection under the burden of his disappointment.

“ I’m sorry, I mean it. But you guys wouldn’t let me out! Even with Maggie. “

“ You must understand there’s a reason for these decisions. You might not understand now, but down the road. “ Hershel replies gently, his voice is a step above a whisper. He’d known the woman since she was a child -- Maggie and her were both so close as children.

A cynical laugh hangs in the air over those in the room, she hates to be so disrespectful to the family who has handed her security with the seclusion the farm provides. On a rare occasion she would find herself forgetting that the world had collapsed into itself, the serenity providing her a peace that was often a missing part that her soul craved from time to time. Cassie certainly doesn't want to offend anyone but she needs them to realise that she wasn’t naive as she may present herself to be, she knows how the world works.. though his denial would prove a burdensome load on that plan of hers.

“ I understand! I mean it that I’m super grateful for everything, but you need to realise. It’s not what you think! “ she argues, feeling a tingle in the very ends of her fingertips from the emotion she felt.

“ I don’t want anyone in this house getting sick, that was the risk that you took without consulting us and it’s something that I can’t allow to happen again. “

Guilt begins to overwhelm her shuddering body, she knew she did wrong and it was the circumstances that really threw her plan of independence into the deep river of inconveniences but it was a battle she would lose and she knows it’s best not to argue. She truly does feel bad that she had added onto the Greene family’s stress those two days, she prefers not to burden people after all -- knowing there had been incidents in the past that had been out of her control yet she brought down the spectacle from time to time. However, within the dark corners of her mind she yearns to intently to yell at him, to scream they’re not sick but rather they are dead. Hershel was a man in denial, and there was nothing harder to break than a man who cannot confront the truth that is right in front of him.

“ You’re right, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. “

“ Look -- “ Hershel leans forward, and clasped his hands together. He could see both of her parents in her. “ I promised your father you would be safe here, and if you’re not here that can’t happen. “

“ May I be excused? “ she asks the man, inching towards the end of her seat.  

Hershel simply nods, he’d also rather wash his hands of the situation, especially as they had bigger things to worry about now. The new additions to the farm did not taste so sweet on his tongue and the sooner the boy was ready and healthy, the sooner they could leave.

As Cassie stands before the declining state of the mirror, small particles of dust lining the mirror as a light blanket she washes the cooling liquid running from the tap over her face. She can hear the voices from the unknown new arrivals from the open window, needless to say she was curious of the new situation but, there was also a sense of dread clawing its way from her gut. She had a bad feeling that a storm was on its way.

AN: okay this is the first time writing for twd and im nervous and excited, especially as i'm not used to writing in this style! but i hope this will be something you will like soooo just let me know what you liked or what could be done better! we'll be having team family interactions next!

[geeky-writes]

The Phoenix Project Chapter 12 Preview

Behind? Catch up HERE 😊

Gorgeous moodboard created by @crownofstardustandbone @therollingstonys thank you so much! 💖

********

“Oh, Pete’s a master tree climber,” said Tony. “You might wanna be careful though. It’s been so long since he’s been able to play outside that we might have our hands full trying to get him back in the house at the end of the day. You have not seen Pete’s puppy-dog eyes to the fullest extent of their pppllleeeaaassseee potential until you try to tell him that it’s time to come back into the house.”

Steve tipped his head back against the headrest, lolling it sideways to look at Tony. “Well, we could always just build him a treehouse. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind that.”

“Only when it'd be time to eat,” Tony said with a laugh. “You just better watch it, Captain, ‘cause once Pete gets all of his strength back, I swear that boy will be able to out-eat even you. I’ve never been able to figure out where he puts it all.”

“I am definitely looking forward to it,” said Steve. “I might even cook for us, if that’s okay?”

“Really?” Tony asked. “You know how to cook?” Because of course Mr Perfection himself would also know his way around a kitchen.

Steve gave a not-quite-modest shrug. “I’m actually not too bad at it. I did most of the cooking when I was growing up since Ma was always working so much.”

“Wow,” Tony said, his eyes wide. “So then, is there anything that you actually can’t do? ‘Cause I gotta admit I haven’t seen all that much evidence to the contrary, and—”

“Tony,” Steve said softly. “I’m not perfect.”

Tony winced. He had noticed lately that Steve had been finding Tony’s frequent jokes about his perfection less and less amusing, and so had been trying to cut back on them. But it’d been a lot harder than he’d thought since to him, Steve really was perfect.

“No, hon, I know that,” Tony murmured. “No one is. But as far as perfection goes, I’d say you're a lot closer to it than the rest of us.”

Steve pursed his lips. “I think a lot of it depends on who you ask,” he said. “And I also think that you just might be a little bit biased.”

Tony snorted, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders slowly seep away. “Oh, you think so?”

“Yes, I do,” Steve said with a wink, his hand sliding up Tony’s thigh just enough to send a sharp burst of warmth across Tony’s chest. “Call it an instinct.”

“Well,” Tony said, his voice cracking on the word. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Well, I have a feeling you might be right about that, Captain. But seeing as how I don’t think your ma would appreciate me sporting a raging hard on when you're trying to introduce us, we probably should put a stop to this kind of talk. Like, right now.”

With a downright evil grin, Steve leaned over, his lips brushing the shell of Tony’s ear as he whispered, “Just a temporary stop though, right, sweetheart?”

“Holy shit,” Tony whispered, shivering as desire shot down his spine like a spear. “You do realise that I’m trying to drive here, right?”

“Sorry,” murmured Steve, sounding anything but sorry. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Thank you,” Tony said with an exaggerated sigh. “But… only until we get back, right?”

Steve’s bright blue eyes darkened, his grin turning positively shit-eating.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Gods, you're incorrigible,” Tony rasped. “Like, seriously. I'm pretty sure I've created a monster.”

“Or maybe just unleashed one,” said Steve. He waggled his eyebrows, then somehow managed to school his features into a look of pure, boyish innocence in about three seconds flat. “Turn right at the next light, then it’s the third house on the left side.”

Tony’s gasp lodged in his throat as he made the turn, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tried to calm himself. For how inexperienced Steve might’ve been when they first got together, in the months since he had already more than made up for it, quite literally blowing Tony’s mind with his passion and attentiveness. Tony had always thought of himself as being a generous lover, but Steve was on a whole other level. He didn't only tell Tony that he loved him, he also showed him with every single caress of his hands and touch of his lips.

And Tony soaked up every single second of it, like an overly thirsty sponge.

“Here we are,” Steve said as Tony pulled into the cracked concrete driveway of a bluish-grey house that looked remarkably like his own, even down to the scraggly bushes lining either side of the front steps.

“I usually pay someone to come over and work on the landscaping, but the last kid I hired got accepted into the university and I haven’t been able to find anyone else yet,” Steve explained. He opened Tony’s car door, holding out his hand towards him. “Ma tries to do it on her own sometimes too, but she’s getting to the point now where she just can’t.”

“Well, once Pete gets better I’m sure he wouldn't mind helping her out,” said Tony. “If she wouldn't mind.”

“I can’t see why she would,” said Steve. He gave Tony a quick but encouraging smile as he reached for the doorbell. “Ready?”

“Yep,” Tony said. “Go for it.”

Despite his attempt at bravery, Tony couldn't help but flinch as he heard the doorbell echo inside the house, followed only a few seconds later by the sound of slowly approaching footsteps.

“Ma!” Steve exclaimed as soon as the door swung open. After guiding Tony inside he immediately held out his arms, drawing the petite, slender woman with greyishly-white hair into a careful hug. “You’re looking so beautiful today!”

“Ah, and you're just as much of a flatterer as your papa,” she said as Steve released her. She stepped back, her steel-blue eyes looking Tony up and down before offering her hand, her knuckles swollen and slightly bent with arthritis.

“Hello,” she said, clear and strong, her expression almost unreadable. “I’m Sarah Rogers.”

Tony cleared his throat, momentarily panicking. Was he supposed to shake her hand? Was he supposed to kiss it? Maybe he should’ve asked these kinds of questions before Steve rang the damn doorbell—

“Ma,” Steve said, cutting through the fog inside Tony’s mind. He curled his arm around Tony’s waist, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. “This is Tony.”

“Tony Stark,” Tony blurted, just on the off chance that Steve had somehow failed to mention his surname. He carefully grasped Sarah Rogers’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Rogers.”

Sarah pursed her lips as she shook Tony’s hand, her grip plenty firm despite her pained knuckles.

“Yes, I know who you are, Mr Stark,” she said. “I've known who you are for most of your life.”

“Uhh,” Tony stammered, his blood running cold even as Steve’s arm tightened around him. “Yeah, well—”

“And what I also know,” she continued. “Is that the sins of a father should never be passed along to his son.” She glanced up at Steve, her eyes softening slightly. “And I also know that I’ve never seen my son so happy in his entire life, which he assures me is entirely the doing of both yourself and a certain young man with whom I’ll be shortly making my acquaintance.”

“That’s absolutely right, Ma,” Steve said.

“Yes, I can see that,” said Sarah. She released Tony’s hand and stepped back, gesturing towards her living room. “Please, come in, Mr Stark.”

“Tony,” Tony said. “Please, ma’am, if you don't mind, call me Tony.”

Sarah smiled, a bright smile that was so like Steve’s that Tony nearly did a double-take. “Tony,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The full chapter will post on Monday, June 15th 😊

[salmonidparty]

Closing shifts were always dreadfully boring, even in a power plant that housed dozens of Zapfish. But Oliver supposed that he couldn’t really complain all that much. The plant was quiet, few people bothered him, and the Zapfish were always delightfully adorable, squeaking whenever he passed them by. Besides, it wasn’t as if the job was all that difficult... 

Clean the offices, take out the trash, check on the power levels, and record any needed maintenance that he couldn’t do himself... It took energy, but it was pretty easy to manage. But there was a certain bitterness that came with this job; he wanted to be a technician. Someone who actually worked hands-on with the electricity... And the Zapfish that lived there. At the very least, as a custodian he could pay them a visit and give them a snack now and again. The way they squawked and wiggled their fins and barbels were always so cute to him.

Pushing his cart into the back room, Oliver couldn’t help but heave a sigh. He dumped his dirty mop water, put away his cleaning supplies, and washed his hands. He kept telling himself that this custodial position was temporary, and he’d be able to work as an employee proper in the power plant eventually, but there were times where that felt like naught but a pipe dream. His job felt stagnant, and he didn’t yet have enough experience for the position he wanted. If only he could get his foot in the door!

However, he was still young. Young enough for his peers to poke fun at him for having a job, instead of earning money off of ink sports. He wasn’t much of a fighter, and he didn’t particularly care for any of the sports available! And... He got sick of the jabs his friends would make, such as, “No aim, no brain, must be a bucket main!”

The Inkling brushed back his front two tentas, which bounced back over his forehead with a light slap. He then undid his topknot to adjust his yellow tentacles, as they had managed to wiggle themselves out of place while he worked. As he did so, his blue eyes lazily glanced at the large, digital clock overhead. Just about time to wrap up and lock the building. There were so many things to lock that he always worried that he’d miss at least one door, or would forget one of the Zapfish cages. Arming the building was one thing, but the heavy key ring he had to tote around was no joke!

Most of the doors he had already locked as he made his rounds, however there were still a number that he had to take care of. As he casually made his way through the long hallways and sealed the doors behind him, he mulled a few things over in his head; had he emptied his bertha? Yes. Did he clean out the back bathroom? Definitely. Did he lock up all the doors in the Zapfish house...?

By the time that thought came to mind, he had already finished locking the rest of the doors, and was ready to punch in the code to arm it. Well... They had added extra security in the Zapfish house quite recently, so as long as the external doors were locked, it was fine, right? Not to mention, the rest of the building was secure, so it probably didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if the Zapfish could get out on their own, and as far as he knew, aside from the security officer, the building was empty. If he got yelled at, that was something he’d deal with tomorrow.

Building armed, Oliver stepped out into the night air, and listened to the muffled beeping of the alarm system arming itself behind the large glass doors. Tucking his hands into his pants pockets, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of night air. The sky was dark, but the night was still young...

Not as if Oliver was really going to take advantage of that. He was more than ready to laze around at home.

However, there was a strange sound that caught his pointed ears. They twitched slightly, and his brow creased. It sounded like... Some girls talking? He couldn’t quite make it out, and could just hear them speaking over the chorus of crickets around him. The Inkling puffed--who on earth was still around this late? Or did somebody break in?

... Security should have been able to handle that. However Oliver couldn’t resist the urge to go and check it out. Striding along the sidewalk, he perked his ears, following the sound in hopes to locate whoever was still around. With every step, his brow creased further as he realized he... Couldn’t understand what these girls were saying. Were they from out of country, or something? He was soon creeping along, clinging to the wall of the main building as his suspicions rose quickly.

Just as he peeked around the corner, he saw the intruders standing atop the Zapfish house, their shapes illuminated by the moon above. Two girls with large, bright crimson tentacles atop their heads. They wore goggles that glinted red in the night air, and held themselves with brash confidence. The pair appeared to be pulling something from the roof of the Zapfish house. That’s when Oliver’s hearts nearly leaped out of his chest.

From the opening they produced a battery--a canister in which a working Zapfish was kept--and inside of it was one of the precious little fish! Clenching his beak, Oliver’s brain scrambled to figure out what to do. Should he call the police? Should he inform security? Should he go after them himself?! Not thinking clearly in his sudden panic, the Inkling found his feet suddenly moving on their own, feeling a strong conviction to reclaim the Zapfish himself. His sneakers struck the pavement audibly as he charged towards the Zapfish house.

The intruders had taken notice of this. They shot him a quick glance, then without hesitation, both of them took either end of the battery and made a break for it. 

Oliver was hardly the fastest Inkling around--he was far from the athletic type--but he had endurance to spare. As he charged across the parking lot he couldn’t help but dread that they had already vanished into the night, the Zapfish in tow. Upon rounding the bend however, he was relieved to see the glow of the battery vanish into a nearby storm drain. A trail!

Against his better judgement, he followed the pair into the depths, squeezing between the grating in his squid form. He plopped unceremoniously at the bottom of the well--thank goodness it hadn’t rained much recently--and looked around the conjoining tunnels in hopes that he could catch the glow once again. 

The tail end of the battery’s light could be seen vanishing down a tunnel to his right. He wasted little time chasing after it, but with every step so it seemed, the battery’s glow kept getting further and further away, until finally he could see it no more.

After what felt like an hour of running, Oliver finally gave up. He was short of breath, his hearts were pounding, and he was plum exhausted. These tunnels twisted on forever, and the stench of sewage and limescale were starting to give him a headache. He had hoped to figure out where the pair had taken the Zapfish so he could tell the authorities, but.. No such luck.

Of course, by now he had completely lost track of where he had been and which direction he came from. His tentacles sank, wondering if he’d gone too far out to get back to Inkopolis before the sun rose. He really should have just left chasing those girls up to the authorities! He’d be kicking himself for this tomorrow one way or another.

After catching his breath and a bit more walking, he found another grate that led to the surface. He didn’t know where that went, but if he went up he’d at least be able to size up his surroundings and go from there. Maybe he could catch a cab or a bus, or something. He couldn’t have been that far from Inkopolis, right?

Emerging from the grate, Oliver had to shove some foliage out of the way, and clamber out from between some shrubbery and rocks. Didn’t seem like this drain was used very often. Shrugging it off, he took in a deep breath to shove the stench that had been assailing his senses out of his nose. He dusted off his pants, placed his hands on his hips, and tried to take a look around. 

Nothing about this place seemed remotely familiar. As a matter of fact the locale itself seemed pretty remote! Not to mention a bit... Alien, for lack of a better term. Floating platforms, floating rocks... Everything appeared to be rather hap-hazard here. Oliver couldn’t think of a place that had “architecture” like this back in Inkopolis. The only thing that was “normal” was a shabby-looking shack some distance away. 

Grunting, Oliver began to grumble under his breath. He supposed the shack would have to do for now. If no one was living there it’d be good shelter until daybreak, if nothing else. He shuffled his way over, his feet dragging over the dirt. As he made his way over, he passed by another, larger grate... He grunted again, his nose scrunching up. Right now? He didn’t want to deal with more pipes or sewage.

Getting closer to the hut, he could hear something shuffling about inside. He froze in place, staring wide-eyed at what he thought was the entrance. All of the sudden, there was a loud shout, followed by a man charging past the fabric that draped over the door. With the Bamboozler he held, the man fired off a warning shot, splattering Oliver with rust-colored ink.

“TH-THE OCTARIANS ARE UPON US!!” the stranger cried, “You’ll not be taking me tonight!” 

Oliver’s ink bristled in shock. He jumped backwards on his toes, loosing a delayed scream as he stared down the barrel of the discolored Bamboozler. 

It was then that the stranger seemed to realize that the intruder was not in fact an Octarian, but an Inkling who had strayed far from home. He blinked his wide eyes and scratched at his chin as his beard quivered, now using the Bamboozler to help prop himself up.

“Oh, sorry!” he chuckled in an all-too-casual way, “I lost my cool, there. You can never be too careful ‘round these parts!”

Oliver could merely stare at the old man before him with his beak hanging open. Just seconds ago he thought that he was going to meet his maker at the hands of some well-trained and agile hunter... 

But looking at him now, the Inkling felt a little embarrassed for getting so surprised. This guy looked to be well into his hundred’s, and wore such shabby clothing that it made the shack look like a posh hotel. The patchwork poncho he wore was adorned with what appeared to be war medals, and his tentacles stuck out of a hole at the top of his dusty cap. Did he... Live out here? Oliver let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Still tense--he wasn’t about to let his guard down with a guy whose eyes were as wild as that--Oliver allowed himself to take a slightly more casual pose. His brow creased and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

The old man didn’t seem to have any such trouble as he continued to talk, “I’m Cap’n Cuttlefish,” he chimed while holding up a peace sign, “Leader of the legendary Squidbeak Splatoon!” Oliver had no idea what this guy was on about, “And I’ve been waiting for a young’un like you!”

Stepping back, Oliver’s expression grew all the more confused, “N-now hold on a minute, old man--”

“Cap’n Cuttlefish! Open your ears, young man!”

“A-alright, Cap’n... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver took in a deep breath, “But I’m not about to be recruited for some... Platoon, or whatever.” 

Cuttlefish tilted his head to one side, “Eh? Then what are you doing all the way out in Octo Valley for?” he put his free hand on his hip, “Not for sight-seeing, surely!”

Shaking his head, Oliver grunted, “Wh--no, of course not! I came out here because...” he stuck his hands in his pockets, “Some girls came to the power plant I work at and stole a Zapfish.” he puffed. He was really regretting that decision now, “Just wanted to see if I could trail ‘em for a bit to give a lead to the authorities....” Octo Valley? He hadn’t a single clue where on earth that was. No wonder he couldn’t understand a word those girls were saying.

Those seemed to be the magic words, however, because Cuttlefish’s eyes lit up with delight, and were nearly sparkling. He propped himself upright and stepped over to Oliver, his eyes darting up and down the Inkling’s body, “Oho! Then you are the type of young’un I’m looking for!”

“Wait, what?”

Circling around like a vulture, Cuttlefish tapped Oliver’s calf with the side of his Bamboozer, “Young and spry,” he ignored the Inkling’s indignant cries, “Got a lot of fight in you?” he asked, poking Oliver’s arm with the end of the stick. Before he got a response, Cuttlefish circled back around front, “Gotta get a bit of exercise in, too...” he thwapped Oliver’s stomach twice with the side of his cane.

Defensively covering his stomach with both arms, Oliver’s face got a little hot as he cried out, “Hey!” his voice cracked with embarrassment, “Yeesh, what are you a car’s salesman or something?” his tentacles curled. 

Laughing, Cuttlefish shook his head, “You pegged me wrong there, but you’re the perfect candidate to help me reclaim the Zapfish the Octarians stole!” he struck the ground with the end of his cane for added emphasis, “Please, you must help me!”

There was a surge of dread in the pit of Oliver’s stomach. Sure, he didn’t have  a reason to not believe this guy--he saw the Zapfish being stolen in the first place... But there was an overwhelming feeling of unease that he didn’t really know how to deal with. He didn’t really trust Cap’n Cuttlefish, but even if he did, what was he supposed to do? Oliver was no fighter...

He stepped backwards, his eyes drifting to the ground as he lifted his arms in a nervous fashion, “Look, Cap’n...” he sighed, “Y-you’ve got the wrong idea, and the wrong guy.”

“Nonsense!” Cuttlefish cut in, “You had enough gumption to follow those octos all the way out here!” he struck a pose, “If that doesn’t say ‘hero,’ I don’t know what does!”

“L-listen to me!” Oliver cried, “I barely even play ink sports, I’m hardly the type to go in guns blazing!” he pressed a hand against his forehead, pushing his bangs back, “I barely know the first thing about fighting, and I’m not about to put my life on the line, especially if it’s all going to be in vain!”

The spark in Cuttlefish’s eyes slowly vanished, replacing the youthful glow with an ancient weariness. His whole body seemed to deflate too, the Bamboozler curving slightly under the added weight when his shoulders slumped. His disappointment was palpable. Oliver's shoulders tensed up as he felt a pang of guilt.

"Oh," the old man sighed deeply, "Well I suppose that's only fair," Cuttlefish placed his free hand behind his back, "Can't expect a hero to just fall into your lap."

Shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. It did feel a little unfair that the Cap’n would try and pin him as a “hero” immediately after they met. The feeling of unease only grew significantly at this point, and he so desperately wanted to get home. He didn't want to prolong this longer than it needed to be.

"Uh... Can you," he let his hand fall back to his side, "Show me how to get back to Inkopolis...?" he asked nervously.

Cuttlefish gave him a long stare. Even with his wide eyes, Oliver could feel the guy judging him. The Inkling's eyes darted away.

"Sure." he finally responded. He pointed the end of his cane to the grate that Oliver had noted earlier, “Head down there, and follow the marked tunnels. It’ll take you right to the Plaza.”

There was a long and awkward pause. Oliver grabbed his arm and nodded, before shuffling towards the drain, “Uh... Thanks, Cap’n.” he added over his shoulder, “I... Hope you find a better hero to help you. I’m gonna report what I can when I get back, so...”

“Good luck having anyone believe you,” Cuttlefish remarked with a bitter twinge, “No one believes me when I say the Octarians have been stealing Zapfish.” Oliver had little chance to respond to this, as the elderly cephalopod had already vanished into his hut.

Oliver remained still for a while longer, giving a backwards glance to where Cuttlefish once stood. His mind wandered into a dark pit, wondering if he should have agreed to help... But what could he have done? He really had convinced himself that he wouldn’t be able to make a difference. What a coward he was.

Feeling a bit ashamed of himself, Oliver sank through the grate, and followed the path home. Just as Cuttlefish said, there were pipes that were marked with a red trail, which lead him all the way back to the plaza. Peeking out of the grate, Oliver checked his surroundings before climbing out and shaking the ink off of his head. 

On his way home, he reported the crime he saw to the police, retelling what he saw, when he saw it, and where the girls had fled to. He did his best to avoid mentioning the Octarians, taking Cuttlefish’s warning to heart. 

Apparently, a number of Zapfish had been stolen, and it wasn’t until now that they had a more proper description of the thieves. Thinking on it, it was no wonder why the power plant had upped security so much in the Zapfish house alone in recent. 

However... He couldn’t help but feel a little disgruntled knowing that he didn’t find out about this until tonight... But since he was a custodian, he was so far down the totem pole that the higher ups didn’t give him much of a second thought. He was almost always the last one to find out about any news or interesting things.

Oliver begrudgingly shuffled home. It had been a long night, and he could already tell that this was going to be a long week. Not wanting to think about it for much longer, the Inkling put himself to bed, hoping that he wouldn’t get chewed out for being on the property while the Zapfish was stolen.

The next few days went by fine. He didn’t get chewed out for the stolen Zapfish, but throughout his shifts, he couldn’t help but think about Cap’n Cuttlefish and his plea for help. He tried to push it out of his mind, but his guilt was starting to get the better of him.

At least there didn’t seem to be any more robberies, especially now that they had upped security even more. They hired a few strong-looking fellows to keep watch over night and throughout the day. The Zapfish seemed a little intimidated by them, and Oliver could feel their eyes digging into him every time he went in to clean around their enclosures... He didn’t even have room to give them treats! But it was all for the better he supposed, because at least they were safe.

Or... So he thought. Early Saturday morning, Oliver woke with a start to an alert blaring away on his phone. Grunting loudly the Inkling reached blindly for it, his hand slapping against the table until it finally found the phone. He squinted into the phone’s light, his bleary eyes trying to make out the text. Once it came into focus, his ink turned cold.

The... The Great Zapfish had been stolen?! Oliver bolted upright, tossing his sheets to one side. He silenced the alert and started to read the accompanying message. 

“At approximately 2:30am, the Great Zapfish has reportedly gone missing after the crash of an unidentified flying object. Connections between these events are currently unconfirmed, however they are both going under investigation. Few eyewitness reports claim to have seen strange individuals interacting with the Zapfish before it went missing.

“Until the Great Zapfish is recovered, power shortages, brown outs, and even outages are a possibility in the near future. We urge everyone to conserve power as much as they can until this situation is resolved.”

Oliver’s blue eyes kept running back over the message over and over. He didn’t think it was possible. He didn’t think it would happen! This just had to be the work of those Octarians... But he didn’t expect them to be able to steal something as large and powerful as the fish that powered their entire city!

He flopped back in disbelief, hands falling to his sides. His phone slipped from his fingers, and the screen eventually dimmed, shrouding his room in darkness once more. Oliver remained still for some time, long enough for morning light to start creeping through his blinds.

...

He had to do something. 

Oliver knew where the Zapfish had been taken to, and... The guilt of declining that Cap’n Cuttlefish was still hanging over him like a dark storm cloud. He wasn’t a good fighter, and he didn’t know the first thing about being a hero, but... Maybe he could make a difference. His friends were always telling him to apply himself, after all...

Rolling out of bed, Oliver got dressed, grabbed a trail bar, and slipped out of his apartment into Inkopolis Plaza. 

Being so early, few Inklings were out and about--even the Squid Sisters weren’t present, the early morning news being handled by a prawn who was going over the known details of the Zapfish theft. It was unlikely that most teens would want to be awake before the sun was fully awake itself, and Oliver had to admit, this was all for the better... There wasn’t nearly as much of a chance of him being spotted as he squeezed himself through the grate. 

Standing at the base of the drain’s well in Octo Valley, Oliver stared up at the dappled light peeking through the bars. Was he ready for this? Absolutely not. Was he going to do it...?

Above, he could hear Cuttlefish apparently talking to himself, “Bah, I keep an eye on those Octarians all the time,” he huffed, “And yet they still stole the Great Zapfish out from under my nose!”

Oliver was glad he hadn’t eaten much before coming out here, because his stomach was doing back-flips on him as he prepared himself to emerge. He took in a deep breath, screwed his eyes shut, and made way to pop out of the grate...

... Only to backpedal immediately when he saw not only Cap’n Cuttlefish, but two girls with him. Oliver’s hearts nearly jumped out of his chest when he landed heavily on his rump. Dread washed over him. If only he knew that there were other people out here...!

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself, gramps!” one of the girls cried, “They’ve been extra sneaky as of late!”

The other girl sighed, “If you call flying around in a UFO ‘sneaky...’“ 

“Well... Yeah, other than that, I mean!”

While the Cap’n seemed pretty invested in the conversation, his wide eyes caught a glimpse of a yellow flash. Curious, he hobbled over to the storm drain, much to the confusion of the girls.

“Something up, Gramps?” the first girl asked.

“Eh?” he leaned over the grate, scratching at his beard, “Oh, I saw someone over here... They’re at the bottom of the well, in fact.” he tapped the bars with his Bamboozler, “Hey there, young’n! Why don’t you come up here and meet the crew!”

“Hm, you seem in a better mood all of the sudden.” the second remarked. The girls stepped over to take a peek themselves. 

“Heheh!” Cuttlefish nodded with glee, “I know this boy,” he explained, “He stopped by a few days ago.” his cheeks creased as he grinned from ear to ear, “Looks like you just couldn’t stay away, huh! Good timing, too!”

The first girl keeled over and rested her palms against her knees, trying to make out Oliver’s face in the shadows, “Oh, Gramps told me about you!” she chirped, “Hey, we don’t bite, you know! Though Agent 2 might threaten to do so if she hasn’t had her coffee, yet!” she couldn’t help but giggle. 

The three chatted with each other briefly while Oliver stared slack-jaw up at them. He really didn’t expect there to be more than one person out here, and for there to be agents no less. He could only make out their silhouettes from where he sat, but... The voices of the girls sounded strikingly familiar. Exactly like the Squid Sisters, as a matter of fact! But... That couldn’t be possible, right? They were pop stars, what would they be doing out in the middle of nowhere, getting their hands dirty?

“Are you going to come up or not?” Agent 2 asked, “Or are you one of those sewer-dwellers Agent 1 tries to scare me with?”

Hesitating briefly, Oliver finally shuffled up onto his feet. The others backed away to give him some space when he emerged, two of the three giving him bright smiles. Oliver stood rather rigid, clinging to his left arm with his right.

Cuttlefish stood tall, holding his cane with both hands in front of him, “Ohoho!” he chuckled merrily, “So, did you take saving the Zapfish into consideration?”

Pausing, Oliver eventually gave him a nervous nod in reply, “Uh... Y-yeah... When I heard that the Great Zapfish went missing...” he cleared his throat, “I thought... I had to do something, since I had a good idea of what happened to it.” 

Cuttlefish whooped with glee and bounced on his feet as if his youth had been returned, “Great!” he sang, “Then let me get you acquainted with the rest of the Squidbeak Splatoon!” he pointed to the one clad in pink, who gave a bright smile and waved, “That’s Agent 1,” then he pointed to the one who wore mostly gray, “And that’s Agent 2.” she gave Oliver a sleepy stare and held up the peace sign.

Oliver simply grunted, smiling awkwardly as he gave a tiny wave. Agent 1 wore a beanie and sunglasses, while Agent 2 wore a face mask... The two were clearly trying to hide their identities, but going by their tentacle styles and their voices... There was no doubt about it, they were the Squid Sisters! But would it be rude to ask? They were clearly at least trying to keep it a secret. Oliver refrained for now, and quickly averted his gaze to not make it obvious he was staring. 

“So!” 1 barely wasted any time, “You’re gonna help us reclaim the Zapfish the Octarians stole, right?”

Oliver nodded again, “Y-yeah, I’m gonna... Try.” his voice lowered a bit, “I’m really... Not a good fighter, but...”

“You’re probably better than Agent 1,” 2 remarked. Her cheeks creased as if she was smirking under her mask.

1 placed her hands on her hips, “Or Agent 2 when she gets over-confident!”

“Anyway, we’ll show you the ropes, squid kid,” 2 continued, “We’re not going to immediately throw you in the ring with an Octoweapon.”

The yellow Inkling let out a strained laugh, still clearly uncertain about his decision to essentially join an army, if this rag-tag team of cuttlefish could be considered such. But there was a great relief knowing that he wasn’t going to be alone for this. 

Stepping over to him, 1 placed her hand on Olilver’s shoulder in a hearty way, “Don’t be so nervous, you’ll do just fine, I’m sure!”

“You’ll just respawn if you get splatted, anyway.” added 2.

Cuttlefish stamped his Bamboozler against the dirt, “Still! We need to get this boy some armor, and I have just the thing!” he proclaimed before waddling into his shack. Moments later, he returned with some neatly-folded gear that wouldn’t have been entirely out of place on a construction site. Oliver eyed it curiously. 

“Go on,” urged 1, “Try it on!” she motioned towards the shack, implying he could change in there. 

Nodding quickly, Oliver followed her instructions. He didn’t really take the time to look around the shabby, makeshift home while he changed, but he could hear 1 and 2 whispering.

“You think he recognized us, or something?” 2 asked.

“Well, he did seem a bit star-struck,” 1 replied pensively, “You saw how wide his eyes were, right?”

“Maybe he was just surprised to have a couple pretty girls talking to him, heheh!” Cuttlefish quipped.

“Oh, shut it, Gramps!”

Moments later, Oliver emerged with the new gear equipped, tugging on the ends of the safety vest to adjust it properly over his jacket. Overall, the fit was surprisingly comfortable--even the headphones and shoes were perfectly snug.

“H-how do I look?” he asked with a nervous smile.

Agent 1 clapped her hands together, “You look great!”

“What a great fit!” Cuttlefish hummed, “Your brand-new Hero Suit will serve you well. Keep it clean, and all that!”

Agent 2′s brow creased, “New? Aren’t those hand-me-downs?” she whispered to 1. The other shrugged. 

Cuttlefish clearly didn’t hear the remark as he continued, “It’s all settled then, you’re officially a member of the Squidbeak Splatoon!” he hummed with delight, “We’ll get you a weapon and an ink tank... And a name to go with your new position.”

“That’s easy,” Agent 1 chirped, “From here on--in Octo Valley--you’re gonna be known as... Agent 3!” she threw her arms up in delight.

“Nice pause for effect.” 2 chuckled dryly, “Though we never did ask for your actual name, huh...”

A genuine smile finally made its way onto Oliver’s lips. He whispered, “Agent 3...” under his breath, allowing it to sink in. For some reason, he liked the sound of that. Perhaps it was just nice to finally be included in something important, or the warm reception he was given. Given a gun, 3 started to feel as though he could take on whatever the Octarians threw at him.

[goldenhemmings]

Stealing Second | Baseball!Shawn

Whew. If you know me at all, you know I am a sucker for any AU scenario where Shawn is an athlete, so naturally I’ve spent the last three days neglecting all of my academic responsibilities to crank out 8.3k words (!!!) of Baseball!Shawn. I tried to keep the jargon in check, but here’s a little study guide of the things I wrote about in case you’re not super well versed on all things Major League Baseball: 

MLB teams are divided into two leagues: American and National. Each league has slightly different rules. The Toronto Blue Jays are in the American, and their home stadium is Rogers Centre. Rookie of the Year is an award given by each league to the best first-year player. Players often wear compression sleeves over their throwing arms because it reduces soreness, and eye black under their eyes to reduce the glare of the sun or stadium lights so that they can see better. If you have any more questions please ask, and without further ado please enjoy Baseball!Shawn!!

When you got the call from “Greg with the Toronto Blue Jays” that you had been selected from a field of over two-hundred applicants for one of the team’s few coveted internship positions, you almost stopped breathing. The sun was making its descent as you sat at the kitchen table of your quaint suburban apartment, having just finished the leftovers you’d microwaved a few minutes before when your phone sounded its familiar siren. It was an unknown number, but the Toronto area code immediately made your stomach flip. It was a straightforward phone call, Greg simply offering you a congratulations and saying you started at Rogers Centre in two weeks’ time, but to you it meant the entire world. You managed to breathe out a “thank you” as you hung up the phone, eyes blurry with tears and hands shaking as you struggled to dial your mother’s phone number--the only person you could think to call.

You cried as you talked to your mom about how all of your hard work had finally paid off; four years of suffering as a double-major student to obtain two bachelor’s degrees, almost entirely giving up sleep and a social life as the price for your scholastic success, and eight months of waiting tables post-graduation to (barely) sustain yourself while you looked for a job. The sports industry was harder to find a place in than you’d thought, and you couldn’t believe the opportunity had finally come. Your mother was beyond proud, and after the phone call you sat at the kitchen table and cried because you didn’t know what else to do.

You’d wanted to work in sports your entire life; the love had been ingrained into you by your parents when you were young, and it never faded as you’d grown. You’d sent your resume to every sports franchise with availabilities, prepared to emigrate to the States for your dream job if you had to, but with this internship for the Blue Jays you thankfully only had to move an hour or so away.

Moving, however, caused you great stress. The ballpark was in the heart of downtown Toronto, which meant that every apartment or condo within a reasonable distance of the stadium would be exceedingly out of your price range; not to mention that the deadline of two weeks only added to your panic. You expressed this concern to your mother the next morning when you were level-headed enough to hold a steady conversation, but the words your mother spoke were enough to send you spiraling down yet another path of overwhelmed emotions: your mom and dad would help you pay to live downtown until you were financially stable enough to take the reins on your own. You had paid your own way through college, and your parents didn’t want further financial struggles to stand in the way of getting your foot in the door of your dream industry; they’d let you pay them back whenever you were able. With a cushion of temporary aid from your family, finding a place to live was a breeze; you settled on a one-bedroom apartment about a twenty-minute walk from the stadium. It had a perfect view of the Toronto skyline, and you could already imagine yourself sitting on the small balcony at night just watching the city lights twinkle before you.

On a Thursday in May, not three days after getting the phone call, you and your parents loaded the contents of your tiny apartment into the back of your barely-running sedan. You sighed as you realized how out of place the old car would look juxtaposed to the sleek vehicles that surely filled the streets of the city. Oh well, you thought. I’ll probably be walking everywhere, anyways. You shut the hatch of your trunk and smoothed over your favorite Blue Jays player’s jersey--a parting gift from your mother--before hugging your mom and dad goodbye. You took one last look at your small apartment complex and climbed into the driver's seat before reversing out of your designated parking spot and driving away in the direction of your dream life.

As you merged onto the 401 and the Toronto skyline came into view, you had to turn your music up even louder in a desperate attempt to distract yourself and therefore control your pounding heart, an exhilarated smile unable to keep itself from spreading across your face. You were finally here. This was finally happening. You pulled off the highway and drove into the parking garage of your new apartment, awestruck at how tall and sleek the building was. You went into the lobby to get everything sorted, and you were all set when the manager handed you a key to your door and sent you on your way with an enthusiastic “Welcome!”

You made your way back out to the parking garage, popping the trunk of your car and beginning the grueling back-and-forth process of taking the boxes up to your apartment one by one. You made your way back down to the car for what felt like the hundredth time, sighing in relief when you saw that there were only two boxes left. You pulled the larger of the two out, which was exceptionally heavy, and as you tried to shut the trunk while still holding the box your balance completely failed you.

“Fuck!” you cried, as the contents of the box went tumbling onto the ground next to your car. You sighed as you knelt down to place the box upright when you heard a voice echo from behind you in the parking garage.

“Do you need some help?”

You snapped your head around, your eyes settling on the figure of a tall man who was far enough across the lot that you couldn’t quite make out his features. “Um, I think I’ll be okay,” you called back, ducking your head down in embarrassment over the fact that someone had seen you clumsily and inadvertently dump the box onto the ground. “Thank you though!”

The man continued talking, the sound of his voice getting closer despite the fact that you had declined his offer. “Are you sure? I’m more than happy to--hey. Nice jersey.”

You turned around and looked up to meet the man’s smug eyes, and as you did you felt your cheeks immediately begin burning. You fell back onto your ass as though you’d been pushed, the box’s spilled contents suddenly disregarded. You looked down self-consciously to the Blue Jays jersey you had on, all-too-aware of the Mendes 98 embroidered onto the back, and slowly let your gaze travel back up to the real number 98 standing right before your eyes. You’d been in Toronto for twenty minutes and you had already come face to face with your favorite baseball player...while wearing his jersey. If you weren’t embarrassed before, you surely were now.

“I’m Shawn,” he said, kneeling down to your level as you hadn’t yet picked yourself up from the pavement. He extended his hand, and you weren’t quite sure whether he expected you to shake it or help yourself up with it.

“As if I don’t know who you are,” you muttered, laughing nervously as you disregarded his hand altogether. You opted to stand up on your own, brushing the asphalt off of the back of your jean shorts as you forced herself to meet his eyes. Eyes that, to your surprise, seemed almost bashful.

Shawn’s hand, marked with a tattoo you couldn’t quite see the shape of, came up to rub the side of his neck. He looked strange in his fitted shirt and black Nike shorts; you weren’t used to seeing him without his jersey on--or in person, for that matter. You’d known he was a rookie and therefore one of the younger players on the team, but standing this close to him you realized he couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Who’d have known that his ball cap was hiding such curly hair, or that underneath his compression sleeve were several concealed tattoos, his short sleeve shirt now putting them on full display?

Shawn Mendes was a first-year second baseman for the Blue Jays, and nearly every Major League Baseball commentator had pegged him as a top-three contender for the American League Rookie of the Year award. He’d quickly become your favorite player at the start of the season, with his ability to flawlessly handle any ball hit his way and his red-hot swing racking up the most hits on the team. But it was his character, however, that really drew you to him. He was his teammates’ biggest fan, always making sure to give players words of encouragement after a bad game or a celebratory smile and high-five after a big hit. Even though he was only a rookie, he was loved by players, coaches, and fans alike, and he’d quickly become one of the Blue Jays’ greatest assets.

You were snapped from your reverie by Shawn’s voice once again cutting through the air, and you refocused your eyes so that they were looking up into his. “W-what did you say?”

He smiled. “I said I really don’t mind helping you carry your things up, I know how awful it is to move on your own. I’d have loved the help back when I first moved in here.”

“You live here?” you squeaked out, but it sounded less like a question and more like you were stating it to yourself, as though repeating the words would have them make more sense.

“Twelfth floor,” Shawn affirmed, shooting you another smile that almost made you dizzy.

You cast your eyes downward, nudging at the ground with the toe of your Converse. “Fifth,” you responded. The view got better the higher up you were--which meant the price also rose with the floor number. “It’s close to the stadium, though, so I’d really be set no matter which floor I ended up on.”

“Plan on making it to a lot of our games?” Shawn teased, smirking as he folded his arms over his broad chest.

“I actually just got an internship with the team’s public relations department, which is why I moved out here. I’ll officially work for the Blue Jays in about a week and a half, so I’m sure I’ll be at most of the home games.” As you heard yourself say it, you couldn’t keep the childish grin from your face. It still barely felt real to you, and you found yourself wishing there weren’t ten long days standing between you and the beginning of your dream career path.

“No way!” Shawn grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and revealing a set of teeth so perfect you found yourself nearly mesmerized. You’d thought that he was handsome on TV, but the in-person effect was a million times stronger. “Guess that makes us co-workers, then.”

You let out a strangled laugh at his comment, but it sounded more like a yelp. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just one of the little people working behind the scenes.”

“But you make us look good,” Shawn insisted, his genuine smile unwavering.

“You make yourselves look good,” you scoffed, timidly looking at the ground as though it were suddenly interesting you. “You of all people should know that. You don’t make any errors in the field, your batting average is sky-high, and you’re on the short list for Rookie of the Year. I’m not sure there’s anything I or anyone else could do to make you look any better.” You could hear the gushing words spilling out of your mouth before you had time to process that you were even saying them, and when you finally managed to stop talking you wanted to crawl into a hole. Your favorite baseball player was talking to you like a normal human being, and you had to go and ruin it by fawning over him like the crazed fan that you were.

But, to your surprise, Shawn seemed unphased by this. “You really know your baseball,” he replied, and your eyes shot up to meet his brown ones.

“I’d hope a pro baseball team weren’t hiring people who didn’t,” you teased in a brief moment of bravery, Shawn letting out a little laugh.

“I guess I’d hope so, too.” As the words left his mouth, you both fell silent. His eyes were still on yours, and you’d have been a fool to look away. It was strange, having this seemingly intimate moment in the middle of a parking garage with a box of your personal belongings still scattered at your feet.

“Um,” Shawn cleared his throat, the first to break the long pause. “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? The team has the day off today and I’d feel like a dick if I knew you were moving all these boxes by yourself while I sat on my ass doing nothing.”

“That’d be awesome, actually,” you finally assented, bending down to start putting the spilled box back together again as Shawn followed suit.

“I never caught your name,” Shawn said as the two of you carefully repacked your belongings.

“You’re a baseball player, you should catch everything,” you joked, to which Shawn chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Kidding,” you continued, smiling in response to Shawn’s laugh. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, and your heart fluttered at the sound of him saying your name. “That’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, continuing to pack up your things and forcing the giddiness that was threatening to spill out of you back down with all of your might. If this was how your luck was going to be in Toronto, you hoped you’d never have to leave.

“Oh, this is too good,” you heard Shawn say, and you looked up to see him smiling down at the framed photograph his large hands were clutching. Without even looking, you knew what it was: a picture of your mom and your dad holding baby you in between them, the Blue Jays’ stadium filling the background. They’d put you in a onesie covered with the team logo, and you sported a smile just as big as your parents’, except yours was toothless. You really were born and raised a sports fan; this picture was evidence of that.

“You were made for sports, weren’t you?” Shawn asked, placing the photograph gently inside the box.

“Absolutely,” you responded, flattered that he seemed so interested in your life. “My parents totally ingrained it into me. I don’t think I’d be happy with a career involving anything else.”

He smiled. “I can understand that. I’m pretty sure I knew how to throw a ball before I knew how to walk.”

You laughed, standing up as you placed the last of your things inside the box. “I’d expect nothing less. The greatest athletes always start young.” You moved towards the trunk of your car to grab the last box, shifting to balance it between your thigh and your arm in order to have a free hand to close the trunk with. You quickly pulled your keys out of your pocket and locked the car, shoving them back out of sight and taking hold of the box with both hands.

“Do you want me to get this one?” Shawn asked, pointing at the one you’d both just repacked.

“Yes, please. We both know what happened the last time I tried to carry that thing.”

Shawn chuckled as he turned his back to you and bent down to grab the heavy box, and you had to force yourself to keep your lips together as you watched the way his back muscles flexed and strained under the fabric of his skin-tight Under Armour shirt. “Lead the way,” he said, turning around to face you. You felt your cheeks get hot as you moved in front of him, sure that he’d caught you staring.

“Is this your first job with a sports team?” Shawn asked as he quickly fell into stride next to you, the both of you making your way into the apartment building’s lobby and towards the elevators.

“Yeah, if you’d even call it that,” you sighed, pressing the up button with your elbow. “It’s just an internship. But an opportunity is an opportunity, and I plan to make the most of this one.”

The elevator doors open and the two of you filed inside. “Guess we’re both rookies, then.”

You smiled, comforted by his kindness. “Yeah, I guess so. Except your season officially started in March. Mine doesn’t start for another ten days.”

“Are you excited?” Shawn asked, hitting the five button, and you felt yourself smiling again as you realized he’d remembered what floor you said you lived on.

“I only cried for two whole days after I got the call,” you giggled as the doors opened onto your floor, and Shawn laughed with you.

“I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” he said as you set the box down at the door and fished in your shorts’ back pocket for the new key to your apartment. You pushed the key in the lock and flung the door open, pushing your box inside to join the pile of all the others.

“Forgot how empty these things look at first,” Shawn remarked, gingerly placing the box in his hands down with the rest.

“I kind of like it,” you responded, taking in the space that was now all yours. Your kitchen was off to the left, and there was a large open space in front of you waiting to be converted into a living room. Your bedroom and bathroom were just beyond the kitchen, and there was a floor to ceiling window that revealed your quaint balcony and a decent view of the Toronto skyline directly across the room from the front door. “Kind of like a blank slate that I can do whatever I want with.”

“I don’t suppose you have furniture packed away in those boxes?” Shawn joked, stepping further into your empty apartment.

“Nope,” you giggled. “It’ll be me and my air mattress tonight. But most of the furniture I ordered should be coming Friday...which I guess is tomorrow.”

“We’ve got a three-game series against the White Sox starting tomorrow. The Friday and Saturday games are pretty late, but the Sunday game is early...I think it’s at one in the afternoon. I should be home by six, and I’m more than happy to help you with any furniture assembling. N-not that I think you can’t do it by yourself,” he rushed to add, eliciting a giggle from you.  

“I’d like that,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to restrain your giddy smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too much trouble, but I already know I won’t be able to do it all myself.”

“Cool,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black shorts. “I’ll swing by. And, um...You know...If you’re ever free on any of my off-days and you want someone to show you around the city or something, I’d be more than happy to.”

“I’d like that, too,” you smile, your quickened pulse echoing in your ears.

He grinned. “Perfect. We’ll figure something out.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and good luck tomorrow night,” you called as he began making his way towards the door. “Not like you need it.”

He turned around, his eyes bright and a smile playing on his lips. “Will you be watching?”

“Yeah, on the TV that I don’t have yet,” you giggled, and he smiled and ducked his head.

“Right, right. But knowing you, you’ll find a way.”

“Oh, I definitely will. With an extra-trained eye on number 98.”

“No pressure,” he chuckled, running his inked hand through his brown curls.

“You’ll play amazing,” you said seriously, folding your arms around yourself. “You always do. And thanks for the help today, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s nice to know someone else living here.” He swung the door open, stepping halfway in and halfway out of the entryway. “I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Mhm. And I’ll see you on the big screen tomorrow.”

“Hopefully I don’t disappoint,” he laughed, and you did too. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Shawn,” you answered, and with that the door was closed behind him.

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Come Sunday afternoon, you’d managed to assemble most of your furniture with the exception of your bed. The pieces were heavy, and there were too many of them for you to figure out exactly what part went where. As you walked out of your apartment’s sole bedroom and into the kitchen to make lunch, you remembered that day’s Blue Jays game was on at 1; in ten minutes.

Your television had come in last night, and it had taken a while but you’d managed to set it up by yourself. You had nothing planned in the days before you started at your internship, and though assembling your apartment was grueling, you found yourself grateful for the fact that you had something to occupy your time with.

You sauntered over to where you’d put the small TV, reaching for the remote and flipping the channel to the Blue Jays game. Your heart nearly dropped when you saw that the cameras were currently focused on a pre-game interview between one of the announcers and Shawn. You flung yourself down on your new couch, cranking the volume and completely disregarding the fact that you’d meant to make lunch.

The brim of Shawn’s baseball cap concealed most of his forehead (and those perfect brown curls), but the camera still picked up the youthful excitement behind his eyes as he spoke. He had fresh eye black painted under his eyes, and you knew that the two strips would quickly become smeared once the game started and progressed.

“With the White Sox winning the first two games in this series,” the announcer began, Shawn leaning in and listening intently, “What do you think is going to be the key to stopping their streak and winning this game?”

Shawn answered immediately, and you were shocked by how well-spoken he was. You’d heard him speak before, of course, but now you found yourself paying extra attention to every detail about him. “I think we just have to focus,” Shawn started, adjusting his hat. “We have to not get caught up in the last two games because right now, today’s game is all that matters. We took some tough losses but we fought hard, and today we need to fight a little harder.”

You smiled, folding your knees up under your chin and resting your head on top. Good answer. The announcer continued. “I’m sure you’ve been following what the sportscasters have been saying, so I have to ask how you feel about the buzz for you to win Rookie of the Year.”

“I’m honored that they see so much potential in me, but it’s still so early in the season. Right now I’m just trying to focus on playing my position and helping my team win games.”

“Good man,” the announcer said, laughing as he clapped Shawn on the back. “Thanks for your time, and good luck today.”

“Thank you, man,” Shawn said, and with that he was off camera as he made his way back to the Blue Jays’ dugout on the third base side of the field.

The announcer sent the program over to a commercial, telling the audience to stick around because the first pitch was right after the break. You took this as your chance to finally make lunch, throwing together a sandwich with the few groceries you’d picked up from the store yesterday and then making your way back over to the couch. You pulled the blanket you’d laid over the back of the sofa down and covered yourself with it, the blasting air conditioning leaving you a little chilly in your spandex and old Maple Leafs t-shirt. Now that you were settled, you were ready to be glued to the screen for the next three and a half hours.

The game passed uneventfully, both teams’ pitchers throwing an amazing game. The score was still 0-0 in the bottom of the sixth inning, but the White Sox pitcher’s arm was clearly starting to get tired, evidenced in the two consecutive hits he’d given up. You perked up a little bit at the potential scoring opportunity, with only one out and Blue Jays players at first and second base. A single would score one, and a double or triple would likely get both runners home. You could hear the crowd through the TV, and your stomach swirled with the excitement of knowing that you’d be a part of this atmosphere in just over a week. You waited with anticipation to see which Blue Jays player was up to bat next, and you almost screamed when you saw that it was Shawn.

A graphic displaying his statistics flashed on the screen, the announcers gushing over the Blue Jays’ beloved young rookie. Shawn stepped into the batter’s box, raising his bat over his shoulder and watching the pitcher with anticipation. Your eyes raked up and down his body, his arms flexed beneath his jersey from the weight of the bat and his white baseball pants hugging all the right parts of his lower half.

The pitcher started his windup, refocusing your attention on the game and sending a pitch flying over the plate for a strike that Shawn didn’t swing at. The screen said the ball came across at 83 miles per hour, which was beyond slow for the kind of pitch he’d thrown. His arm was tired, and your legs were bouncing up and down as you silently prayed that Shawn could take advantage of the opportunity. Another pitch--this one ruled a ball. As the pitcher began his third wind up of the at-bat, your breath hitched. The ball hurdled towards the plate as Shawn brought his bat around, a crack echoing as the barrel made contact, sending the pitch soaring into left field between the left and center fielders, who both went chasing after it. Both runners had crossed the plate, scoring two for the Blue Jays, and Shawn slid headfirst into second base to avoid being tagged out. The umpire called him safe, and dirt was stained all down the front of Shawn’s uniform as he popped up from the slide.

You could hear the crowd going crazy just like you were, reflexively jumping up from the couch and cheering as the camera showed the Blue Jays dugout high-fiving the runners that had just scored. The White Sox manager walked out to the mound, signaling for a new pitcher to come in and replace the current one. With the score now 0-2, Toronto winning, the game had a new life to it--and you were as hooked as always.

The game went by pretty quickly after that, each team managing to score another run, which left the final score as 1-3 Blue Jays. You smiled, clicking off the TV to get back to work until Shawn (hopefully) stopped by in a couple of hours.

You walked over to the pile of boxes, most of which you’d emptied, and chose a random one to begin unpacking. As you looked inside, you laughed to yourself; it was the box you’d spilled in front of Shawn. You pulled your hair into a sloppy ponytail and set about unpacking, placing photographs where you wanted them and arranging the decor from your last apartment how you liked it in your new one.

Before you knew it the sun was starting to go down, and you’d unpacked the rest of your boxes. You took a proud look around your apartment, satisfied with how everything had turned out. There were still a few tweaks you wanted to make here and there, but for three days’ work you were pretty damn happy.

You’d walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water when there was a knock on your door, and you dashed over to open it, practically sliding across the hardwood floors in your fuzzy socks. You swung the door open to reveal Shawn, wearing black workout shorts and a white Blue Jays t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower he’d surely had after the game.

“Hey MVP,” you grinned.

“So you’re a hockey fan, too?” Shawn asked, pointing at the Maple Leafs shirt you had on.

“I’m an every sport fan,” you giggled, turning and allowing him to pass by you into the apartment. “Even football.”

“A Canadian who likes football,” Shawn mused as you shut the door. “Don’t come by those too often.”

“You’d be surprised,” you said, walking into the center of your apartment as Shawn took in his surroundings.

“You really whipped this place into shape.”

“Makes it easy when you’re stuck here all day with nothing else to do.”

Shawn smiled. “Well, how can I help you finish up?”

“I actually need help with my bed,” you said sheepishly, running your fingers through the ends of your hair. “The pieces are too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

“No problem,” Shawn answered cheerily, following you down the short hallway into your room.

“Oh, and good game today,” you remarked as you walked.

He smiled, his cheeks getting rosy. “You watched?”

“Of course I did,” you laughed. “Every minute of it.”

“Well, thank you. Glad we could win at least one game in the series.”

“And there will be many more wins where that came from, especially if you all keep hitting as well as you did today.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

The two of you set to work on the piece of furniture, assembling the frame and attaching it to the headboard. What you couldn’t even finish on your own only took half an hour with Shawn’s help, and there was, of course, the added bonus of getting to see his muscles bulging under his shirt as he did your heavy lifting. You pulled your new queen-sized mattress from where it was pushed up against the wall, tossing it down so that it fit perfectly inside the white bed frame, and let out a little cheer over the finished project.

“That’s everything!” you exclaimed.

Shawn grinned, brushing his hands off and moving over to where you stood. “Feels good to be all moved in, doesn’t it?”

“No kidding,” you laughed. “Now, how about a drink?”

“Oh, I don’t really drink much during the season. Thank you, though,” Shawn sighed, but you weren’t having it.

“Come on!” you teased. “You just helped me with half an hour of heavy lifting after you played a hell of a game. Tomorrow’s a travel day for the team, anyways. All you’re going to do is sit on a jet for however many hours until you get to San Francisco. I think you can afford one glass of wine, and it’s the least I could do for your help.”

“Of course you’ve memorized the team’s schedule,” Shawn chuckled, and you felt a wave of heat rising to your cheeks. “But I guess you’re right. Pour me a glass.”

“Always am,” you teased, heading to the fridge. “Red or white?”

“Whichever you’re having. You’re pretty convincing, you know,” Shawn continued as you poured two glasses of red wine, handing one to him and leaning your back against the counter right next to where he stood. “And you always know what you’re talking about. I have a feeling this internship is going to turn into a job more quickly than you think.”

You let out a sigh, tilting your glass back to let the wine past your lips. “I seriously hope you’re right. I need a big-girl job at some point.”

“What day do you officially start?” Shawn asked, angling his body so that he was leaning up against the side of the counter and facing you.

“A week from Monday. Same day as the first home game back versus--”

“Boston,” Shawn finished, and you both laughed. “I’ve heard.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, picking up your glass for another sip.

“Don’t apologize. It’s cute how you know everything.” At this you almost choked on your wine, but you managed to force it down and suppress your coughs. Shawn kept talking, which you were exceedingly grateful for; you wouldn’t have immediately been able to form the right words to respond to his compliment. “There’s a long corridor at the stadium that connects the offices to the Blue Jays locker rooms, and there are a bunch of random rooms off to the sides of that hallway. If you can manage to get away, you should meet me in the one closest to the locker room, like, fifteen minutes before the game starts. I wanna hear about your first day.”

You smiled at him over the rim of your wine glass, trying to keep your butterflies in check. “Fifteen minutes before game time...got it. I’ll do my best.”

You smirked. You’d do more than your best; you’d be there like your life depended on it.

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The rest of the days went slowly, with you desperate to pass the empty time in any way you could. You arranged your artwork, then rearranged it, then rearranged it again. You paid several visits to the apartment complex’s gym--something you’d normally never do, but resorted to out of pure boredom. You went on walks to explore the area around your apartment, identifying which restaurants looked good and the shops you wanted to look in when you finally (hopefully) had money to spend. You watched every Blue Jays game from the comfort of your couch, now with the added excitement of seeing Shawn on TV while also knowing him personally.  

When Monday morning finally rolled around, you were out of bed much earlier than you probably needed to be. You put on the flowy dress you’d picked out, which was blue with white polka dots to match the team’s colors. It was cute but still professional, and when paired with simple jewelry and sandals it was perfect. You did your hair how you liked it and put on a touch more makeup than you normally would, checking the time to see that you still had an hour to be at the stadium and it was only a twenty-minute walk.

You headed into your kitchen and brewed yourself some coffee, making sure that it was decaf; you didn’t need caffeine adding to the jitters you already had. You sat at your kitchen counter and sipped it slowly, trying to think about anything but how nervous you were. When half an hour had passed you opted to start your walk, grabbing your purse from the hook you’d put by the front door and plugging your headphones into your phone to listen to music on your way.

You arrived at the stadium offices with seven minutes to spare, as you weren’t set to meet with Greg until nine o’clock. You were hit with a rush of excitement as you walked through the office doors, Home of the Toronto Blue Jays proudly displayed on a blue banner directly above the entrance. Once inside, you felt like a kid in a candy store. You could see past the receptionist’s desk, the front of which was adorned with a giant Blue Jays flag, to all of the cubicles in the center of the large space. The walls were lined all down the sides with door after door concealing the offices of higher-ups in the organization, shiny plaques displaying each occupant’s last name pasted to the doors. Additionally, there were two silver-doored elevators tucked into the left corner by the front, where you’d come in. The walls inside the reception area were lined with framed newspaper clippings, photographs, and jerseys, and everyone working seemed to have at least one article of clothing that matched the team’s blue; the entire space was a giant homage to the Blue Jays.

Before you had time to ask the receptionist where you were supposed to go, you were met with the sight of a tall, bald man who couldn’t have been older than fifty walking briskly in your direction, his gray suit pressed to perfection and adorned with a royal blue tie. This man, you assumed, was Greg--the one who’d called you to give you the job.

“Are you my intern?” he asked cheerily, reaching out his hand for you to shake before you’d even given him an answer.

“Yes,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Greg, and the pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a smile, and it seemed truly genuine. “Your application was beyond impressive, I remember it well.”

You blushed at his compliment, filled with pride for your hard work and dedication. You felt your nerves slowly slipping away in Greg’s presence, his exceedingly friendly demeanor making you more comfortable by the second.

“If you’d follow me,” he continued, setting off into the giant office area, “I’ll get you situated and introduce you to the other interns.”

“Are the others already here?” you asked, filled with a new wave of anxiety. You’d been almost ten minutes early, how had they all beaten you?

“Yes, but don’t worry--you’re not late. I told you all to come in fifteen minutes apart from one another so that you had time to adjust. It can be overwhelming on your first day, and I didn’t want the added pressure of a crowd,” he explained, sending you a smile from over his shoulder. You relaxed at this; not only was Greg friendly, but he was thoughtful. “I’ve got them all sitting in a conference room at the end of the offices--” he reached out to push in a door handle, “--right here.”

He led you into the room, where five people sat around a large conference table. Five men. They all stopped their side conversations, looking up to you. You felt the heat of five pairs of eyes sizing you up and down, and you swallowed hard in an effort to stay calm. Greg clapped his hands together once and took a seat at the table, you following suit.

“Alright,” he began, your eyes glued to him. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s introduce ourselves and then I’ll get you each started in your individual departments!”

You and the five other interns, who all appeared to be about your age, went around the table as though it were an icebreaker on the first day of high school and introduced yourselves with your name, hometown, and the department you were interning for. There was Chris who’d be interning with Finance, Matthew with Operations, David with Medical, Tony with Marketing, Brandon with Sales, and you with Public Relations. The difference between Finance and Sales, you learned from Chris (who seemed like a massive know-it-all), is that Finance deals with how the team spends money, whereas Sales is concerned with making money.

Once the rounds had been made Greg stood up, announcing that he’d take you one by one to your departments to get you situated. Know-it-all Chris was first, and as soon as he and Greg were gone the guys started talking to each other again. This left you sitting awkwardly, wanting to join their conversations but they were too quiet for you to hear. You tried to push the thought that they were excluding you on purpose into the back of your mind.

You looked down into your lap, pretending to be fascinated with a detail on your purse, when you felt the chair to your right slide out from under the table. Your head shot up, met with Brandon smiling warmly and sliding in next to you. “It’s Y/N, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Brandon.”

“I remember,” you grinned, and he smiled back. Brandon had tan skin and light eyes, and he wore a black suit that seemed a little large on his frame despite the fact that his shoulders were so broad. His smile was friendly, and though it was early to tell, you thought he seemed kind.

He must have caught you noticing the size of his suit, because he ran his hands over it and let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s big. Couldn’t really afford a new suit, so I had to borrow this one from my dad. Anyways, I could tell the others were ignoring you so I wanted to come say hi. This place is nerve-wracking enough without having to be by yourself.”

“Thank you,” you shrugged, giving him a smile as you felt yourself relax. “You said you were from America, right?”

“Texas,” he confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “Really small town. Nobody ever moves in and nobody ever leaves.”

“Wow,” you quipped, intrigued. “What drew you to Toronto, then?”

“They took my application,” he answered, and you both laughed in mutual understanding of how challenging it was to secure a position like this. “I actually played baseball all through high school and college. Was projected to make the major leagues as soon as I graduated, but then I got hurt and nobody would sign me to play for them. But I knew even if I couldn’t play in the majors I wanted to work there, hence the reason why I’m hoping this internship leads to a higher position.”

“That’s quite a story,” you remarked, and Brandon shrugged. “I know what you mean about the internship, though. I hope it opens up something bigger for me, too.” Brandon nodded in understanding, continuing the small talk with you until Greg called him away.

You were the last intern that Greg pulled, and you were more than ready to finally have something to do after sitting in the conference room for an hour. “So you,” he started, leading the way towards the elevators, “are my lovely PR lady. Which means you are working to make sure that the team is positively received by the fans. You’ll mostly be making written contributions--conducting research and interviews to contribute to articles for the Blue Jays website--and eventually writing articles yourself once your training is done. The website is the main way we keep the community updated on the team both on and off the field, so it’s very important to the success of our organization. You’ll additionally get practice guiding post-game press conferences, which are also very important.”

You listened intently, making mental notes of everything Greg was saying. The man spoke very quickly, almost to the point where you couldn’t keep up, but your focus was razor-sharp.

The elevators opened onto the third floor of the stadium offices, where the PR department was housed, and you followed Greg as he stepped out onto the tiled floors. He took you into every single office, introducing you as The Intern to more people than you’d ever met in your life, whose names you only prayed you remembered.

Lastly, you were introduced to a woman named Cassidy, who didn’t seem much older than you. She stood up from behind her desk with a bright smile and, instead of greeting you with a handshake like everyone else had, she pulled you in for a hug. You learned from Greg that you’d be working very closely with Cassidy; she’d be your “mentor” throughout the internship, and your desk was inside her spacious office. Greg shook your hand one last time before saying he’d “leave you two to it,” and with that he started back down the hallway for the elevators.

Very quickly, you realized Cassidy was beyond cool. She was young, intelligent, and well-respected in her job; everything you aspired to be. She handed you a folder, containing the transcript of an interview she’d done with one of the players regarding his nonprofit work. She told you she was writing an article about how charitable the player was, and asked you to seed out several quotations that you thought would fit the article.

After several hours of doing back-and-forth work with Cassidy, breaking once for lunch and again for dinner, it was nearing 6:30--and that night’s game started at 7. “Me and some of the other PR staff are going to watch the game in the clubhouse, you’re more than welcome to join us,” she said, her eyes bright.

“I will!” you exclaimed, grabbing your purse and standing up from your desk. “I just have to check in with someone first.” Cassidy nodded and made her way out of the office, turning to lock the door as soon as the both of you were out. You were sure she assumed the person you had to check in with was Greg; little did she or anyone else know that you were about to sneak over to meet with Shawn Mendes. The simple thought of it sent adrenaline coursing through your body.

You took the elevator down to the first floor, retracing your steps back to the door you’d noticed was marked with Stadium Access. You checked to make sure that nobody was paying you any particular attention (as if anyone cared about The Intern), and you pushed the door open to reveal a long corridor much like the one Shawn had described.

You found the door closest to the locker rooms just as he had said, gingerly tugging it open and breathing a sigh of relief when you saw Shawn leaning against the wall in waiting. His head perked up at the sound of the door opening, and he smiled from ear to ear when he saw it was you.

“Your dress matches my uniform,” Shawn remarked, pulling you in for a hug after you’d shut the door behind you. This took you by surprise, but your arms found his waist as his squeezed around your shoulders.

“That was intentional,” you grinned, pulling away from him.

He smiled. “How was your first day?”

“Overwhelming,” you admitted. “I’m the only girl of the six interns, and only one of the guys has been all that nice to me. But there’s a girl named Cassidy who works in the same department as I do and she’s really cool, she’s not much older than me. I met a lot of people with such awesome jobs, though. I’d kill to be where they are.”

“First of all, those guys are insecure and you can’t let their fragile egos get inside your head, especially since you’re probably ten times smarter than them. And secondly, you’re gonna rock this internship. You will be where those people are, I know it.”

You smiled, suddenly shy from his compliments. “Thanks, Shawn. I really hope that’s true.”

“It is. How do you feel about the game?”

“You’re asking me how I feel about the game?” you laughed incredulously.

“Your opinion’s as good as any,” Shawn said, looking down at you with a closed-mouth smile that touched his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling your heart beat a little faster under the weight of his stare. “Well, I hear the Blue Jays’ rookie second baseman has quite the batting average right now. Think as long as he keeps hitting like he has been the game will be just fine.”

It was Shawn’s turn to be bashful from your playful compliment but, right as he was about to answer, you heard the loudspeaker announce that there were ten minutes until the first pitch.

You sighed. “You should go. You don’t even have your eye black on yet.”

“Do it for me?” he asked, reaching into the back pocket of his white pants and handing you the tube.

You felt another shy smile cross your face. “Move your hat,” you said softly, not wanting the cap’s brim in the way of the marks you were about to put under his eyes. Shawn reached up to take his hat off, placing it backwards on your head with a smug smile. You bit back a grin as you reached up to paint the lines on his face, gingerly taking hold of his chin to get a steadier hand. You could feel his gaze on you, and your heart was hammering in your chest so loudly you’d have sworn he could hear it.

“There,” you said, your voice scratchy as you slid the lid back onto the tube and handed it back to him. “Bright lights have nothing on Mendes now.”

There was a pause, each of you wishing you’d had more than five minutes with the other and knowing you both had to go. “Same time here tomorrow?” Shawn spoke up, evoking a confused frown from you.

“What do you mean?”

“Here, fifteen minutes before game time,” he answered matter-of-factly, and by this point you were grinning like a little kid.

“Okay, yeah. Same time tomorrow. But now,” you said, grabbing his hat off of your head and reaching up to place it back on him, “You have a game to win, and the team’s probably looking for you.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here. Give ‘em hell, rookie.”

“You too,” he grinned, and with that he left the room, his metal cleats echoing as he jogged down the hallway to the locker room.

You leaned back against the wall, feeling like your breathing had stopped and relishing in the fact that this was actually happening to you. You smoothed down your hair, tangled from where Shawn’s hat had been, and made your way back to the offices to watch the game.

Oh, how you were starting to love Toronto.

Feedback is so appreciated, and let me know if you want a part two!! 

[dear-wormwoods]

Birthday Thoughts

So I turned 30 today, and I feel like I’ve been in panic mode about this since I turned 29. But to be honest, now that it’s here I’m, shockingly, actually happy about it. 29 felt like a crisis, but 30 feels good. I’ve left a lot of mistakes and negativity behind in my 20′s, so from where I’m standing, my 30′s seem like a really exciting, positive new stage of life, no longer something to dread.

I have spent a lot of time this past year lamenting about having done “nothing” in my 20’s, claiming that I wasted the last decade being depressed and attempting to make up for “lost time” by acting like a dumbass. It wasn’t until very recently that I began to actually reflect on what I have achieved and learned in my 20’s, rather than on what I didn’t.

To start, here are the things I didn’t do:

Find the love of my life and get married

Lose all the weight I want to lose

Travel around the country/world 

It’s worth noting that these goals are, along with the subsequent disappointment in not achieving them, firmly rooted in expectations I created for myself after comparing my own life to the lives that friends/peers/coworkers present on social media. I saw a handful of people who were skinny and fit, somehow able to afford travel and houses, and staying in relationships long enough to get married. Upon making these comparisons, I convinced myself I had failed at life. But the reality is, not only do I still have plenty of time to do those things, drawing comparisons has kept me from examining my own accomplishments.

So here are some things I HAVE achieved or learned in the last decade:

I've gotten two higher degrees, a BA and an M.Ed. I allowed myself to change paths while in school, and even now, I’m going back to school yet again for a second Master’s degree because it’s never too late to switch gears. Because of my self esteem issues, I’ve had a tendency to downplay how much of an achievement my education actually is, and how much time and energy I’ve invested in it. It’s a big effing deal and I’m proud, damn it!!

I’ve always been an independent person, and aside from a couple of years while in grad school, I’ve been paying my own way all this time. I live on my own, I pay for school, bills, rent, everything. While I know my parents can help me out when I’m really desperate, I know that I’ll never have to completely depend on another person to take care of me in my adult life, nor would I ever want that for myself.

I was lucky enough to actually have a career in my 20’s, to work in a place I enjoyed, with peers who taught me a lot, and students who helped me grow just as much as I helped them. Teaching may not have been the most perfect fit for me, but it was exactly what I needed to be doing at the time and it led me to what is hopefully my final career destination as a counselor. To have had the opportunity to build my resume, discover and hone professional skills, and realize what I really want to do in my life, all before turning 30, is a big deal. I put the work in, I need to be proud of it. 

I’ve raised two amazing cats up from tiny kittens to big boy 10-year-olds, and they are the most affectionate cats I could ever ask for. This is another accomplishment I take for granted!! Not everyone can earn the love of an animal, and I have, so I must have done something right. Both have had a life threatening health issue once in their lives, and both times I did everything necessary to fix it, from syringe feeding to paying thousands for surgery. Loving them and caring for them gave me purpose!

I’ve grown, changed, and learned a lot about myself through a series of disappointing relationships, as well as friends entering and exiting my life, some explosively and others via gradual drifting. I’ve realized what kind of love and support I need and - more importantly - deserve. I’ve learned that it’s okay to trim the fat and remove people from my life when needed. I’ve learned that people who stall my personal growth, or worse - cause me to actually regress - are not people I’m obligated to spend time with or talk to. I’ve learned it’s okay to put myself first, and the positive effect that lesson has had on my sense of self worth was shockingly immediate.

I’ve learned that setbacks, even major ones, aren’t the end of the world (although it still feels like it mid-panic attack). Even when the setback is my own fault it’s still not worth dwelling on, because the only thing to do about it is to move forward and treat it as a lesson. This year in particular has been a lesson in the futility of dwelling on things, as my mental health spiraled downward and resulted in having to leave my job. Once I stopped treating that as a failure and accepted it for what it was, a temporary setback, a weight lifted and I was able to move forward again.

As much as I belittle myself for not already winning the battle with my weight, it’s not like I haven’t made significant progress either. I began my 20’s as a restrictive eater and later on became a binge eater. I’ve spent the last couple of years moving away from that (with the help of medication), and while I can’t say I have the healthiest diet ever, I can say that I no longer restrict or binge, and I’m no longer consumed by thoughts of food and calories the way I once was. It’s a huge step that I need to stop taking lightly just because the results aren’t immediate or visible.

Throughout my 20’s, especially in the last couple of years, I have developed more positive relationships with my extended family and learned to look beyond differences that caused me to ‘other’ myself in my youth. I witnessed my grandfather’s death in the hospital, which was a spiritually meaningful moment. In the aftermath, I’ve grown closer to my grandmother, aunts, and even my dad. I’ve learned to better appreciate the time I spend with everyone in my family. Nothing is permanent.

Over the last few months I’ve come SO far with my mental health, the way I see myself, and the way I interact with the world. I’ve really been laying the groundwork to enter my 30′s on a high note. I’m far from perfect, and I still need to find a new job, but things are really great. I’m loving my new grad program and quickly making friends with the other people in my classes. I finally got the guts to start going to OrangeTheory and I’m obsessed with that gym let me tell you. I Marie-Kondo’d my apartment and got rid of everything I had to in order to feel refreshed. I have a therapist who truly helps me. I’m dealing with my finances and looking for jobs instead of avoiding the issue. I’ve been dating new people, hanging out with my friends and family a lot more than I had been, reading for fun, smiling more, and just feeling GOOD about my life. 

I spent so much time in the last couple of years being so miserable, to the point where I totally lost control of my life and rarely even got out of bed, so it feels good to enter the next phase being able to breathe again. 

ANYWAY I didn’t expect anyone to read this but thank you if you did. It’s just a significant day in the midst of a really transformative year for me, so, yeah, happy birthday to me. 

PS: One of my new grad school friends is going to do a Tarot reading for me tonight so like, if I come back later and say “I TAKE IT ALL BACK THIS YEAR’S GONNA SUCK BALLS!!!” that’s why (but I’m expecting good things).

[whitestonetherapy]

Negativity... (2.9.19)

If you're anything like me, you'll know that sometimes your mind can be your own worst enemy.  

Most of us have times that our mind can't settle - times when we're prone to making just about every 'thinking error' in the book.  Catastrophising, jumping to worst conclusions, making generalisations that are unhelpful, being highly self-critical etc.  We might find ourselves increasingly focusing on the negative side of life and feeling pessimistic.  

When this happens we'll often give more thought to negative situations in our lives.  We might think of all the things that could go wrong at work next month, or dwell on the times we've been treated badly in the past.  Then it's easy to get stuck in a loop of unhelpful thinking.  Roughly speaking, when you focus on the negative, your mood becomes lower, and so you focus more on the negative things. Boom...

The human brain has an inbuilt bias that tends to veer towards focusing on 'negatives', and this is just part of how the human brain seems to work.  We also have a tendency to notice the bits of information that support our state of mind (and so 'the way we see the world').  This means, for example, that if we are in a bad mood we're more likely to remember any unfriendly interactions when we visit our local town.  Dwelling on these unfriendly interactions will reinforce our low mood and may reinforce an idea that "other people are rude to me", and over time this becomes a fixed prediction for how people are likely to treat me in future.  (And so our negative predictions begin to colour future interactions).  

In scenarios like this, friendly social interactions are more likely to be ignored, and we'll assign more focus and attention to the negative experiences we have.  These become 'proof' of our theory about others.

This kind of inbuilt cognitive bias plays a big part in therapy too.  In therapy sessions sometimes people will say "I want to be happy" - something I can definitely understand.  But it is a fact that our brains are not evolved to produce happiness but to focus on survival.  Problem-solving has been the chief concern of the human brain for all of our evolutionary history.  The main goal of the brain is to solve potential problems, to automate tasks and take the need for conscious thinking out of as many of our daily tasks as possible, and to make 'predictions' to ensure we survive.  

This means we have natural default settings in our minds that ensure we allocate much more attention to problems than we do to situations which go according to plan.  It is because of this tendency to focus on solving problems (above, say, counting our blessings), that our perceptions of the world can become quite skewed, often to the pessimistic side of things.  

Hans Rosling (a Swedish researcher) quite famously demonstrated this tendency in a piece of research in 2013.  His research asked the question:  " Has the percentage of the world population that lives in extreme poverty almost doubled, almost halved or stayed the same over the past 20 years?"   Only 5% of respondents correctly answered that poverty has actually halved.  Our bias towards pessimism or a negative appraisal of situations sometimes means we can be really, really wrong...  In fact, this is the case with almost every quality-of-life metric.  Things have improved so much in the last fifty years, and yet the sense of pessimism remains high.

Like moths to a flame, we seem to be particularly drawn to 'problems' in all forms.  In 2014 a study at McGill University examined people's consumption of written news media and looked at the stories participants chose to read in what they thought was an eye-tracking experiment.  What the results showed was that even the participants who said they wanted more good news stories were much more drawn to 'negative news content'.  And in the absence of any sizeable problems, our minds will often work overtime to create some new ones - to find some new angle, some new (hitherto unimportant) issue on which to rest our attention and focus our concerns.  

This is partly due to "prevalence-induced concept change", a theory that suggests that as the prevalence of a problem is reduced, humans are naturally inclined to redefine and broaden the nature of 'problems' themselves.   This means that as things improve all around us, our definition of 'bad news' is just widened to find new things that are bad to report on.  We recast our 'problems' and simply discover a load more of them.  I suppose this is far more common in the developed, capitalist, liberal West  (where to some extent the 'problems' that have made life miserable for countless generations before the last several have now been solved) than in developing nations.  And so we see a recasting of 'problems' in new and unresolvable directions, one example being the current obsessional focus on 'identity politics'. Closer to home, I recently spent many hours looking at YouTube reviews for a new iPhone, obsessing about a choice between LCD or OLED screens as though something serious depended on my choice (both screens are far better than anything remotely possible even five years ago - and both are effectively identical to the normal eye).  Perhaps it fills the time in the absence of survival-critical problems...

We are also subject to something called "availability bias".  This bias was noted in a study by Tversky and Kahneman in the 1970's, whereby respondents seriously overestimated the frequency of crime, due to the overwhelming reporting of crime on the news.  Random violence or sudden, explosive bad things make the news because they shock and happen suddenly.  Good news - such as acts of kindness - are common and tend to form part of the clement background conditions in which life unfolds.  The good news doesn't have the power to make a sudden splash that changes perceptions that, say, warfare, accidents or disasters have.  Bad news is sudden and explosive, and so is exaggerated in our minds.  Real tragedies are thankfully rare, but never in history has each tragedy had such global coverage.

So, bad news arrives in ways that are far more eye-catching than good news. Then our mind focuses on problem-solving in ways that exclude more positive appraisals of the situation.  In evolutionary terms, it simply makes sense for us to dwell more on risks.

Add to this that people tend to think in relative and not absolute terms.  It matters how you are doing compared to others around you, far more than it matters how you are doing in a general sense.  This is why, whatever goal we reach, we experience a short burst of euphoria before quickly resetting and then taking for granted our new situations. It's why, for example, acquiring a new car only brings temporary satisfaction, before the problem becomes, say, a small scratch we've noticed on the rear bumper.  It's why a big promotion and pay rise quickly leads to wondering whether the person next to you was given an even bigger pay rise.  When things get better in our lives, this relativizing behaviour means we quickly reset our expectations and focus on the next set of problems.

During my years trading derivatives, I remember we would leave the trading floor and go to one of the pubs in Leadenhall Market after the close of the trading day.  One topic always came up - "losing trades".  You'll always find traders talking at great length about losing trades.  In fact, many traders remember their losing trades and losing days for far longer than they remember profitable days.  It's the days that everything goes against you that stick in your mind.

This is a long way round of saying that it's actually very hard to overcome your tendency to dwell on the negative side of things!  People often say "I don't want to feel so negative about everything", and it's useful to understand that your brain is doing what it is evolved to do.  

But this can be debilitating if it runs unchecked.  We can try and counter this tendency and bring some balance to our inner-lives, and it is possible to take steps in this direction.   There's lots of way of approaching this, but here are some questions you can ask yourself if you find yourself stuck in a cycle of negative thinking.  You can check your thinking by asking:

Where is the evidence for my belief(s)?

What impact is this way of thinking having on me?

Am I jumping to conclusions?

Is there any evidence to disprove my belief?

Am I concentrating on my weaknesses, and neglecting my strengths?

Am I taking things too personally?

Am I thinking in all-or-nothing terms?

Am I overstating the chances of something bad happening?

Am I predicting the outcome instead of experimenting with it?

Am I expecting total perfection?

Am I being open to evidence that 'disproves' my worst fears?

If I had to come up with a more balanced/helpful belief, what would this belief be?

If you have a problem situation in your life, you can try sitting down somewhere and taking twenty minutes to write out answers to these questions.  Really explore your own style of thinking.  If you spend some time doing this, you'll begin to condition yourself to avoid getting stuck in a spiral of negative thinking and hopefully more able to take a balanced view of your life.

www.whitestonetherapy.com

[heoneyology]

Hearts on the Line: Ch.2

A/N: Chapter 2 of my now named Hearts Awakened, Live Alive series that originally started for my friend! I’m not sure how many parts it’ll be, but it looks like it’s going to be turning into that overarching story I mentioned from before (you can expect Hongjoong’s story to start soon, the plot will mix with his and begin to make a bit more sense). Sorry it’s lagging right now, the next chapter should be more exciting!

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader

Genre: action, angst, romance, outlaw!au

Word Count: 2372

Summary: You’ve got a debt to pay, and Wooyoung has an agenda of his own. But for your help with just one last scheme, Wooyoung is willing to allow your debt to drop off—unknown to him, though, you also have your own agenda, and a loyalty to an unspoken Other. With hearts on the line, you each will end up having to make a decision that may risk what you both thought was simply just a game.

The three of you returned back to base camp that night, attempting to act as if nothing happened. Of course, the atmosphere between the three of you—most specifically Seonghwa and Wooyoung—was enough to alert Jongho and Yeosang something was up when you all returned.

You had ridden close behind the two of them, gaze switching between watching their backs up ahead from where you lagged behind, to the stars littered across the night sky above. The three of you allowed your horses to trail along leisurely, in no rush despite Seonghwa’s silent bristling and Wooyoung’s eerily strange seriousness. The mood had settled over him immediately after he’d told you he would be testing your loyalty. Luckily for everyone, Yeosang and Jongho knew better than to ask any questions, instead, they turned their attention to you and effectively worked in distracting you, worrying over what they were going to be eating tonight. Wooyoung finished tying up the horses before he joined everyone by the fire, and Seonghwa immediately disappeared into his tent, probably to engage himself in some private brooding. “You know, you guys could have just reheated this stew on your own,” you mused aloud as you worked to hang the pot over the fire. You’d made the stew days ago, in mass, for everyone to enjoy. It was hearty, filled with a bit of everything, and you’d made enough that it could last a few days between the eight members of the band and yourself. Of course, four of the members had left abruptly, unplanned, which left a lot more food than anticipated for just five people. “We were afraid of burning it,” Jongho admitted sheepishly, “the last time I attempted to reheat and re-cook anything you made, half of it got burnt to the bottom of the cooking pot.” You shrugged. “Fair enough.” He hadn't been lying. While he might have a decently large appetite, cooking was an entirely different matter for Jongho. As you worked on reheating the stew—carefully stirring it as necessary and running away from the fire towards the food stockpile at the corner of the camp to add a few extra ingredients, enlisting Jongho’s eager help to dice up the ingredients—you found yourself stealing glances towards Wooyoung. He’d discarded his hat and mask to the side as soon he’d joined everyone by the fire. Instead of sitting on one of the logs that had been set up next to the fire pit when the camp had been made, Wooyoung was sitting on the dirt ground beneath him, leaning back against the log. His head was tilted towards the sky, eyes closed. You had to admit that he looked handsome. The firelight accentuated his best features, specifically his knife-like jawline. “Don’t make it so obvious you’re staring,” Jongho whispered from next to you as he added more vegetables to the stew. Silently, you cut him a look, stirring in the new addition. “That should be enough. It’ll be ready soon. Thanks, Jongho.” For the moment, you focused hard on your task of stirring, making sure not to look back at Wooyoung. You concentrated a little too hard on your stirring, thoughts drifting back to what had been discussed that the saloon earlier that night. You weren’t entirely sure what Wooyoung had meant when he’d said he was testing your loyalty—did it have to do with his comment about him being your love? Both of you knew better than to entertain such a thought. The life that Wooyoung was living meant falling in love was a risk in of itself; Wooyoung didn’t have time for those sorts of things, none of the ATEEZ members did, really. Jung Wooyoung himself was especially talented in charming his way in and out of situations, twisting things to work to his and the gang’s advantage. Emotional attachment wasn’t something that crossed his mind in particular. In the end, you were only in this to repay a debt, anyway. Two years wasn’t enough to pay off what your father had done, though. You weren’t entirely sure how any of this made sense. Despite that knowledge, you couldn’t help but think back to a little over a year and a half—almost two years—ago, when you’d first joined the company of the group. As you’d left your home to follow these eight men, the ranch you’d grown up on had grown smaller and smaller in the distance of the barren desert landscape behind you. At that time, you hadn’t had your own horse. You’d held tentatively onto the back of Wooyoung’s jacket as he lead his horse away from your home, unsure of getting closer to the men who essentially had bought off your freedom—to an extent. Before the speed of the horses traveling had picked up, forcing you to wrap your arms around Wooyoung’s torso to ensure you didn’t fall off, you’d glanced over your shoulder one last time that the hell you were leaving behind. Wooyoung’s words at that time rang in your head. “We’ll make you forget that place. It’ll become less than a memory. A speck of dust.” He had told you, glancing over his shoulder at you. “We’ll make a new home for you.” They had been words that had stuck with you for the last couple of years. They were words that highly contrasted the Wooyoung you had come to know. He had said those things that day, but ever since he had dragged you into situations you found less than pleasant, on multiple occasions. Everything that the gang did, you were partnered with Wooyoung. Literal partners in crime, you acted as a scapegoat to save him, you acted as an instigator to his crimes of the heart and mind. You’d learned to become as conniving as him through all the time spent by his side. He’d said those words, but he was the first to make you think you were disposable, at any given moment, if you didn’t follow along. Was it a ruse he was playing on you? As nice as the thought sounded, it seemed unlikely. You forcefully pulled yourself out of thoughts of the past. There was no point, you figured, in over-thinking. Maybe if you just ran full force into whatever it was ahead that Wooyoung had planned, things would work out well. It was wishful thinking, of course, but it was worth a try. “Jongho,” you called, lifting your attention from the stew as you stood to your feet. You pulled the stockpot away from where it hung over the fire. “Utensils, please!” It took no time at all for Jongho to run off to the newly acquired chuck-wagon Hongjoong had bought off a rancher a few weeks back, returning to your side with some bowls and spoons. You served enough for everyone around the fire. Wooyoung awoke from whatever miniature nap he’d been taking, and him and Yeosang sat across the fire to eat together. Jongho took up position next to you. The conversation included everyone—lacking direction but enjoyable all the same, the company as warm as the flames emanating heat. You could tell that, next to you, Jongho was antsy. Probably curious about what had happened while you had been in town with the others. Before he became curious enough to pry, you decided to excuse yourself from the fireside. Jongho looked at you inquisitively. “Seonghwa needs to eat before it gets cold,” you pointed out, filling your empty bowl back up to the brim, heading off to the tent he shared with the currently absent leader. You made sure to make enough noise, feet scuffing against the dirt, to announce your presence, before raising your voice. “Seonghwa?” From the other side, muffled, his reply, “You can come in.” You pushed aside the flap of the tent, moving into the circular space. It was large enough to be a comfortable, yet temporary, living quarter for two people. Seonghwa sat at a chair, a barrel in front of him he’d taken to using as a desk. Since they’d been spending so much time at their current location, they’d picked up a few goods here and there to make their living situation more comfortable. Most of the stuff would be pawned off, or just forgotten, as soon as they were ready to move. But because of current events going on—that had led Hongjoong to take half of the gang with him and disappear for an unknown amount of time—they couldn’t risk staying at a hotel or saloon like they might typically. “I brought some food for you,” as you said this, you held the bowl out to him. He gave you a grateful smile, taking it from you. “Smells delicious. Thank you.” You nodded, folding your hands behind your back and standing there awkwardly for a moment, unsure if you should make yourself comfortable or leave. “Rosette, just speak.” You flinched at the use of your name. Whenever Hongjoong or Seonghwa said it, for some reason it always sounded dangerous coming from them. Threatening. As if you shouldn’t have a name, to begin with. But your name was just the floodgate that you needed. Without hesitation, you asked, “Do you know what Wooyoung has planned?” The spoon in Seonghwa’s hand paused just above the stew in the bowl. You noticed that his grasp on it tightened just enough for his knuckles to go white briefly, before he set the spoon into the bowl and set the bowl aside on the barrel he was using as a tabletop. Seonghwa looked up at you. “Why? Are you going to go along with it?” You bit your lip, glancing down at your feet—away from his piercing stare. “I’m not sure…” “It would be nice to have your debt paid off, wouldn’t it?” Seonghwa mused, a bit darkly. “A debt that isn’t even yours, yet hangs over your head as a constant reminder to why you can’t leave. Because if you do, you know what’ll happen.” “I don’t need the reminder,” you hissed, through ground teeth. “Have we really made you that uncomfortable?” Seonghwa wondered, quietly. His tone softening caught you off guard, and your head snapped up to glance at him in surprise. His gaze was still as intense as it always was, but there was something softer and more understanding about his features at that moment. “I know Wooyoung can be difficult to work with. I know he throws you around and gives you whiplash from all his expectations. I know Hongjoong comes off as harsh and lacking understanding. But I’m really curious—have you ever actually felt uncomfortable with us? Since you left, have you ever wanted to return? Or run away from here?” You frowned, suddenly thinking back to Wooyoung’s words again; wondering why memories from the past were suddenly popping up everywhere tonight, all of a sudden. While you’d never felt entirely comfortable here, with the gang—you’d also never felt threatened. It was true Wooyoung made you feel as though you were disposable, but he’d never actually voiced such a thing, and he never mistreated you. It was a mind game in which he strung you along; you were sure it was something he was doing to make you feel as though you needed to have some sort of worth to be in his and everyone’s presence. But the other members, they’d all always been pleasant. To an extent, of course. Everything was business around here. You’d never felt entirely comfortable, it was true; but, at the very least, you had food to eat and a place to lie your head at the end of the night. You were still stuck in these thoughts when Seonghwa spoke again. “I know what he has planned. It’s not my place to talk about his past, though,” Seonghwa explained. “So I warn you to tread lightly if you do decide to go with him—and be warned of Hongjoong’s temper.” Wooyoung’s past? You wondered, thinking back to his declaration of personal revenge. “But if you ever have really thought about leaving, I don’t think this is the way to do so,” Seonghwa murmured. You almost didn’t catch the words, his voice back to the soft and understanding tone. You frowned, just as he gave you a pointed look and turned away from you, back to his food and whatever it was he’d been working on before you’d entered his tent. “Goodnight, Seonghwa,” you said quietly, recognizing the cue, before turning and stepping out of the tent. Almost immediately, as the flap fell closed behind you, you felt a harsh grip on your wrist that tugged you to the side. You were about to let out a yelp, but before you could do so, another hand clamped down of your mouth. “Shh!” You recognized Wooyoung’s voice before you looked up at him, scowling. He stared down at you for a moment, before his eyes trailed over to the tent you’d just come out of. Then, he let his hand drop from your mouth. “Seriously?” You hissed. “Was that even necessary?” “If I hadn’t done it, you would’ve alerted even the coyotes that you thought there was an intruder,” Wooyoung pointed out. He glanced over your shoulder one more time, before giving you a knowing look. “Were you snooping?” “What’s there to snoop? You have a secret?” “Plenty, love. You know that,” Wooyoung smirked, before giving your wrist a tug and pulling you along across the campsite. You had no choice but to follow him, and as you did so, you noticed Jongho and Yeosang passed out by the dwindling fire—intoxicated on the amount of food they’d overeaten. “Where are we going?” “On an escapade,” Wooyoung declared, glancing over his shoulder at you with a smirk. He let go of your wrist and worked at some finishing touches of readying his horse and saddle. You frowned, suddenly becoming hyper aware that he was readying his horse and not yours. “Wooyoung—” You started, a warning note in your voice. He climbed into the saddle, glancing down at you. “We’re going to go have some fun, maybe stir up some trouble. Get on.” What exactly did he have planned? You wondered, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.

[perlocutionary]

Northern Lights, pt. 6 - Stiles Stilinski

Description She comes to those who are in need. It could be, that she’s already here. Y/N is near where she’s most desired. No one knows how much they will need her, but she always knew. Hidden between their friends, Y/N is here to perform an ancient ritual taught to each upcoming generation. She is here for Stiles.

Relationship Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Title I made a promise.

Words 2699

A/N I’m  not going to apologize for taking so long - but perhaps I do owe you all an explanation. I’ve started my last year at uni and they’ve been throwing deadlines left and right - and I cannot type fast enough to meet every single one of them. So, when I do finally have a night to relax, I want to stay away from this damn laptop for as long as possible. Also, there have been some family issues and I have a few very big decisions to make that I can’t seem to decide for the rest of my life. But hey, I forced myself today. So, enjoy and let me know what you think.

I hadn’t been able to locate Barrow ever since the encounter we had in the library. Searching for a being that wasn’t supernatural and having a sense for them but not insane humans, had proven to be more difficult that I originally anticipated. But I always kept my promises.

I couldn’t take it anymore; mauling possibilities and ideas through my mind like a broken record. I couldn’t stay cooped up in my too spacious temporary home; I needed my sound boards. It’s late; I am aware of that. But they, as well as I, didn’t require sleep anyway.

“Hungry?” Andy smiles at me as he pushes his lean frame off his couch, already trailing off toward the kitchen for his own snack. Humming, I snuggle further into the blanket Andy had provided me with, stretching out my legs along the leather couch as I focus on the television in front of me.

Bright colors flash along the screen, some horror film Mal had chosen more than half way through. I sigh, running my fingers through my messy hair and glancing briefly to Andy in the kitchen.

“It’s quite nice, isn’t it? I can see why the humans enjoy watching this box.”

Mal grins as she points at television, one arm lazily hanging over the back rest behind my head, her eyes glazed over as she intently stares at the blood splattering against the screen. I dare a glance back at the screen, refraining from rolling my eyes at the gore and violence humans called entertainment. I shift, tucking my legs underneath me and pulling the blanket up and over my shoulders.

“Mhm.”

It makes my companion discard her film completely, her body involuntarily shifting toward me as a glare is thrown in my general direction.

“Okay, what’s up?”

My own head cocks to witness the frown Mal shoots me first-hand, my eyebrows raising slightly in wonder.

“Why would there be anything wrong?”

I lick my teeth with the tip of my tongue, pursing my tongue as I watch Mal shoot up from her position on the couch. Immediately, she starts pacing in front of the coffee table before stopping dead in her tracks and snapping toward me.

“Because you don’t come over if there isn’t something haunting you; You value your solitude too much.”

One accusing pointer finger is waving in my direction, my own body taking a defensive stance as I sit up straight, tucking my legs underneath me. I glance toward Andy again, making sure he was still preoccupied elsewhere before I whisper my response to my companion.

“I have a feeling we’re not doing something right.”

Her head cocks in wonder, arms crossing over her chest as she steps closer. Clearly, I had crossed the message that I didn’t want her brother listening in on this conversation.

“What makes you say that?”

She drops down near my feet, looking over her shoulder into the kitchen, just as Andy turns around to hold up a pack of crisps for me to approve. I nod my head once, glancing back toward Mal in front of me, leaning slightly forward.

“Has there been one time we took so look to retrieve something?”

She seems to contemplate my question; but we all know the answer. This was a one-night job. I’ve said it before; there was nothing hard about what we did. Arrive at a destination, do what we had to, and leave before dawn set over the silence of the night.

“No…”

I hum, leaning back against the couch and stretching my legs behind Mal once again. I’m fed up with myself, but I won’t argue that I enjoy this relaxation. Our servants – for lack of a better word – would cover the rest of the World for the time being.

“That’s what I’m saying. It seems like I’m way off with this radar in my head lately.”

I groan in frustration, closing my eyes briefly. It’s short-lived, as Andy reappears, and his word flame up the anger I had so desperately tried to suppress the last couple of weeks.

“I just think you enjoy being here between these humans. We would’ve found it a long time ago if you weren’t so invested in that Stilinski kid.”

His accusatory tone weighs heavily in his words. I was aware that he is not thrilled about our current accommodations or the way I decided to handle things with this particular issue. But nevertheless, he had not to question my authority or choices. He was appointed to me and whatever says, goes. I raise to my feet.

“In case you hadn’t noticed it yet, him and that pack he belongs in are our only lead and help on getting our job done here at the moment. I don’t see you going out and about to figure out who we’re looking for.”

I throw just as much venom back in his face, stepping up close and hovering a few inches short of his tall frame. It doesn’t matter; Andy still cowers back in intrigue, as he will always do. Instead of remaining silent, a wicked grin plasters onto his lips and he speaks clearly.

“You’re also getting better at making up lame excuses to cover for your actions.”

I feel the anger manifest itself, my eyes turning into its vibrant green as I glare at my companion. If he does not step down, I will not hesitate to show him why he were to listen to me, and not the other way around.

“We’re here with a task, Y/N. Maybe it’s time you start taking it seriously.”

Mal, having witnessed it all, deems it sufficient. She abruptly comes between our stare-off, shoving Andy backward roughly as she steps in front of me; More to protect her brother than me, I am aware.

“Andy, that’s enough!”

Her brother huffs annoyed, rolling his eyes as he turns away. He seems to linger, contemplate on something, before he sighs loudly.

“There’s something wrong with Scott.”

I push Mal out of the way, taking a step closer toward Andy, who decided to avert his gaze from us. He’s intently staring at the empty shelves behind the television, acting as if we weren’t here.

 “What? How do you know?”

When he doesn’t immediately reply, I dig my fingertips into his biceps and yank, roughly spinning him on his heel to face me. His look shows how fed up he is with even having to share this information with me; but who knows; maybe the Nogitsune decided to make a grand appearance after all.

“I could feel it. For a brief moment, he was in a lot of pain.”

He huffs, bumping shoulders with me as he strolls over to the couch and drops with as much flair as the bulky male can muster. His feet thrown up on the coffee table, his eyes already glued to the endings of the horror film long forgotten.

Exasperation fills my voice as I throw my hands up, daring a shocked glance at Malina.

“Why didn’t you say something?!”

He remains silent.

“I will fucking snap your neck.”

I threaten him, pointer finger hovering in his direction, as I snap my coat off the chair to my left side.

*****

I am running along the street – up to Kira’s house. Scott had mentioned getting invited over for dinner, so my best guess was that Kira either was with him or knew of his whereabouts. I’m nearing the street, slowing down to a leisure jog to try and catch my breath.

I am stopped in my tracks when I hear it. Lydia’s eardrum-shattering screech carries throughout the entirety of Beacon Hills – I’m sure. I’m quick to bolt into a full-on run again, toward the location of Lydia’s voice, and I am met with Scott, Stiles and Lydia standing in the middle of the vacant road, electricity flickering above Lydia’s head. She’s one hell of a strong Banshee.

“Is everyone alright?”

I’m panting when I finally reach them, slightly bending over and running my sweaty hands along my jeans legs. Stiles’ head snaps back to the sound of my approach, Scott and Lydia merely staring wide-eyed as I regain my breathing.

“How did you get here?”

Stiles’ hand rests between my shoulder blades and starts running soothing circles through the fabric – my skin feels illuminated by his touch. I groan in response, glancing over at a wide-eyed Stiles before glancing toward Lydia when I speak.

“I followed the ear-piercing scream.”

It’s then I realize Andy’s words regarding Scott’s wellbeing. I step away from Stiles’ touch reluctantly, walking up to Scott and pinching his biceps as I look him over. I don’t seem to see anything bleeding or recently cut up, he doesn’t feel like the Nogitsune and he doesn’t seem to have a temporary slip of sanity either.

“I – are you alright?”

Scott moans agitatedly, rolling his eyes as one of his hands runs over his neck, scratching the flesh there. I witness goosebumps arising along his arms as I drop my touch from his skin.

“Yeah… He just got me when I wasn’t paying attention I guess. Wait – how do you -?”

Realization of my know-how seems to kick in and I pinch my lips together, eyes wide as I glance away from Scott, only to be met with Stiles’ hard gaze. I know I’m testing his patience, along with the trust I had desperately desired him to have in me. If we didn’t find the Nogitsune soon, I would have to come clean.

So, I grant them the first insight into me.

“I could feel it.”

*****

Stiles and Scott went inside – inside to face William Barrow alone, in order to save Kira. I should’ve been with them, but I couldn’t think of a decent excuse why a human girl should accompany them. Instead, they forced me to stay with Lydia. In the car. Where we are safe.

Both of us are nervously fiddling with everything within reach. Stiles’ Jeep was nice, even on the inside. A few things that could use a proper touch-up, but all in all a real beauty. I’m toying with the radio, stopping in my tracks when I hear Lydia’s whisper through the now silent car.

“Y/N?”

I keep my gaze trained on the entrance we watched Scott and Stiles disappear into.

“Mhm?”

She stays silent for so long I felt as if I were alone – and then her voice is even more quiet than before.

“What – what are you?”

A sigh slips me – although it resembles a huff more. What do I tell her? Her world already seemed shaken; I had no idea what had happened to her lately, but I wasn’t about to tell her how the World worked if she couldn’t even handle what was thrown at her right now.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

It’s Lydia’s turn to let out a huff – followed by an estranged chuckle. She knocks her head against the rest of the seat, closing her eyes briefly as her lips slightly part.

“Oh. Try me. This can’t get any damn stranger.”

The need to hug the distressed girl peaks, my hand slowly raising to rest on her arm in a comforting manner. I’m sure she would get through whatever she was going through right now; she seemed like a strong, smart girl.

“I can’t tell you right now. One day, I will, Harbor of Death.”

I grin in her direction as she glances over with a cocked eyebrow, slowly loudly when I glance at the clock. They had been in there for far too long without any word. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. And I couldn’t sit here and do nothing anymore. I turn to Lydia as my fingers curl around the door handle, already clicking it open as I whisper my command.

“Stay here.”

*****

My suspicions were right. The first thing my eye falls upon is Scott, lying unconscious against the wired fence. Kira is shaking, her hands thrown around her knees as her gaze is wide but unfocused; fear had taken over. A few meters further, Stiles lay moaning on the floor, clutching his side with his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“You. Demon.”

His words hold such venom and despise, and I turn on my heel to come face to face with William Barrow himself. Definitely a human.

“I made you a promise, William. Let it go.”

I take a tentative step forward, holding my hand out for him to take. I believe he realizes what is happening, and he starts spluttering almost immediately as he backs away as far as he can get. He scrambles as his back hits the wall, eyes wide in fear as I remain my distance.

“I – I can’t I – “

My eyes a soft, yet vibrant green as I take another step toward him. My voice drops to a soft whisper as I keep approaching, and I witness the tension leave the male’s body.

“Please… Don’t make this hard.”

It happens in mere moments, but I always loved watching it happen. All tension leaves his body, and his hand reaches out to clasp into mine. He has given his consent and is ready to take the step. His life was over in this World; but it wouldn’t be long before he would get another chance. Another chance at another life, starting all the way from the beginning.

“Come on, William. It’s time to go.”

He hesitates; they all do.

“What’s it like there?”

I sigh, thinking about the best way to convince this man to take my hand and leave. To save him from himself, from the human judgement system. Somewhere where he was safe from his own mind and he could get a fresh start.

“As serene as you can imagine. You’ll be safe. Free. Free from – from the eyes.”

It seems to haul him in. I take his hand, and, in a flash, we’ve gone toward the light.

*****

I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, but when I arrive back on Earth, I drop to the ground behind Stiles’ Jeep. My heart hammers against my ribcage, feeling light-headed as I hear Stiles question Lydia.

“Where is Y/N?”

I push myself to my feet, dragging them across the pavement as I walk into their line of sight, grinning innocently at the lanky male. I’m glad his injuries hadn’t deemed so bad. And Scott seemed conscious once more as well. Kira still seemed distant, but up and running – it was something.

“Where have you been?”

Stiles cocks an eyebrow, stepping toward me as he looks me over. He brushes some dirt off my jacket and begins to open his mouth again, but Lydia beats him to it.

“She was here. This whole time. With me.”

I snap my head toward her and she grants me with a knowing smile. All I can do is smile back in gratitude at her actions.

Our conversation is cut short when police sirens cut through the thick night air, squad cars roughly screeching to a halt mere meters from where we’re standing.

Agent McCall, apparently Scott’s father, was also in law enforcement, and when no one could explain why there was a dead escaped convict, he threatened to take all of us to the station and give us a lovely night in lock-up.

It’s when Sheriff Stilinski pulls up, it seems that the evening is turning around.

“They were just at the right place, at the right time, McCall. There is no need for further questioning.”

A loud sigh escapes my lips, my arms crossing over my chest. Having a police officer – nay, the damn sheriff – on your side when dealing with the supernatural was bloody convenient. Scott McCall and his pack seemed to have their shit together.

“You have some explaining to do. If you want to or not.”

Her voice is supposed to be a direct threat whispered into my ear, but I hear the smile that accompanies the words. I drop my defensive stance, curling my fingers into hers as I squeeze her hand in gratitude.

“And I will. Thank you, Lydia.”

Taglist

Forever @flirtstiles @mischiefandi @ssweet-empowerment@fuckwhateverfuck @behind-my-hazeleyes27@itsbilescallmebiles@daddyxraeken @lovelynerdytraveler@redstringlovers@suggsmate @dylxnob @bojabee@beingafangirlistheonlylifestyle@voidkitsune24 @bashlacroix@16wiishes @herscrunchiehairtie

Northern Lights @twilight-loveer @sharenaloveyoux @imperfect-circle @sataninsatin

[our-jensen-ackles-love]

Flashes; Chapter Four

Playboy Jensen Ackles is hurting his television show’s image. Every time he promised to get his act together, it’d last for about a week before pictures emerge of him half-drunk with some broad on his arm. Fed up and desperate, his agent decides their only hope to save some face is to write up a contract with a nobody girl who could use the money while getting to play the role of Jensen’s girlfriend.

It was only for a year and it was only for the photos.  But feelings don’t always follow the rules, do they?

CATCH UP HERE

Word Count: 1886

Chapter Warnings: just kinda filler fluff

FEEDBACK IS AMAZING. AND REALLY KEEPS ME GOING!

Chapter Four

Last Week

A half-drunk bottle of wine, the second season of Supernatural playing in the background and several small towers of Home Depot boxes surrounding your coffee table. That was the atmosphere you were dealing with right now.

“You’re joking right?” Olivia asked for probably the millionth time of that evening.

“No,” you shook your head, pulling the packing tape closer to you as you finished up one of the last boxes of your clothes. “I leave Sunday morning to Vancouver.”

“For a year?” This time it was Briana who asked the question while gingerly sipping her only glass of wine for the night. “Like legit a whole year.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to over think the situation you had just gotten yourself into. “That’s where Jensen wants me to be.”

“But didn’t you guys just start dating?”

You sighed knowing that you could only tell them what Henry had said. They were not allowed to know that you had signed a yearlong contract to basically act out the role of Jensen’s girlfriend, if at any point you let that little piece of information slip, you could be sued and basically left out to dry as a gold digging whore who once hooked up with one of the most sought after bachelors’ in Hollywood today.

“Actually,” you started, remembering the lines that you had been practicing in the mirror all morning while you waited for your friends to arrive. “We’ve been dating for a couple weeks, but didn’t want to come out to the world just yet.”

Janet twirled around in your favorite desk chair. “So why the sudden change?”

You shrugged, avoiding all eye contact as best as you could without looking wary. “The paparazzi caught up to us on my birthday last week and we just decided it would be best to let the cat out of the bag that way.”

--

Present Day

It was nearly impossible to get comfortable in your seat. Despite being flown in first class, something you had never been able to do in the past, you were unable to properly relax for the majority of your six hour flight. And now that the pilot had announced that you would be landing in the next thirty minutes, your stomach was in knots.

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered to yourself, hoping that no one could hear you trying to talk through your anxiety. “You did this for the better.”

It wasn’t a lie. The money that Jensen’s agency had offered you at the end of this contract was enough to make anyone leave their life behind in an instant. But what was going to make this difficult was the acting like you actually liked the man; his attitude towards you was really making you question just how many women he had been with. He treated you almost like you were just another notch on the bedpost.

And from the quick google search you had sworn that you wouldn’t do at the airport, it showed that he had, in fact, been with several random women all throughout the last couple of years. All of them seemed to be random and from the countless articles you could barely stomach to skim, it seemed that they all were just girls that he had brought home from whatever bar, in whatever city Jensen had been in that night.  

Henry had explained that due to the importance of Jensen keeping his role in the show, a show that had threatened, the last three times, that if he didn’t get his act together they would drop him like a hot potato; they needed to keep him in a straight line. Apparently, he had been threatened with this agreement the last time this happened; which according to one tabloid article that was only two months ago.

Again, you had a million questions as to why he picked you up that night at the bar, especially if he knew that this contract agreement would come into play if pictures got out.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s velvety voice came through the speaker above your head. “We are beginning our descent into the beautiful Vancouver, Canada. So please, turn off all electronic devices and place your seat and trays into the upright position.”

You closed your eyes and took several deep breaths while you felt the slow drop of the plane. The deep breaths were supposed to calm your nerves, but they were only reminding you of what you had gotten yourself into because of too much tequila.

The landing had been smooth, probably one of the perks of being able to pay for an expensive, all-inclusive flight, was that you couldn’t ask for a better crew to be aboard your plane. Henry had paid to have all of your belongings shipped to Jensen’s Vancouver apartment, so all you had to do was grab your carry-on bag and exited as needed. When you followed the signs in the airport towards where the pick-up/drop off parking was, you were met with another loud bunch of flashing camera lights and aggressive loud questions.

“What are you doing in Vancouver?”

“How long have you and Jensen been dating?”

“Do you think this could led somewhere long term?”

“Y/N, Y/N, is that a baby bump we see hiding under that t-shirt?”

You held up your hand, remembering Henry and Jensen reminding you that, you were, under no circumstances allowed to speak to anyone about your relationship without him present. Just supposed to smile at and wave when needed – although the comment about the baby bump made you want to flip them the bird and offer some choice words.

A familiar black SUV came into view from behind the blinding lights that kept following your pathway. Just as the vehicle came into your sights, you saw the familiar face of Cliff come around the car and open the door for you, ushering you in quickly and sealing you off from the vultures of your new world.

Cliff hopped back into the driver’s seat, shifting the car into drive. “How was the flight, Y/N?”

Stealing a glance at the crowd you were leaving behind, you let out a breath you didn’t know that you had been holding. “It was long, probably the longest flight I’ve ever been on.”

You heard Cliff laugh a bit. “Just wait until Christmas comes around in the two months, the two of you will be flying down to Austin.”

“You don’t think I’ll have to meet his family, do you?” You blurted out.

Catching a glimpse of Cliff’s concerned look in the rearview mirror was really all the answer you needed. “I would say so, and he’s probably going to have to meet yours.”

The remainder of your car ride had been silent. Well, silent to anyone who wasn’t allowed in your head because on the inside you were dealing with every emotion that was able to pass through one’s body at once. You had told your mother that you were “dating” someone, which of course had gotten her all kinds of excited, but you were hoping that you could get through this year by keeping her in the dark.

She wasn’t the type of person who read the news, she didn’t watch tv and she never left the house unless it was needed. She grew her own vegetables and believed that anything that you could pick up at a store was much more attenable when you made it yourself. To this day, you still remember the fit she threw when you said you were moving to New York City to focus on becoming a writer.

“Miss Y/L/N, we are here,” Cliff had said quietly. You could feel that he felt somewhat sorry for you and the situation that you had found yourself in. “Jensen should be waiting inside for you.”

You nodded, grabbing your bag that you had thrown to your side before opening the door carefully. Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be any lurkers in this neck of the woods, but you were pretty sure that you saw a gate wrapping around these apartment complexes and what you could only assume was a security guard checking people in.

“Thank you Cliff.”

“I’ll be seeing you around.”

Shutting the door, you turned around and faced your new, temporary home. The apartment that Jensen was living out of was a split floor building, with two apartments on the top floor and two apartments on the bottom floor. It didn’t seem to compare much to his New York flat, but you figured that since he was only in Vancouver for filming purposes, this place was nothing other than a roof over his head.

236 was the number of the apartment. As you closed in, you took another deep breath, bringing your hand up and giving a quick knock. Jensen threw open the door quickly, holding it open just enough that you could squeeze by.

“Good flight?” He asked, turning his back to you and wandering into the open kitchen as the door clicked shut behind you. You couldn’t help, but noticed there was an open bottle of scotch on the counter and half-drunk cup sitting next to it.

“Can’t complain.”

He nodded, adverting his eyes towards his glass and then back to you. “Uh, do you want a drink?”

“I think I should probably get a little settled first, don’t you?”

Acknowledging your answer, he placed his glass back down on the counter and walked towards you. “Your room is right down the hall,” Jensen said, walking in the direction of one of the three doors along the wall. “This place only has one bathroom, so we are going to have to share.”

“I’ve had roommates before Jensen,” you stated, squeezing past him and opening the door he was in front of. Before you was a queen sized bed on a black wooden frame and looking bare without any sheets, a dark wooden dresser with a matching vanity mirror placed directly behind it and the room was littered with your boxes that had probably arrived just a few days before you. “You just have to promise not to hog all the hot water.”

He smirked at you, something that he always seemed to do when you knew he wasn’t taking you seriously. Despite not knowing him long, you were slowly picking up on his tells. “Can’t make any promises when it’s fighting day. That fake blood is a bitch to take off.”

You gave a small laugh, not quite sure where to go from here. This was all still feeling like some made up dream your imagination had procured to help get rid of that pesky writers block, but you knew that it wasn’t the case. You had spent most of the last week pinching yourself every so often in an effort to try and wake up.

Jensen shifted his weight on his feet before clearing his throat. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Come find me when you are ready for that drink.”

With that, he closed your door, leaving you alone to get your life as organized as you could get it. But all you could think about was the fact that drinking was what got you in this position to begin with.

TAGS: @supernatural-bellawinchester @luciathewinchestergirl @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @nanie5 @kbl1313 @wanderer-08 @squirrelnotsam (never lets me tag you :( ) @allonsy-yesiwill @mirandaaustin93 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt

[talabib]

The Dos and Don’ts Of Living A Happier Life.

There’s no shortage of how-to guides on making money and seeking fame and fortune, but these guides tend to leave out a crucial element: what to do when all that money and success still leaves you feeling empty and unfulfilled. 

You might wonder how someone with endless amounts of money could possibly feel unhappy with their life, but, as experts explain, money is no harbinger of happiness. In fact, money, fame, adoration, awards and the newest cars, clothes and gadgets can’t bring anything but a fleeting sense of happiness in the guise of pleasure.

To find sustained and meaningful happiness, we must look beyond money and the shiny new toys it can buy. We must look within ourselves, and to the steps we can take to change our perspective on the world around us, and not lose sight of the things that really make life worth living. Ahead, you’ll find a variety of tips and methods to help you develop a happy mind and a happier life.

Many people believe that happiness depends on external factors, but it doesn’t.

If someone asked you to define happiness, what would you say? Most of us assume we know what happiness is, but, if we stop to think about it, the concept becomes fuzzy. Let’s take a closer look to see if we can pin down what it is, as well as what it isn’t. 

One common misconception is that happiness depends on external factors, such as material goods or events. People tend to associate happiness with nouns, like cars, vacation destinations and sexual partners, or moments in time that mark a personal or professional triumph. 

What all these things have in common is that they provide only temporary moments of pleasure. As a result, people develop the impression that their happiness is tied to other people, or to whether or not a future event will occur. 

This isn’t ideal, because, when your happiness is inextricably linked to external factors, you have no control over your happiness in the here and now.

You don’t have to look too hard to see that this arrangement doesn’t bode well for sustainable good cheer. In fact, the more you turn to external sources for happiness, the less happy you’ll be.

For millennia, people have lived under the misguided assumption that they can buy happiness, if only they had enough money. Yet there are numerous studies that show that wealthy people are just as miserable as anyone else.

When the average person sets out to gain money, they do so to buy all the luxury items they associate with the good life: big houses, fancy cars, massive TVs and stereos. But these things don’t just fail to bring lasting happiness, they also end up putting people into debt. The resulting financial pressure can easily send a person spiraling into more anxiety and depression than they had before they bought all their fancy toys.

Happiness isn’t found in the future or the past, and it won’t be delivered by other people. 

While life is an amazing gift, it’s far from perfect. On any given day, we can be confronted with illness, heartbreak, an unexpected financial calamity or any number of anxiety-inducing events.

As a way to escape these difficult moments, we often resort to activities that take us out of the present. If you’re looking for happiness, this method of escape is actually a mistake, because happiness can only be found in the present.

When your mind isn’t focused on the present, logic dictates that you’re either ruminating on the past or fantasizing about the future. These are common places to be, since it’s easy to daydream about finding a perfect job, going on a perfect date or winning the lottery so you can pay off your student loans. Other times, you might be caught up in the past, lingering over memories of better days or cringing over a regretful thing you wish you hadn’t said at the company picnic last weekend.

Spending time in the past or the future may seem preferable, especially if there are ongoing problems in the here and now. But you can only find happiness in the present, because that is where the experience of life takes place.

In addition to spending too much time in the past or future, another common pitfall is expecting other people to bring happiness along with them when they enter your life. Many people think: if only I could find that perfect Ms. or Mr. Right, everything would be in harmony!

Of course, when that perfect person does come along, they inevitably discover that happiness didn’t magically appear. Instead of realizing that other people aren’t the key to contentment, they decide to bring yet another person into the mix: if only we had a child, then everything would be perfect!

No matter how strongly you believe someone else is the key to your happiness, the fact is that no lover, friend or child will ever be capable of providing you with the sustained, lasting happiness you seek. That kind of peace of mind can only be achieved by going inward and finding it within yourself.

Happiness is different than pleasure, and happy people have common traits.

If you have a sweet tooth, your idea of happiness might be a delectable bar of Godiva chocolate. The chocolate may be delicious, but this way of thinking reflects another common mistake: confusing pleasure with happiness.

Like money or material goods, pleasurable sensations are fleeting experiences that will never add up to a satisfying or lasting state of happiness. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with pleasure, or that we shouldn’t celebrate and enjoy it. But you must keep in mind that pleasure is a sensation, and therefore unstable; in the scales of life, it will always be balanced out by sensations of pain and discomfort.

Happiness, on the other hand, can be sustained and experienced separately from the changing circumstances of your life. In other words, happiness can be relatively stable, as long as you stay in the moment and keep your attention on the positive elements. That way, even if there are feelings of pain and discomfort, it is possible to remain content and happy in life.

You may be wondering, how is this possible? This kind of steady happiness can be attained by staying aware of your emotional state, and embracing the experience of life as it is happening. Let’s say you’re feeling lonely. Instead of immediately turning on the TV to distract yourself from this feeling, stay present and accept the loneliness as a perfectly natural feeling. If you relax and tune in to yourself, you’ll find that the steadiness of happiness can exist alongside your temporary feeling of loneliness.

While there are no rules or shortcuts that work for everyone, experts have found some commonalities in those who have managed to sustain their happiness.

Happy people tend to appreciate the simple things in life: they’ll admire picturesque scenery and appreciate a good night’s sleep. They also have professions that they find motivating and engaging, and they make a point of looking after their health and wellness.

Moreover, happy people are content to be on their own, which means they tend to be selective about who they spend time with. Those they do let in as friends or partners are supportive – not the bad company that unhappy people often keep. If you think that more people will make you happier, you might be more willing to keep company with some shady characters.

Unhappiness and harmful behaviors can be triggered by survival-related fears.  

Now that we have a better idea about the nature of happiness, let’s take a look at the other side of this emotional coin and see the different reasons we can end up unhappy.

One of the mysteries preoccupying modern researchers is why so many people who live an affluent life with plenty of money and creature comforts remain unhappy. One suggestion is that there are fears about survival behind this unhappiness.

When evolutionary psychologists look at the neurological wiring of the modern human brain, they see plenty of primitive connections that are still active. 

A significant part of our brains’ development took place during the stone age or earlier – times when survival rates were relatively low, and we needed all the mental help we could get. Big threats to survival included getting kicked out of the tribe, or losing access to resources. Either experience could easily have been a death sentence.

These days, our survival instincts continue to be triggered by threats to our social standing, or the potential loss of valuable resources like money. If a coworker gives us the cold shoulder or the phone bill suddenly doubles, we can feel a sense of life-threatening panic that isn’t necessarily warranted by the relatively benign problem at hand. But as we inevitably encounter many of these social or financial problems throughout our days, we can experience a constant level of stress and unease that adds up to a general unhappiness.

Is it any wonder that, with all this daily anxiety, we engage in compulsive behavior intended to calm our nerves? Ironically, however, such behaviors – like binge eating junk food – tend to be far more harmful than the cold shoulder from the coworker.

Our fears are so strong that the attempt to avoid them can lead to long-term harm and unhappiness, such as when we stay with an abusive or manipulative partner. Our desire to be connected, even to someone who is bad for us, is directly related to our instinctive desire to avoid the fear of being cut loose and left to fend for ourselves.

Ultimately, if our instincts believe it to be a matter of life or death, then our happiness can suffer. Unfortunately, much of that suffering is needless these days.

Childhood trauma can increase the likelihood of chronic unhappiness, but it can be treated.   

If you know someone who’s in a perpetual funk, you may feel the urge to tell them to just snap out of it. Surely they’d start feeling better if they would just get out of bed and get some sunlight, right?

Just because this kind of response works for you when you get the blues doesn’t mean it will work for someone whose past experiences have left them with a more chronic unhappiness.

A constant depressive disposition may be the result of childhood trauma.

If someone has a traumatic event in their past, especially if it occurred in their first six years, it can significantly increase the severity of those instinctive fears and inform how that person will react to rejection or scarcity.

Therefore, the quality of parenting during those formative years can greatly influence how a person will respond to the common stressful situations of everyday life. If someone’s parents provided unconditional love and support early on, they’ll have a wholly different perspective on life than the person whose parents were abusive, absent or emotionally unavailable. Indeed, not being loved as a child can be very traumatic – so much so that the effects can last a lifetime.

However, this doesn’t mean that people with a traumatic childhood are doomed to be unhappy.

Even though trauma has been linked to the mind’s instinctual response system producing more anxious reactions to the world, other areas of the brain such as the neocortex offer hope. The neocortex is the center of our conscious decision-making as well as our emotional and cognitive intelligence, and it allows us to take in new information and choose our responses.

Take someone with a history of trauma. When they stumble into a financial hole, their survival-related fears could kick into overdrive. If they take a moment to let the neocortex do its job, instead of letting the instinctual response take over, they can put the problem into perspective and come up with a solution. Rather than succumbing to fear, the person could choose to come up with a better monthly budget.

The more the neocortex is used, the stronger it gets. It can also be helpful to see a professional; therapists can help us change our perspective and look at things in a positive way.

Being happy is up to you, and it helps if you have a plan.

Money is something we can spend, borrow, loan to one another or save up for a rainy day. But happiness isn’t something we can take or borrow from another person. If you want more happiness, the only place to look is within yourself.

There are things that are out of your control, like the ups and downs of the stock market. How you respond to those peaks and valleys in life is, however, completely within your control. Since you won’t find happiness from external sources, you need to accept that it’s purely your responsibility.

Simply put, you can’t wait for the world to change and meet your expectations of a bright and happy universe. You need to take it upon yourself to shift your own perspective. Imagine the pursuit of happiness as a step-by-step process, and one that you can work on from moment to moment – with the optional support of therapy.

You can cultivate happiness by taking the time to create and maintain a solid life plan. It’s so easy to get caught up in daily, time-consuming struggles that you never find the right peaceful moment to come up with a clear-headed plan for your life. Carve out some time in your schedule, even just thirty minutes at the end of every day, to focus peacefully on your plan and on what’s going on in your life.

Your plan should include clear goals for all aspects of your life, including personal, professional and free time. When you think about these things, ask yourself: Is there too much stress in a particular area and not enough time to spend on hobbies. Is there too much sitting around and not enough income being made?

With a plan in place, you’ll be able to direct your energy to where it’s most needed, thereby taking responsibility for your happiness and well-being. You should still focus on staying grounded in the present moment, but, as you put your plan into action, you’ll have the comfort of knowing where you’re headed and what needs to be done.

To be happy, practice daily gratitude and keep things new and interesting.  

There’s an old saying, “You never truly appreciate what you have until it’s gone.” Imagine losing absolutely everything: your possessions, your friends and loved ones – even your health and freedoms like traveling and voting. You’d miss them, right? Now imagine slowly getting each of these things back.  How grateful would you be?

You shouldn’t have to lose things in order to be grateful for all you have. Gratitude should be something you experience daily, as it’s a powerful way to bring more happiness into your life. After all, why would you want more things in life if you’re never appreciative of what you have?

You can make a daily habit of practicing gratitude for the good things in life. A good way to get things started is by making a list of the things you currently have that you’re grateful for. Be careful not to overlook the common things that are often taken for granted.

Many people take their health for granted. Only after recovering from the flu or another illness are they reminded of what lucky people they are to live a life free of any restrictive health issues. 

Also remember to take note of the small, joyful moments in life, such as finding a perfect avocado at the store or crossing paths with the stranger who has a nice smile and holds the door open for you.

Another helpful practice is to avoid falling into a mundane routine by keeping things fresh and exciting.

When your life falls into a monotonous routine, you’re essentially making sure that nothing new and exciting happens. It’s easy to forget that there is a huge and exciting world out there to discover – even in your own neighborhood! Make the effort to shake things up every so often.

If you walk to work, try taking different routes from time to time. Make sure you notice the world around you. Having an exploratory attitude toward life will stimulate your curiosity and open up your senses to the world, all of which is good for promoting higher levels of happiness. 

Happiness can be found in shedding needless things and avoiding unrealistic goals. 

How would you feel if you got to live in a mansion with expensive furnishings, five bedrooms, three bathrooms and a massive kitchen and yard? Now, what if you were responsible for keeping all the rooms, carpets, furniture and fixtures clean? What about maintaining that huge yard and its impeccable garden?

Having a lot of stuff comes with a lot of responsibilities, and can quickly turn into a stressful headache. No wonder many people have found happiness by heading in the other direction and letting go of the stuff they don’t really need. 

When you look around your home, do you see lots of clutter? Are your closets filled with clothes you have no intention of ever wearing again? Are your shelves so filled with junk that you no longer see the stuff that really brings you joy?

Take some time to sort through your belongings and get rid of the clutter that turns a happy room into an eyesore. Not only will you discover more space, you’ll also gain a better appreciation of the books and clothes that really bring you joy. This process can happen in every room of your home, and it should apply to everything from furniture and cooking utensils to knicknacks and gadgets.

While you’re at it, think about how you can declutter your mind as well.

We are happier when we get rid of unwanted feelings, like that nagging jealousy over a friend’s recent streak of good fortune. To let go of these unwelcome thoughts, acknowledge them when they surface and then make a conscious decision to set them free. It might require several attempts before they finally stop showing up, and you might consider therapeutic help to make those efforts more effective.

In the pursuit of happiness, it’s also worth paying attention to ways you can avoid setting yourself up for disappointment.

That can easily happen when you set goals that are overambitious and far outside your reach. Of course, you should strive to be your best at work and in life, and to improve your skill set in order to make that happen. But if your goal is to play the cello better than Yo-Yo Ma in the space of five years, you may be aiming too high – and the inability to achieve your goal may ruin your enjoyment of playing the instrument altogether.

Avoid being overexposed to news media and blowing things out of proportion.  

Do you ever find yourself getting tense and anxious while scrolling through a news feed full of articles about political conflicts, violence, corruption and discrimination? It’s valuable to stay informed, but your feed doesn’t always provide you with the most accurate perspective on the world.

In fact, to stay happy, it’s advisable to limit your exposure to negative media altogether.

Many media outlets put a negative or extreme spin on the news to get more attention. They all know that the public has a negativity bias, which means we focus more on a negative news story than a positive one. The reason for this goes back to those primitive survival instincts. We had to listen when someone talked about a friend getting eaten by an alligator to avoid a similarly gruesome fate.

The media shamelessly exploits our very human weakness for bad news, often ignoring the good stuff to focus disproportionately on the bad. As a result, it’s easy to look at the news and feel anxious and unhappy, since it seems like there’s nothing but misery everywhere.

Fortunately, you can prevent the media from manipulating your feelings. Knowing about this purposeful imbalance is a good start. It also helps to be mindful of which news sources you let in, and to block your exposure to especially imbalanced sources.

Finally, be aware of your own tendency to create drama and blow things out of proportion.

If your partner isn’t very good at cleaning up, you might come home after a challenging day at work and tell them that you’re fed up with how messy they are – that it’s a sign of how little they respect you. Things quickly escalate, and, before you know it, you’re having a big argument. One thing leads to another, and the result is that a loving and healthy relationship is needlessly tested.

There is a healthier perspective to have in this situation. Remember that different people have different ideas of what constitutes an unreasonable mess; failing to do some chores is not necessarily a sign of selfish behavior. The next time your loved one does something annoying, remember all the loving things they have done recently. Sustaining any relationship is a challenge, but keeping the good things in mind will help you to stay happy.

Our happiness is in our own hands. Yet, rather than looking within, people tend to seek happiness from external sources like money, gadgets and relationships. Lasting happiness will never come from these things over which we have no control – it can only come from inside. To sustain happiness, we must stay grounded in the present and have a positive outlook on the world. We must cultivate gratitude. In order to overcome our instinctive survival-related fears, we should plan and focus on realistic future goals that provide sustainable happiness in our personal and professional lives. By focusing on well-being and personal fulfillment, rather than wealth and power, we can work toward seeing the beauty around us and achieving peace and happiness. 

 Action Plan: Keep a bullet journal. Making a plan for a workable path to happiness is all well and good. But each and every day carries with it the potential for surprises that can send you off track, as well as plenty of distractions, like that Netflix series you’ve been waiting for. 

The solution here is to keep a bullet journal, which is essentially a calendar that allows you to list daily goals, like exercising, meditating and reading. Each task can then be ticked off when you’re done, and at the end of each month you can feel the warm, happy glow of satisfaction at being able to see all you’ve accomplished.

[telchis]

An Accounting:

[Posted in several commonly frequented places where the Sunguard gathers.]

���Good Oathsworn of the Sunguard,

And all others who fight at our side. You must forgive the tardiness in this letter, for it was never my intention for time to slip away so quickly. The events we have witnessed have profoundly impacted me, and it is with great courage I attempt to address the obvious matters at hand. While I too wish to grieve at the losses we suffered in the Battle of the Dawnspire, my position as your commander does not allow me such luxury. It is why I shall attempt to make the state of our affairs as plain and succinct as possible. It is as such I shall bear to you this accounting, so you may better understand our position. 

When the Legion had first returned to Azeroth nearly a year ago, I had summoned the majority of our power to the Dawnspire. There we mustered and trained our soldiers, organized them into fighting companies to be commanded by the Wardens of which titles you hold. There were a great many banners in which were oathbound to heed my summons and as Serdar of the Dawnspire, we were able to marshal an army of nearly thirty thousand. Never before had we commanded such strength in one host and with nearly forty ships within the Crimson Fleet, I believed we were adequately prepared for the tasks at hand. Commanding such an army is no small feat, and it is through the discipline of the Wardens that we have been able to do so. 

Tirisfal and Orgrimmar attempted to test that preparedness and where we were thirty, we were soon twenty. Tirisfal would have placed nearly eight thousand Argents at our side, but given the ongoings of the battle, we were given none. Even more so, the fates of High Confessor Reddings and Sir Arthur Royce were decided later during the Dawnspire’s invasion. It is still with shame that I look upon our choices, but when war threatens the world, hard actions must be taken. The Ebon Blade saw the truth in that, and as mighty as they are, only three hundred Knights were able to be summoned at our side. 

Orgrimmar proved to be the worse, as the Twilight Hosts activities there took both us and our enemies by surprise. At the side of nearly ten thousand elite Frostwolf soldiers, we rebuffed their intentions to sack the city and plunge it into darkness, but it came at a price. Frost-General Wolfrage, who many of you know from our previous wars, was a woman of the highest caliber. Her death was a blow that will not be easily recovered. Still, we returned to the Dawnspire with a promise of orcish soldiers to join us, and the new General Nar’sha proved to be true. 

At the onset of the Invasion of the Dawnspire, it was easy to view the situation with despair. With resolve, we were the bulwark against the Legion’s rage. Yet even in our strength, we could not prevent all suffering. Sundial Anchorage suffered greatly and its port will take many months to repair. Even more so, the city’s garrison were soldiers of my personal household and was cut down to the last man. These soldiers were tasked with protecting the city from itself, and now with their absence, crime is rife. 

In the Evergrove, our forces successfully defended the Vidame Evelyne Rosewind and her Dreaming Gardens. It is tradition that orphans of the Dawnspire are to be raised in the Gardens and given a better life. I fear their numbers shall be nearly doubled, and such breeds a troubled future of our people. Though much of the gardens survived, many of its villas and groves were scorched, giving further hardships to the people of Evergrove. 

In Oakvale the Legion was able to strike first. There they were almost able to corrupt the entire forest. If it was not for the quick actions taken by our soldiers the wounded titan matrix would have collapsed and the forest would have withered. Our efforts are only temporary as the wound still drains the forest of its natural magics. Lady Aleriel has informed me that the ancients will no longer able to awakened and the spirits that attend them have turned more feral and vengeful. I fear whatever Ancients that remain are all there ever will be.

Still, our people carried on, and when our allies came to our aid, hope once again renewed. Though hope and victory at times can make the expenditures of war cloudy. Even when reinforcements arrived, our combined host was nearly forty thousand strong and perhaps only half will return home. The battle saw many losses, some of which will be difficult to bare. 

Lord Leoc Blacksquall and all his retinue, known as the High Kraken of the Bloodied Squall, was cut low by the blade of a Praetorian. His sons Adian and Severus have taken his body back to Dawnbreaker Anchorage to be buried at sea as in their traditional manner. Phoenix Captain Sunstorm, the man dispatched by the Regent-Lord suffered grievous wounds that cost him an eye and a hand. He recovers back in Silvermoon City, but I this battle had changed him. Such do wounds harden one's soul.

More personally to us were the losses of the High Confessor Blackwood, Sir Tyril Sunspear, and my dear sister, Asteryn. Each had given their lives in the defense of my home, our order, our cause. To honor their loss, we shall wear black tabards until the new year to signify their passing and pay respects to them as we must.

The High Confessor’s remains were not able to be retrieved, as true to her nature, she has since vanished. Lady Aleriel may perhaps give some foresight into what has occurred, but she has assured me that Cere’thien shall be departed from us for some time. Sunward Stormsummer will resume acting commander of the Dawnmenders until a more suitable appointment can be made. When we meet in the coming week, I will attempt to honor her with kind words, I only ask that you think on her fondly, and remember all she has given for our order.

Sir Tyril Sunspear was a man close to my childhood and even closer to my father. He gave his life to spark the spirit that the Dawnspire takes as its sigil. Some of you may question his sacrifice, but for those that truly knew Tyril would know that his choice was the only choice he could have made. In life, he was a stalwart man of high honor and conviction, things that he would not allow to be besmirched. The spirit of Alazar was born within him the moment he first stepped into the pools of the Phoenix Heart. Dame Leariel Dawnstrike has asked for a dispensation of her knighthood to the Dawnspire, and I would be cruel to deny it. She has since left the service of the Sunguard and returned to Shattrath City where she will live out her days with the Scryers. 

Finally, with a heavy heart, I wish to inform you all of the loss of my sister, a woman who had seen the furthest reaches of our people’s darkness and chose to rise against it. I fear her sacrifice perhaps would stand contrary to the ruthless woman she had become, but in the end, she realized that for all she had forsaken that family matters most. Asteryn was more dear to me than I had ever made plain, and her loss has cleaved a wound within my heart I fear shall never heal. I will mourn her and so shall the people who loved her.

The destruction of the warship Doom Glaive was a tragic one, as it was the home of the Dying Suns which have frequented our side. The Dawnspire is no place for them and their soldiers, and as such, I have ordered our Suncasters to help take their army to Outland to live in the shadows of their former temple. There they plan to rebuild and reorganize. 

Our wars may seem over, but I only remind you to look at the sky and see the fetid moon that is Argus, breaming ancient malice. Azeroth shall not be safe until the Legion is defeated, but my people have suffered enough. It is with reluctance that I sign all Oathsworn over to their own endeavors. Those strong enough to join the other champions of Azeroth on the planet’s surface, make ready for battle, and for those still recovering to do all they must to heal. 

Now we know when our darkest hour rises, only our light shall guide our path.

Anar’alah belore,

Archon Telchis Truefeather

Lord Paramount of the Dawnspire”

[easyfoodnetwork]

‘Fluke Tartare with Quinoa and Strawberries Is Not Worth Someone’s Life’

Wonho Frank Lee

Three Eater editors discuss what to consider when it comes to the ethics of dining out during the pandemic

In a pandemic, when the whole world’s been turned upside down, everyone’s seeking clear-cut answers: What’s healthy? What’s unsafe? Where can I go? What’s allowed and what’s not? Unfortunately, nothing is so simple — especially when it comes to dining.

We know restaurants and bars (and coffee shops and food courts and concession stands...) took a seismic hit when they had to close, making the ability to reopen to varying degrees theoretically a lifesaver. And yet reopening has not been smooth or clear-cut for restaurants, leading diners to ask the question: Should we support local restaurants and workers by dining out — or is that a threat on their lives, the lives of fellow diners, and our own?

Eater NY chief critic Ryan Sutton and Eater editors Gabe Guarente of Eater Seattle and Amy McCarthy of Eater Dallas and Eater Houston came together for our Eater Talks event series, to discuss various factors diners may consider when deciding to eat out at restaurants. Below are lightly edited excerpts from their conversation, moderated by director of editorial strategy Sonia Chopra, as well as a full video recording of the talk.

On the one hand, takeout alone won’t sustain most restaurant businesses.

Gabe Guarente, editor of Eater Seattle: “At least one chef has told me takeout sales in generally kind of tapered off [since the start of the pandemic], and he thinks it’s just fatigue from the novelty of certain takeout like meal kits. But it could also be people who are tightening up their budgets or getting into a rhythm with home cooking. There’s a sense among several chefs that relying solely on takeout is difficult to sustain for a good amount of time. They weren’t banking on this going much longer than five or six months, so what will happen if they’re still not open and the pandemic is still raging here? A lot of them could be in trouble, and we’ll probably see more high-profile closings.”

On the other hand, dining out at a restaurant is risky — and usually more so for others than for you.

Ryan Sutton, chief critic of Eater NY: “It comes down to diners taking the necessary steps to protect not just themselves but their service staffers, whom they love and they want to go out to see. So if you’re at a restaurant and you want to go do this, man, just keep your mask on while you’re not sipping on your drink or you don’t have a plate of linguine with clam sauce in front of you. There needs to be more actions on the part of diners...

“I like to think there’s a micro, or individual, level to the decision: I don’t want to put a single waiter’s life at risk for what’s essentially a leisure activity. Fluke tartare with quinoa and strawberries is not worth someone’s life.”

Guarente: “In general, people should just be cognizant about how their actions affect others. Sometimes diners see it through the lens of, ‘Am I safe by dining out?’ But really, you’re jeopardizing other people when you go out.”

It’s not just restaurant workers who are vulnerable to COVID-19.

Guarente: “In Washington, there was an alarming statistic that 43 percent of all confirmed cases at one point were of Latinx people, even though they represent just 13 percent of the population, and a lot of those were farm workers who did not have many protections at all. So when we talk about reopening, we have to look at the supply chain too and how that affects vulnerable communities.”

Restaurants aren’t being given proper guidance on how to operate safely.

Amy McCarthy, editor of Eater Dallas and Eater Houston: “Whether that’s on the federal level or on the state level, there has to be a comprehensive set of guidelines that is based in fact, based in science, that indicates exactly how restaurants are supposed to implement these protocols.”

Guarente: “The guidelines need to be clearer. Sometimes there’s just no specifics on what happens when an employee tests positive for COVID-19; [in Washington] there’s no rule that says they have to shut down, no rule that says they have to inform the public. So restaurants have been kind of playing it by ear, and lots of these guidelines are open to interpretation. ... The first thing lawmakers need to do is make these guidelines clearer and more accessible. Once you do that, for restaurants, that takes the onus off them to be policing these regulations.”

The guidelines that do exist tilt in favor of diner safety over worker safety.

Sutton: “Government regulations especially in New York and NYC seem to favor, in my opinion, protecting diners more than staffers. And this makes sense from a strict numbers perspective; there’s always going to be more diners in a rest than staffers and inasmuch as we want to prevent this disease from spreading, we’re going to have to focus on the bigger number. But from a moral standpoint, to have those regulations that protect diners over staffers is horrific.

“If you’re in a NYC restaurant and you’re sitting outside, if the tables happen to be closer than six feet between one another, you have to have partitions, which makes sense. Often restaurants outside will use these huge glass sneeze guards if two tables are pretty close to another. But if you’re a staffer working in a kitchen, you’re allowed to work closer than six feet next to one another, you just have to wear a mask, you don’t need a sneeze guard. That’s a bit of a double standard.

“Here’s another double standard: [In New York] you can’t mandate contact tracing for diners, it’s only optional; you also can’t mandate temperature checks for diners, even though you can mandate it as a restaurant for waiters and other types of staffers. So you have waiters and staffers who are going through all these elaborate things to protect themselves, but diners are coming in willy-nilly and they don’t have to be screened. So that’s a strong double standard that I think conveys that the government cares more about commerce and people spending money and people eating than the people working there. And that in itself is a huge moral dilemma.”

McCarthy: “On both state and federal levels, lawmakers are pushing for indemnification laws that will prevent these businesses from being liable for making people come to work and exposing them to something that could potentially kill them. In an industry where people don’t have health insurance by and large, wages are stagnant, and there’s so little federal assistance for people in this industry, it’s unconscionable to go out because you need a cocktail and put someone who isn't even going to be able to sue their employer for not following workplace safety guidelines [at risk].”

Sutton: “And no one really knows whether you can successfully sue a restaurant, regardless of business liability laws, because remember: COVID is pretty hard to track. How does one know that you got COVID by working at the restaurant and not by commuting 45 minutes from a part of Queens to Manhattan?”

Even if they know the guidelines, many restaurants are on their own to self-regulate.

McCarthy: “Right now, it’s very much based on the honor system. Restaurants are going public voluntarily, letting people know what they’re doing to stop the spread of the virus; but for every restaurant that goes public with a COVID-19 case in their restaurant and then closes down for two weeks to clean, there are five restaurants that aren’t doing that.”

Sutton: “Should the restaurant industry be trusted with self-policing from a health or medical perspective? And I think the obvious answer is no... Of any industry in the United States, the restaurant industry is the biggest violator of wage laws. So the question I have is: If the industry is such a huge and notorious violator of these wage laws, which just relates to paying someone a fair wage, can they be trusted with much more complex health laws and regulations? The answer for me is no.”

Having to enforce health regulations is risky business for restaurants.

McCarthy: “[The politicized nature of the pandemic] has created this situation where restaurant workers... are responsible for making sure that people who come into these businesses are wearing masks, and the people who are very opposed to wearing masks can get violent. I think that puts these workers in a very, very bad position.

“It’s unfair that restaurants are having to make these decisions, because that’s not their expertise; this is what public health experts are for, and this is why our government officials should be listening to medical professionals and what they have to say.”

A sick restaurant worker often means a temporary shutter — and the loss of thousands of dollars.

Guarente: “If people are feeling like they need to support local restaurants but if they go to the restaurant without a mask or they infect someone, if they know that could lead to a shutdown of the restaurant that would cost tens of thousands of dollars — they might think twice before trying to support a restaurant just by showing up and dining out in person.”

A better way to support the restaurant industry and its workers? Government relief that helps them stay home and not work.

McCarthy: “We’ve culturally boxed ourselves into just two options for restaurants. The options are: Open and put people at risk, or stay closed and put yourself at risk. But there really are more options than that; it’s just that governments aren’t considering them. We could pay business owners to keep their doors closed — that could be a thing. We could pay restaurant workers to stay at home, even though that’s something that people like Ted Cruz are very sketchy about, people being paid to sit at home instead of going back to work. But we know that people staying home is going to reduce the cases of this virus in the public... And by acting like the choice is open or go out of business, we put restaurants in a really bad place, one where they have to be self-interested.

“We’re looking at the situation not considering the fact that government intervention is what has to happen — there has to be rent relief, there has to be health insurance coverage for people who get sick. Until there is, there’s just going to be this ongoing, ad hoc process and the result of that is more COVID.”

Sutton: “I’d like to think that by dining out, I’m getting more people back to work — when in a sense, people should be staying at home because they should be able to afford to do so with enhanced unemployment that’s out right now.”

Watch the entire panel conversation:

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Wonho Frank Lee

Three Eater editors discuss what to consider when it comes to the ethics of dining out during the pandemic

In a pandemic, when the whole world’s been turned upside down, everyone’s seeking clear-cut answers: What’s healthy? What’s unsafe? Where can I go? What’s allowed and what’s not? Unfortunately, nothing is so simple — especially when it comes to dining.

We know restaurants and bars (and coffee shops and food courts and concession stands...) took a seismic hit when they had to close, making the ability to reopen to varying degrees theoretically a lifesaver. And yet reopening has not been smooth or clear-cut for restaurants, leading diners to ask the question: Should we support local restaurants and workers by dining out — or is that a threat on their lives, the lives of fellow diners, and our own?

Eater NY chief critic Ryan Sutton and Eater editors Gabe Guarente of Eater Seattle and Amy McCarthy of Eater Dallas and Eater Houston came together for our Eater Talks event series, to discuss various factors diners may consider when deciding to eat out at restaurants. Below are lightly edited excerpts from their conversation, moderated by director of editorial strategy Sonia Chopra, as well as a full video recording of the talk.

On the one hand, takeout alone won’t sustain most restaurant businesses.

Gabe Guarente, editor of Eater Seattle: “At least one chef has told me takeout sales in generally kind of tapered off [since the start of the pandemic], and he thinks it’s just fatigue from the novelty of certain takeout like meal kits. But it could also be people who are tightening up their budgets or getting into a rhythm with home cooking. There’s a sense among several chefs that relying solely on takeout is difficult to sustain for a good amount of time. They weren’t banking on this going much longer than five or six months, so what will happen if they’re still not open and the pandemic is still raging here? A lot of them could be in trouble, and we’ll probably see more high-profile closings.”

On the other hand, dining out at a restaurant is risky — and usually more so for others than for you.

Ryan Sutton, chief critic of Eater NY: “It comes down to diners taking the necessary steps to protect not just themselves but their service staffers, whom they love and they want to go out to see. So if you’re at a restaurant and you want to go do this, man, just keep your mask on while you’re not sipping on your drink or you don’t have a plate of linguine with clam sauce in front of you. There needs to be more actions on the part of diners...

“I like to think there’s a micro, or individual, level to the decision: I don’t want to put a single waiter’s life at risk for what’s essentially a leisure activity. Fluke tartare with quinoa and strawberries is not worth someone’s life.”

Guarente: “In general, people should just be cognizant about how their actions affect others. Sometimes diners see it through the lens of, ‘Am I safe by dining out?’ But really, you’re jeopardizing other people when you go out.”

It’s not just restaurant workers who are vulnerable to COVID-19.

Guarente: “In Washington, there was an alarming statistic that 43 percent of all confirmed cases at one point were of Latinx people, even though they represent just 13 percent of the population, and a lot of those were farm workers who did not have many protections at all. So when we talk about reopening, we have to look at the supply chain too and how that affects vulnerable communities.”

Restaurants aren’t being given proper guidance on how to operate safely.

Amy McCarthy, editor of Eater Dallas and Eater Houston: “Whether that’s on the federal level or on the state level, there has to be a comprehensive set of guidelines that is based in fact, based in science, that indicates exactly how restaurants are supposed to implement these protocols.”

Guarente: “The guidelines need to be clearer. Sometimes there’s just no specifics on what happens when an employee tests positive for COVID-19; [in Washington] there’s no rule that says they have to shut down, no rule that says they have to inform the public. So restaurants have been kind of playing it by ear, and lots of these guidelines are open to interpretation. ... The first thing lawmakers need to do is make these guidelines clearer and more accessible. Once you do that, for restaurants, that takes the onus off them to be policing these regulations.”

The guidelines that do exist tilt in favor of diner safety over worker safety.

Sutton: “Government regulations especially in New York and NYC seem to favor, in my opinion, protecting diners more than staffers. And this makes sense from a strict numbers perspective; there’s always going to be more diners in a rest than staffers and inasmuch as we want to prevent this disease from spreading, we’re going to have to focus on the bigger number. But from a moral standpoint, to have those regulations that protect diners over staffers is horrific.

“If you’re in a NYC restaurant and you’re sitting outside, if the tables happen to be closer than six feet between one another, you have to have partitions, which makes sense. Often restaurants outside will use these huge glass sneeze guards if two tables are pretty close to another. But if you’re a staffer working in a kitchen, you’re allowed to work closer than six feet next to one another, you just have to wear a mask, you don’t need a sneeze guard. That’s a bit of a double standard.

“Here’s another double standard: [In New York] you can’t mandate contact tracing for diners, it’s only optional; you also can’t mandate temperature checks for diners, even though you can mandate it as a restaurant for waiters and other types of staffers. So you have waiters and staffers who are going through all these elaborate things to protect themselves, but diners are coming in willy-nilly and they don’t have to be screened. So that’s a strong double standard that I think conveys that the government cares more about commerce and people spending money and people eating than the people working there. And that in itself is a huge moral dilemma.”

McCarthy: “On both state and federal levels, lawmakers are pushing for indemnification laws that will prevent these businesses from being liable for making people come to work and exposing them to something that could potentially kill them. In an industry where people don’t have health insurance by and large, wages are stagnant, and there’s so little federal assistance for people in this industry, it’s unconscionable to go out because you need a cocktail and put someone who isn't even going to be able to sue their employer for not following workplace safety guidelines [at risk].”

Sutton: “And no one really knows whether you can successfully sue a restaurant, regardless of business liability laws, because remember: COVID is pretty hard to track. How does one know that you got COVID by working at the restaurant and not by commuting 45 minutes from a part of Queens to Manhattan?”

Even if they know the guidelines, many restaurants are on their own to self-regulate.

McCarthy: “Right now, it’s very much based on the honor system. Restaurants are going public voluntarily, letting people know what they’re doing to stop the spread of the virus; but for every restaurant that goes public with a COVID-19 case in their restaurant and then closes down for two weeks to clean, there are five restaurants that aren’t doing that.”

Sutton: “Should the restaurant industry be trusted with self-policing from a health or medical perspective? And I think the obvious answer is no... Of any industry in the United States, the restaurant industry is the biggest violator of wage laws. So the question I have is: If the industry is such a huge and notorious violator of these wage laws, which just relates to paying someone a fair wage, can they be trusted with much more complex health laws and regulations? The answer for me is no.”

Having to enforce health regulations is risky business for restaurants.

McCarthy: “[The politicized nature of the pandemic] has created this situation where restaurant workers... are responsible for making sure that people who come into these businesses are wearing masks, and the people who are very opposed to wearing masks can get violent. I think that puts these workers in a very, very bad position.

“It’s unfair that restaurants are having to make these decisions, because that’s not their expertise; this is what public health experts are for, and this is why our government officials should be listening to medical professionals and what they have to say.”

A sick restaurant worker often means a temporary shutter — and the loss of thousands of dollars.

Guarente: “If people are feeling like they need to support local restaurants but if they go to the restaurant without a mask or they infect someone, if they know that could lead to a shutdown of the restaurant that would cost tens of thousands of dollars — they might think twice before trying to support a restaurant just by showing up and dining out in person.”

A better way to support the restaurant industry and its workers? Government relief that helps them stay home and not work.

McCarthy: “We’ve culturally boxed ourselves into just two options for restaurants. The options are: Open and put people at risk, or stay closed and put yourself at risk. But there really are more options than that; it’s just that governments aren’t considering them. We could pay business owners to keep their doors closed — that could be a thing. We could pay restaurant workers to stay at home, even though that’s something that people like Ted Cruz are very sketchy about, people being paid to sit at home instead of going back to work. But we know that people staying home is going to reduce the cases of this virus in the public... And by acting like the choice is open or go out of business, we put restaurants in a really bad place, one where they have to be self-interested.

“We’re looking at the situation not considering the fact that government intervention is what has to happen — there has to be rent relief, there has to be health insurance coverage for people who get sick. Until there is, there’s just going to be this ongoing, ad hoc process and the result of that is more COVID.”

Sutton: “I’d like to think that by dining out, I’m getting more people back to work — when in a sense, people should be staying at home because they should be able to afford to do so with enhanced unemployment that’s out right now.”

Watch the entire panel conversation:

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